It'd be easy enough to just agree. It's not like they don't spend plenty of time talking trash, not least about each other. But...something about leaning into it here like this feels weird. The thing is, it's true, in its own sideways kind of way. Maybe it wouldn't make much sense to a hypothetical outside observer, but the fact is, there's just about no-one else in the universe he'd let in this close when he's hurting. He trusts Peter, and that's a standard precious few people have ever met. Acting like that's not how it is feels cheap.
He's not going to say any of that of course. What he does instead is reach back without looking with his good hand to lazily swat whichever part of Peter falls most easily within reach. Feels like a shoulder maybe. "Quit talkin' shit about my crew," he says; matter of fact, eyes still closed. "Talkin' shit about you assholes is my job."
If he really wanted to make a point of it, he could probably say a thing or two about the hypocrisy of Peter talking down his own merits as a bedmate while going out of his way to wash his fucking hair, touch impossibly gentle over the cuts and bruises along his hairline. Stringing a sentence together is starting to feel like a little too much effort to be worth it though, not when the warmth of the bath and the fingers carding through his hair are making it far too tempting just to let his brain shut off and drift.
"Don't worry about it." It sure is concrete, but given the argument they only just got done having, volunteering more information about what actually happened doesn't seem like it's going to lead to anything good. He's alive and he'll heal. The rest is all just...details.
A soft breath of a sigh falls from his lips as those fingers work over his skin, drawing out the last few threads of tension the hot water hadn't quite managed. It feels good to be warm and clean again, but more than that, it stirs something soft behind his breastbone that he doesn't really know what to do with to be able to just relax and put himself in Peter's hands. Even weak and hurting, he's safe here. It's not as alien a thought as it would once have been, but it still feels new. Something rare enough that it can't be taken for granted. "S'nice," he mumbles, turning his face to nuzzle unselfconsciously into Peter's touch.
It catches Peter off guard whenever Rocket does this, unexpectedly sweet while still being his sarcastic self. It knocks the wind right out of his sails when his casual self-deprecation is met with opposition. As if Rocket really thinks he's worth more than that. It doesn't happen often, which is probably why it means so much and why Peter has learned to tell it apart from the rest of Rocket's other casual demands.
He slows himself to smile, touched, since he's behind Rocket, and the man can't see it. Rocket reaching out and pressing a wet hand to the curve of his neck and shoulder, effectively getting Peter's collar all wet and soapy, making the moment a little bit less rom-com worthy. It's still good; Peter can't even be mad.
"And you're a star employee after so many years of practice." Peter's voice holds no grudge; in fact, he sounds amused still and runs his hands through Rocket's hair again. Fingers move lightly in his hair and stretch over Rocket's scalp. This had turned less into 'Gonna get you cleaned up finally' and more 'Let's see if I can make you melt with a sneaky massage' kind of deal.
He does his best to actually do that and not worry about the concrete, but he can't help but imagine it. One could already tell by looking at Rocket's black and blue body, but this only reminds him that it really must have been a nasty fight. Instead of letting both of their minds wander there again, Peter's fingers slide down, focusing on massaging the particular point of pressure where the nape meets the back. It's always so easy to get stiff and sore there; Peter has gotten back pains like those simply by being too tense when flying a spaceship.
"Yeah?" Only a word, but Peter's tone says so much. He's clearly proud and back to grinning and smiling after hearing that soft sigh leaving Rocket's lips. "Magic hands, yo. You should know by now."
Playful teasing aside, Peter wanted to do something to make Rocket feel more at ease, to take some of his pain away if possible. Bath can't cure everything, but it's a step forward, and maybe it will help him to get a better sleep as well. Peter misses curling up in bed with him, not necessarily naked or doing anything that leaves them dirty again; he just misses waking up with Rocket by his side. He didn't want to risk rolling on top of Rocket or clinging to him in his sleep and accidentally making the injuries worse. Peter can be like a needy octopus when he wants to cuddle, and he's always warm.
"There's no rush, so we can stay here until you get all wrinkly like my grandpa."
"Damn right." They're both masters of the fine art of shit-talking, and no-one on the crew's ever been the type to pull their punches when it comes to taking the piss. It's all done with love, mostly.
There's probably some smart-ass comment he could shoot back about those magic fingers, but damned if he has the spare brainpower to come up with something right now. The sigh trails off into a moan as they dig into the tight muscle across his shoulders, hunting down the knots and aches. It hurts a little — fuck, what else is new, breathing hurts — but it feels so fucking good. He hadn't fully realized just how much everything had stiffened up until suddenly he had strong hands working the tension back out again.
Makes him think a little about having those hands elsewhere. He's in absolutely no shape to do anything about the thought, but it's still a pleasant stirring of warmth, feeding a slow-burning anticipation of the fun they're gonna have once he's healed up some. They both made some threats and promises, back when it was dirty comm calls or nothing, and he's looking forward to when the bruises have faded enough for him to convince Peter to follow through.
...that comparison's certainly a splash of ice water across the whole thing though. His nose wrinkles. "If that's your kink, I'm out," he replies, mostly joking. The sex has been good enough that he'd probably put up with a lot of weird, but that's definitely too much weird.
It speaks to a significant level of camaraderie, as well as having gone through a lot of personal experiences together to be able to trash talk each other this way and know it's not actually a serious thing. Drax can do it to a degree, too, even if in his case it's mostly because he's brutally honest and has terrible timing. Peter misses him as well.
It was all going so well; Rocket truly looked like he was actually relaxing and letting go of his worries for a moment there. Of course, it doesn't last.
"What...?" Peter's hands still, and he sounds baffled for a long second. "Dude, ew, no! I was only saying you can stay in the bathtub as long as you want. The massage starts again, with Peter shaking his head as if physically trying to get rid of the mental image. They can both agree on not involving his family in their sex life in any capacity. God lord."How did your mind even go there?"
Maybe being naked and having Peter's hand on him has something to do with that; on second thought, he can't blame Rocket too much. He would love nothing more than to mess around with the other man, literally, kiss his bruises better, but the truth is that he's worried he would make the injuries worse if they tried anything too athletic. He will have to be more creative.
"As for my kinks, pretty sure you're already acquainted with all of them." One of his hands slides down from Rocket's nape to the curve of his shoulder, the uninjured one, and then slides over his chest, fingers teasing. "Did you get any new ones while you were away that I should know about?"
He gives a short cackle before wincing, pressing his good hand to the livid bruising over his ribs. "Ah, fuck, don't make me laugh." Even with the lingering threat of pain, there's still a grin on his lips, something impish and wholly unrepentant in his eyes. The shit-talking, the teasing, even now the flirting...it all comes back to the same thing in the end: the joy of knowing what buttons to press, getting a reaction. It's even better now, knowing if he plays his cards right, there might even be an orgasm or two in it for him.
"All of 'em? Thought you had more up your sleeve than that." He stretches languidly, arching into the warm weight of Peter's hands on him; there's another faint stab of pain for it, as there is for just about everything at the moment, but not enough to dampen the answering flicker of heat low in his belly. With his injured side turned away from Peter and the bubbles hiding some of the damage, he's got a better chance of getting away with shooting for sexy. He hadn't seriously thought he had a chance at angling for more, but if it looks like there might be an opening, hell yeah he's gonna go for it.
He doesn't know if he has any new kinks so much as a weird shift of perspective where after ten fucking years of knowing each other, things he's never thought twice about before are suddenly hot. Out of nowhere it's far too easy to get distracted by Peter's hands, his mouth, the way the muscles shift under his skin when he moves. Something about it's hooked straight into instinct now; inextricably linked to warm, hazy memories of those hands on his skin, that mouth against his.
"Maybe I got a new appreciation for you talkin' dirty to me," he replies, giving Peter a lazy grin. Those comm calls hadn't been much — definitely no substitute for the real thing — but they'd had their upsides. And it's so much better now having Peter's voice low and rough in his ear when they're close enough to touch, close enough to feel the breath the words rode on stir his hair. Teasing's going to be much more rewarding now he gets to be here when it's finally too much to take. "There was a whole lotta big talk about what you were gonna do next time..."
"You started it; don't blame me." Peter is not at all sorry, and the amusement can be heard in his singsong tone of voice. He did nothing wrong ever, your honor. It's good to hear Rocket laugh, even if his bruised ribs disagree with him.
He cups some water in the palm of his free hand to gently rinse out the lingering soap on Rocket's hair, then skilled fingers keep massaging the now softer tresses. Any excuse to play with Rocket's hair is one Peter will take advantage of because they don't get enough of those kinds of simple pleasures in life, small moments of kindness when the universe isn't trying to fuck them over.
"All the kinks applicable to creatures with only four limbs; that's it." He admits. Peter has a long set of other ones that relate to definitely less human-looking partners, but that's neither here nor there because most of the time they don't apply.
Still, it's the back and forth, too, what he likes best about spending time with Rocket. Much like Rocket, over the years he's learned to recognize it for what it is, another evidence of their close bond. Because who else can know you better than someone capable of driving you crazy or comforting you after only a few words? That drives him crazy and extends to what they do in bed, or in this case, in the bathroom.
Peter's attuned enough to Rocket's body language, since he can't trust the man's mouth alone sometimes, to tell that his little touches are being very effective. He hadn't planned to do more than help clean up Rocket and tease him for a while, but now that he's going down that route, it seems like a shame not to aim for the finish line. He doesn't care much for his own pleasure now, but he can help give Rocket more good memories involving baths.
"Well, it's about time you finally appreciate me running my mouth." Just like Peter appreciates the looks Rocket is giving him very, very much. "I haven't forgotten about those promises. But given the current situation, I think we will have to improve a new plan of action..."
He presses his body closer to the other man, not minding how he's also getting wet in the process, and presses his cheek to Rocket's as his other hand moves to join the first one under the water. It keeps moving lower, though, palm sliding over Rocket's abs and further down until his fingertips brush over the base of Rocket's cock.
He can't help but melt again, just a little, for the feel of Peter's hands working through his hair. The touch seems wired directly to some warm, soft place deep in his chest, his eyelids drifting shut and a low sigh of satisfaction on his lips as it settles the last few threads of tension, leaving an easy lassitude in its wake. Fuck, he could stay here just like this, nothing but floating warmth and the empty peace those touches bring.
The response doesn't exactly come as a surprise. He snorts, shaking his head. He's never had the context to know for sure what planet or species he originally comes from, and even with his full OrgoCorp file sitting temptingly on the data chip they'd backed the passcode up onto, he's still not sure he wants to know. As far as he's concerned, he did just fine figuring things out without any of it, and he'll be damned if he lets those fuckers tell him a single thing about who he is. Anyway, he already has the key piece of information he needs for this specific purpose, which is that as it turns out, they're pretty straightforwardly biocompatible.
It makes life a hell of a lot easier, but he can't pretend he's not a little curious about what hooking up with someone more exotic would be like. He's figured out enough of what he likes when messing around with someone who's got pretty much the same equipment to feel reasonably confident in his footing with it. He's nothing if not curious to a fault, and it only seems natural that now it's turned out the whole deal is his thing after all, the question of what it's like otherwise occasionally drifts to the forefront of his thoughts.
Maybe somewhere down the line there'll be a chance to satisfy his curiosity about the rest, but for now, he hasn't got any complaints. And it's not like there isn't still plenty to explore right here. He turns his face into the contact, nudging his cheek fondly against Peter's. He gives a low groan of approval as that wandering hand continues on its slow, deliberate path downward, tilting his hips encouragingly into it.
"You better not," he murmurs, low and husky. He sure hasn't forgotten. "I got big expectations. Been keepin' myself warm on some lonely nights thinkin' about you fuckin' me."
After all the stress of the last days, for both of them, it pays off to be a little silly, a whole lot flirty, and to just relax. Truth be told, Peter is calmer when so is Rocket, and he hates seeing his friend in pain, let alone his lover. So this is very good for both of them.
They might not be sure what species Rocket is, but their bodies are similar enough that he knows where to touch the other man to do more good than harm. Peter has some strong suspicions about Rocket's home planet, but he keeps them to himself. His friend doesn't seem to want to even touch the OrgoCorp file, and Peter feels nauseous just thinking of it, so they can both ignore it. Better not to think about it now.
If Rocket is ever curious about what it's like to bed some other kind of alien, Peter can tell him stories about his past fling. What he won't do is encourage Rocket to experiment—because Peter is aware that he's a selfish, and sort of jealous, man who wants Rocket all for himself.
Logically, he has no claim to make over him, and if Rocket wanted to sleep with others, that would be his business, but a) he doesn't think that would be the case, and b) it would be a sure way to leave Peter fuming and broken-hearted.
They don't get to spend time together often, and it sucks that Rocket being beaten up had to be the reason they met, but Peter is trying to make the best of it now. One of his hands is still buried in Rocket's hair, now tugging and playing with it, scratching lightly at the scalp in a calming manner. The other is doing less demure things; the palm slides over Rocket's cock, and callused fingers wrap around it to give it one slow, long squeeze.
He makes a soft, pleased sound when Rocket nudges him back, almost like a purr. Close as they are, Peter only has to then turn his head to be able to lick a messy line up to Rocket's jaw until he meets the tender flesh of his ear.
"Yeah...? God, that's so hot. I've been thinking about you, too, badly. I want to rock your world, babe."
His other hand leaves Rocket's head to run over his body oh-so-slowly. First, the curve of his shoulder, making sure not to brush over any metal part or bad scarring, and then running over his chest and stomach.
"But until you can lie down horizontally without wheezing, how about I offer you a preview of what's to come?"
With another nip at Rocket's ear, Peter starts to stroke him with more intent, checking for the man's reactions.
Every touch, however slight, is a pinprick of pleasure, overwhelming after spending so long in a haze of pain. He tips his head back and moans as his hips twitch up eagerly into Peter's touch, leaning in as best he can with undisguised greed. He's never had any shame about wanting things, happy to steal anything that catches his interest or seems like it might be useful, or spend a few minutes covetously eyeing anything too big or heavily-guarded to make off with; that's no less true now he's decided that what he wants is Peter. And sure, maybe right now Peter's being a little uncooperative about being wanted, out of 'concern for his injuries' or whatever. He'll work on it. He's gotta play the long game a little here, but it shouldn't take too much. He's got a realistic idea about Peter's good judgement and willpower when it comes to having ill-advised sex.
"All you gotta do is say the word and I'm all yours," he murmurs, tilting his head to bare more of his neck to Peter's mouth. Fuck, it's true. It feels so good that he almost forgets, sometimes, just how new this all is in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't seem it. It's been so comfortable, so fucking easy. There was a time not all that long ago when he would have viewed being wanted like this as a threat and reacted accordingly; the thought that any part of him would want to encourage it would have sounded insane. But what it comes down to — what it always does, in the end — is the simple fact that he trusts Peter completely. There's just about no-one else in the universe whose hands he'd be willing to put himself in like this.
He's dimly aware that if they're doing this for real, what they are to each other is supposed to change. He doesn't know what exactly that looks like— it's not like they've talked about it, and some wary part of him doesn't want to ask too many questions in case it breaks whatever weird magic is letting this happen at all. But fuck, it's hard to picture how there could be more. After everything that they've been through, the home they've all made together, Peter means fucking everything to him.
That sharp nip of teeth is a sweeter note of pain than the all-pervading ache he's been living with. He moans again, louder and more heartfelt this time, the rocking of his hips settling into a rhythm with it as Peter strokes him with maddening deliberateness. He lifts his hand and reaches back to wind his fingers into Peter's hair, water cascading down onto Peter's bare shoulder with the motion. His gaze moves with lazy appreciation over the way that it beads on the skin and traces the lines of muscle as it trickles down, greedy to follow the same path with his tongue whenever he next gets the chance. He tightens his grip, tugging lightly on Peter's hair, and pulls him into a deep, hungry kiss. "Fuck, that's good."
When Peter was younger, he didn't develop a reputation for no reason, and the supposed 'pelvic sorcery' that Gamora once accused him of had some foundation of truth. He liked people, and he liked to have a good time in bed, and so he always made sure their partners were enjoying themselves as much as possible. Being different species made that risky at times, but what was life without a little bit of excitement?
Sex had also made him feel less lonely as he desperately sought a connection with someone. Rocket acting so responsive to his attention and touches after Peter has gone so long without a partner who wanted him that much sometimes becomes dizzying for how hungry it makes him in return. So, yes, Rocket makes it very clear when he wants something, and now it's Peter's attention that he seeks; he's more than happy to give it to him, his touch becoming bolder, the dragging of his hands more firm. That's Peter for you; positive reinforcement does wonders for him.
He would love to do more, get into that bathtub with his partner—if they both fit—and take advantage of their time together. But it's exactly because his interest in Rockets goes beyond mutual gratification that he is doing his best not to give in and do something that will leave his friend even more bruised. Peter is more than happy to end up covered in hickeys and scratches and some possessive bruises, too, but that will have to wait another day.
Now he murmurs a 'fuck, Rocket…' against the exposed skin of the man's neck, which is Peter's lingo for 'You keep saying these things that turn me on immensely, and it's hard to stay in control'. Since he doesn't immediately trust his brain-to-mouth filter, he doesn't say anything out loud, instead latching his lips on the side of Rocket's exposed throat and sucking. It's only once he's dragged out some more broken moans out of his best friend that he relents enough to murmur;
"I know." Peter doesn't sound smug about it; it sounds like he trusts what Rocket's said as a fact. It's nice that the other man has gotten to this point with him, that they can be honest and vulnerable with each other. It has taken them a lot. "Which is why you are so damn tempting, you asshole."
Too tempting, in fact, and it's going to eventually erode Peter's determination, which is why he's cursing out Rocket. It's also why he's going to let his hand speed up, taking advantage of how the water makes his fist slide smoothly over Rocket's cock. Peter almost wants to babble and wax poetic about how good the man's dick feels in his hand, how firm and thick and perfect it is, but his mouth is busy. The other greedy hand is also pressing down on Rocket's chest, tracing patterns on his skin and circling one of his nipples before flicking it.
He likes the banter; it's something they always had going on, and Peter can use it to mask some of the things he would like to say that would be either too sappy or veering too much into confessing his feelings. He doesn't want to scare away Rocket even if practically everything he says to him is filled with badly hidden affection.
Oh, ohh, playing with his hair and tugging at it is not fair play! Peter can't voice that complaint, busy moaning at the tug to his curls and pressing his mouth to Rocket for that hungry kiss. Okay, he might be getting a little bit sidetracked, his own cock now jumping to attention and getting half hard. Damn it, Rocket.
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He's not going to say any of that of course. What he does instead is reach back without looking with his good hand to lazily swat whichever part of Peter falls most easily within reach. Feels like a shoulder maybe. "Quit talkin' shit about my crew," he says; matter of fact, eyes still closed. "Talkin' shit about you assholes is my job."
If he really wanted to make a point of it, he could probably say a thing or two about the hypocrisy of Peter talking down his own merits as a bedmate while going out of his way to wash his fucking hair, touch impossibly gentle over the cuts and bruises along his hairline. Stringing a sentence together is starting to feel like a little too much effort to be worth it though, not when the warmth of the bath and the fingers carding through his hair are making it far too tempting just to let his brain shut off and drift.
"Don't worry about it." It sure is concrete, but given the argument they only just got done having, volunteering more information about what actually happened doesn't seem like it's going to lead to anything good. He's alive and he'll heal. The rest is all just...details.
A soft breath of a sigh falls from his lips as those fingers work over his skin, drawing out the last few threads of tension the hot water hadn't quite managed. It feels good to be warm and clean again, but more than that, it stirs something soft behind his breastbone that he doesn't really know what to do with to be able to just relax and put himself in Peter's hands. Even weak and hurting, he's safe here. It's not as alien a thought as it would once have been, but it still feels new. Something rare enough that it can't be taken for granted. "S'nice," he mumbles, turning his face to nuzzle unselfconsciously into Peter's touch.
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He slows himself to smile, touched, since he's behind Rocket, and the man can't see it. Rocket reaching out and pressing a wet hand to the curve of his neck and shoulder, effectively getting Peter's collar all wet and soapy, making the moment a little bit less rom-com worthy. It's still good; Peter can't even be mad.
"And you're a star employee after so many years of practice." Peter's voice holds no grudge; in fact, he sounds amused still and runs his hands through Rocket's hair again. Fingers move lightly in his hair and stretch over Rocket's scalp. This had turned less into 'Gonna get you cleaned up finally' and more 'Let's see if I can make you melt with a sneaky massage' kind of deal.
He does his best to actually do that and not worry about the concrete, but he can't help but imagine it. One could already tell by looking at Rocket's black and blue body, but this only reminds him that it really must have been a nasty fight. Instead of letting both of their minds wander there again, Peter's fingers slide down, focusing on massaging the particular point of pressure where the nape meets the back. It's always so easy to get stiff and sore there; Peter has gotten back pains like those simply by being too tense when flying a spaceship.
"Yeah?" Only a word, but Peter's tone says so much. He's clearly proud and back to grinning and smiling after hearing that soft sigh leaving Rocket's lips. "Magic hands, yo. You should know by now."
Playful teasing aside, Peter wanted to do something to make Rocket feel more at ease, to take some of his pain away if possible. Bath can't cure everything, but it's a step forward, and maybe it will help him to get a better sleep as well. Peter misses curling up in bed with him, not necessarily naked or doing anything that leaves them dirty again; he just misses waking up with Rocket by his side. He didn't want to risk rolling on top of Rocket or clinging to him in his sleep and accidentally making the injuries worse. Peter can be like a needy octopus when he wants to cuddle, and he's always warm.
"There's no rush, so we can stay here until you get all wrinkly like my grandpa."
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There's probably some smart-ass comment he could shoot back about those magic fingers, but damned if he has the spare brainpower to come up with something right now. The sigh trails off into a moan as they dig into the tight muscle across his shoulders, hunting down the knots and aches. It hurts a little — fuck, what else is new, breathing hurts — but it feels so fucking good. He hadn't fully realized just how much everything had stiffened up until suddenly he had strong hands working the tension back out again.
Makes him think a little about having those hands elsewhere. He's in absolutely no shape to do anything about the thought, but it's still a pleasant stirring of warmth, feeding a slow-burning anticipation of the fun they're gonna have once he's healed up some. They both made some threats and promises, back when it was dirty comm calls or nothing, and he's looking forward to when the bruises have faded enough for him to convince Peter to follow through.
...that comparison's certainly a splash of ice water across the whole thing though. His nose wrinkles. "If that's your kink, I'm out," he replies, mostly joking. The sex has been good enough that he'd probably put up with a lot of weird, but that's definitely too much weird.
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It was all going so well; Rocket truly looked like he was actually relaxing and letting go of his worries for a moment there. Of course, it doesn't last.
"What...?" Peter's hands still, and he sounds baffled for a long second. "Dude, ew, no! I was only saying you can stay in the bathtub as long as you want. The massage starts again, with Peter shaking his head as if physically trying to get rid of the mental image. They can both agree on not involving his family in their sex life in any capacity. God lord."How did your mind even go there?"
Maybe being naked and having Peter's hand on him has something to do with that; on second thought, he can't blame Rocket too much. He would love nothing more than to mess around with the other man, literally, kiss his bruises better, but the truth is that he's worried he would make the injuries worse if they tried anything too athletic. He will have to be more creative.
"As for my kinks, pretty sure you're already acquainted with all of them." One of his hands slides down from Rocket's nape to the curve of his shoulder, the uninjured one, and then slides over his chest, fingers teasing. "Did you get any new ones while you were away that I should know about?"
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"All of 'em? Thought you had more up your sleeve than that." He stretches languidly, arching into the warm weight of Peter's hands on him; there's another faint stab of pain for it, as there is for just about everything at the moment, but not enough to dampen the answering flicker of heat low in his belly. With his injured side turned away from Peter and the bubbles hiding some of the damage, he's got a better chance of getting away with shooting for sexy. He hadn't seriously thought he had a chance at angling for more, but if it looks like there might be an opening, hell yeah he's gonna go for it.
He doesn't know if he has any new kinks so much as a weird shift of perspective where after ten fucking years of knowing each other, things he's never thought twice about before are suddenly hot. Out of nowhere it's far too easy to get distracted by Peter's hands, his mouth, the way the muscles shift under his skin when he moves. Something about it's hooked straight into instinct now; inextricably linked to warm, hazy memories of those hands on his skin, that mouth against his.
"Maybe I got a new appreciation for you talkin' dirty to me," he replies, giving Peter a lazy grin. Those comm calls hadn't been much — definitely no substitute for the real thing — but they'd had their upsides. And it's so much better now having Peter's voice low and rough in his ear when they're close enough to touch, close enough to feel the breath the words rode on stir his hair. Teasing's going to be much more rewarding now he gets to be here when it's finally too much to take. "There was a whole lotta big talk about what you were gonna do next time..."
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He cups some water in the palm of his free hand to gently rinse out the lingering soap on Rocket's hair, then skilled fingers keep massaging the now softer tresses. Any excuse to play with Rocket's hair is one Peter will take advantage of because they don't get enough of those kinds of simple pleasures in life, small moments of kindness when the universe isn't trying to fuck them over.
"All the kinks applicable to creatures with only four limbs; that's it." He admits. Peter has a long set of other ones that relate to definitely less human-looking partners, but that's neither here nor there because most of the time they don't apply.
Still, it's the back and forth, too, what he likes best about spending time with Rocket. Much like Rocket, over the years he's learned to recognize it for what it is, another evidence of their close bond. Because who else can know you better than someone capable of driving you crazy or comforting you after only a few words? That drives him crazy and extends to what they do in bed, or in this case, in the bathroom.
Peter's attuned enough to Rocket's body language, since he can't trust the man's mouth alone sometimes, to tell that his little touches are being very effective. He hadn't planned to do more than help clean up Rocket and tease him for a while, but now that he's going down that route, it seems like a shame not to aim for the finish line. He doesn't care much for his own pleasure now, but he can help give Rocket more good memories involving baths.
"Well, it's about time you finally appreciate me running my mouth." Just like Peter appreciates the looks Rocket is giving him very, very much. "I haven't forgotten about those promises. But given the current situation, I think we will have to improve a new plan of action..."
He presses his body closer to the other man, not minding how he's also getting wet in the process, and presses his cheek to Rocket's as his other hand moves to join the first one under the water. It keeps moving lower, though, palm sliding over Rocket's abs and further down until his fingertips brush over the base of Rocket's cock.
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The response doesn't exactly come as a surprise. He snorts, shaking his head. He's never had the context to know for sure what planet or species he originally comes from, and even with his full OrgoCorp file sitting temptingly on the data chip they'd backed the passcode up onto, he's still not sure he wants to know. As far as he's concerned, he did just fine figuring things out without any of it, and he'll be damned if he lets those fuckers tell him a single thing about who he is. Anyway, he already has the key piece of information he needs for this specific purpose, which is that as it turns out, they're pretty straightforwardly biocompatible.
It makes life a hell of a lot easier, but he can't pretend he's not a little curious about what hooking up with someone more exotic would be like. He's figured out enough of what he likes when messing around with someone who's got pretty much the same equipment to feel reasonably confident in his footing with it. He's nothing if not curious to a fault, and it only seems natural that now it's turned out the whole deal is his thing after all, the question of what it's like otherwise occasionally drifts to the forefront of his thoughts.
Maybe somewhere down the line there'll be a chance to satisfy his curiosity about the rest, but for now, he hasn't got any complaints. And it's not like there isn't still plenty to explore right here. He turns his face into the contact, nudging his cheek fondly against Peter's. He gives a low groan of approval as that wandering hand continues on its slow, deliberate path downward, tilting his hips encouragingly into it.
"You better not," he murmurs, low and husky. He sure hasn't forgotten. "I got big expectations. Been keepin' myself warm on some lonely nights thinkin' about you fuckin' me."
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They might not be sure what species Rocket is, but their bodies are similar enough that he knows where to touch the other man to do more good than harm. Peter has some strong suspicions about Rocket's home planet, but he keeps them to himself. His friend doesn't seem to want to even touch the OrgoCorp file, and Peter feels nauseous just thinking of it, so they can both ignore it. Better not to think about it now.
If Rocket is ever curious about what it's like to bed some other kind of alien, Peter can tell him stories about his past fling. What he won't do is encourage Rocket to experiment—because Peter is aware that he's a selfish, and sort of jealous, man who wants Rocket all for himself.
Logically, he has no claim to make over him, and if Rocket wanted to sleep with others, that would be his business, but a) he doesn't think that would be the case, and b) it would be a sure way to leave Peter fuming and broken-hearted.
They don't get to spend time together often, and it sucks that Rocket being beaten up had to be the reason they met, but Peter is trying to make the best of it now. One of his hands is still buried in Rocket's hair, now tugging and playing with it, scratching lightly at the scalp in a calming manner. The other is doing less demure things; the palm slides over Rocket's cock, and callused fingers wrap around it to give it one slow, long squeeze.
He makes a soft, pleased sound when Rocket nudges him back, almost like a purr. Close as they are, Peter only has to then turn his head to be able to lick a messy line up to Rocket's jaw until he meets the tender flesh of his ear.
"Yeah...? God, that's so hot. I've been thinking about you, too, badly. I want to rock your world, babe."
His other hand leaves Rocket's head to run over his body oh-so-slowly. First, the curve of his shoulder, making sure not to brush over any metal part or bad scarring, and then running over his chest and stomach.
"But until you can lie down horizontally without wheezing, how about I offer you a preview of what's to come?"
With another nip at Rocket's ear, Peter starts to stroke him with more intent, checking for the man's reactions.
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"All you gotta do is say the word and I'm all yours," he murmurs, tilting his head to bare more of his neck to Peter's mouth. Fuck, it's true. It feels so good that he almost forgets, sometimes, just how new this all is in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't seem it. It's been so comfortable, so fucking easy. There was a time not all that long ago when he would have viewed being wanted like this as a threat and reacted accordingly; the thought that any part of him would want to encourage it would have sounded insane. But what it comes down to — what it always does, in the end — is the simple fact that he trusts Peter completely. There's just about no-one else in the universe whose hands he'd be willing to put himself in like this.
He's dimly aware that if they're doing this for real, what they are to each other is supposed to change. He doesn't know what exactly that looks like— it's not like they've talked about it, and some wary part of him doesn't want to ask too many questions in case it breaks whatever weird magic is letting this happen at all. But fuck, it's hard to picture how there could be more. After everything that they've been through, the home they've all made together, Peter means fucking everything to him.
That sharp nip of teeth is a sweeter note of pain than the all-pervading ache he's been living with. He moans again, louder and more heartfelt this time, the rocking of his hips settling into a rhythm with it as Peter strokes him with maddening deliberateness. He lifts his hand and reaches back to wind his fingers into Peter's hair, water cascading down onto Peter's bare shoulder with the motion. His gaze moves with lazy appreciation over the way that it beads on the skin and traces the lines of muscle as it trickles down, greedy to follow the same path with his tongue whenever he next gets the chance. He tightens his grip, tugging lightly on Peter's hair, and pulls him into a deep, hungry kiss. "Fuck, that's good."
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Sex had also made him feel less lonely as he desperately sought a connection with someone. Rocket acting so responsive to his attention and touches after Peter has gone so long without a partner who wanted him that much sometimes becomes dizzying for how hungry it makes him in return. So, yes, Rocket makes it very clear when he wants something, and now it's Peter's attention that he seeks; he's more than happy to give it to him, his touch becoming bolder, the dragging of his hands more firm. That's Peter for you; positive reinforcement does wonders for him.
He would love to do more, get into that bathtub with his partner—if they both fit—and take advantage of their time together. But it's exactly because his interest in Rockets goes beyond mutual gratification that he is doing his best not to give in and do something that will leave his friend even more bruised. Peter is more than happy to end up covered in hickeys and scratches and some possessive bruises, too, but that will have to wait another day.
Now he murmurs a 'fuck, Rocket…' against the exposed skin of the man's neck, which is Peter's lingo for 'You keep saying these things that turn me on immensely, and it's hard to stay in control'. Since he doesn't immediately trust his brain-to-mouth filter, he doesn't say anything out loud, instead latching his lips on the side of Rocket's exposed throat and sucking. It's only once he's dragged out some more broken moans out of his best friend that he relents enough to murmur;
"I know." Peter doesn't sound smug about it; it sounds like he trusts what Rocket's said as a fact. It's nice that the other man has gotten to this point with him, that they can be honest and vulnerable with each other. It has taken them a lot. "Which is why you are so damn tempting, you asshole."
Too tempting, in fact, and it's going to eventually erode Peter's determination, which is why he's cursing out Rocket. It's also why he's going to let his hand speed up, taking advantage of how the water makes his fist slide smoothly over Rocket's cock. Peter almost wants to babble and wax poetic about how good the man's dick feels in his hand, how firm and thick and perfect it is, but his mouth is busy. The other greedy hand is also pressing down on Rocket's chest, tracing patterns on his skin and circling one of his nipples before flicking it.
He likes the banter; it's something they always had going on, and Peter can use it to mask some of the things he would like to say that would be either too sappy or veering too much into confessing his feelings. He doesn't want to scare away Rocket even if practically everything he says to him is filled with badly hidden affection.
Oh, ohh, playing with his hair and tugging at it is not fair play! Peter can't voice that complaint, busy moaning at the tug to his curls and pressing his mouth to Rocket for that hungry kiss. Okay, he might be getting a little bit sidetracked, his own cock now jumping to attention and getting half hard. Damn it, Rocket.