"FUCK!" The curse broke through the eerie silence aboard the Milano, echoing out from the bathroom. Hot water cascaded down in a fall, steaming the entire bathroom on contact with the stainless floor of the shower. Rocket was trying to reach that spot around his implants on his back but his arms just didn't reach, even with the added distance that the scrubber allowed.
He pitched the useless thing into the wall and let it fall with a clatter, putting his head into his hands with a quiet groan. He hated to admit it, but he needed help. The sort of help that Groot used to give him but now the dumb sap had gotten himself blown to bits, he was downright useless in that pot down in the meeting room. Why did the stupid fucker have to go and do something as dumb as that? It was a question that constantly burned underneath the other ones in the back of the raccoon's mind, most of them related to the same incident of his past.
He only bothered with drying himself enough that his underwear wouldn't stick to his fur before he pushed the bathroom door open, grunting as he collided with a large trunk of green that obscured his vision. He didn't even need to look up along the red line that wrapped around that mast of leg to know who it belonged to.
"Get outta m' krutackin' way, Drax. 'm not in the mood to deal with yer stupid ass." He made a motion to push past, stopped by a hand on top of his head that didn't exactly stop him from leaving, but certainly discouraged it.
"What is the matter, friend Rocket? You were quite loud in your displeasure for whatever was wrong." Such an eloquent way for the large man to say 'I heard something and got worried.' but the light care in the man's voice was enough to make Rocket to pause in place with a furrowed brow.
"Th' krag d' ya care about that for? Just some personal problems with th' shower is all. Can I go now?" The procyon kept his gaze resolutely forward, not wanting to dignify the green giant with even a glance towards his face. This was stupid, it was just him being loud and foul-mouthed as usual. What made THIS instance so different?
Instead of a response, Rocket was met with silence. A tension hung across the moment, stretching it out until the procyon was practically fidgeting under what he was sure was Drax's 'you're lying to me and I don't like it' face. It made him feel every single sin that he'd ever committed all at once and he didn't even know which one Drax might've been focusing on.
He couldn't take it anymore, he pushed the hand off of his head and looked up towards Drax's smug green face to find that it wasn't quite so smug. It was concerned, the brow knit with worry and a gentle ease behind his eyes. Rocket sighed aloud before he finally muttered out. "Can't reach m' back in th' damn shower."
Drax nodded, a stoic expression on his face though Rocket swore he saw some bit of mirth dancing in his irises. "I take that it was Groot who assisted you in the showers most of the time?" Rocket didn't need to nod the affirmation before the muscled man continued on. "Perhaps it might be best if you had someone to help you in the showers?"
"What, like you, jolly green? Notta chance on y' life." Rocket practically spat the words out with more venom than he'd intended but now it was out there, hanging between them like a noxious cloud that made the raccoon want to choke on his own spittle right then and there to let his death be a distraction.
"It was merely a suggestion." The words felt like ice on the raccoon's ears. "If you do not need the help, then I shall let you take care of yourself." And with that, Drax pushed into the bathroom to leave Rocket standing there in the hallway.
As soon as Drax was out of sight, the raccoon gripped at his face, pulling down on the fur of his cheeks as he let out a low, simpering groan. He kicked angrily at the wall, only getting pain lancing up the augmented limb and making him bite down a whine of pain. "Krag my fuggin' life! Swear there's somethin' out there laughin' at me!" He hissed to the open air, storming down the hallway with no real goal in mind, save to be around something comforting.
"I am Groot?" Came the small voice from the wooden creature on top of the table.
"What? No, no. 'm fine ya lug. Just you focus on getting better." Rocket pushed his stepstool over towards the meeting/breakfast table. He poured a small cup of water and brought it up onto the table with him, easing the liquid into Groot's pot and watching the dried dirt moisten.
Groot gave an exaggerated rub of his stomach area, an expression that he'd obviously learned after watching Quill down an entire pizza for himself, letting out a happy 'I am Groot!' at the refreshment hitting the network of xylem vessels and breathing new life into him.
"Heh, glad ya like the water here at least. 's got some good minerals an' junk in it. You been eatin' all yer plant food, right?" Rocket allowed himself a brief sort of smile that he reserved solely for Groot, enjoying the sight of the guy growing up healthy again.
"I am Groot."
"What?! No, I'm not hiding anything from ya! Come on, after all these years, you'd think that you'd trust me a bit more or somethin'." He put on his best offended face to add to the illusion, but he knew it wouldn't be fooling Groot.
"I. Am. Groot."
"Yes! I'm mad at the big lug for darin' to say that I might need someone besides your help in the damn shower! It's uncomfortable is what it is. I mean, I only started tolerating you because you literally have no junk to worry about accidentally getting a faceful of! That an' the implants were itchin' without proper care."
"I am Groot."
"What, make him wear his clothes in th' shower? Or wear mine? Tha's unsanitary is what it is! No need for it an' there's certainly no need for him t'-"
"I am Groot." The miniature Groot folded his arms stoically, affixing Rocket with a look that the raccoon hated: disappointment.
"Fine! I know I'm just makin' excuses but I didn't need t' hear it like that. Honestly, insultin' my pride on top of tellin' me I'm just bein' a stubborn jackass." Rocket pursed his lips a little. He wanted to throw something, but the only things that would get him was a little winded and still leave him angry at the end of it. Just with something broken on top of it.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his snout between two fingers. Like this he could feel the broken bones that the scientists who'd put him together had left as a reminder of what was necessary for him to speak. It still hurt sometimes and it definitely wasn't pleasant when he got sick, getting stuffed up enough that he sounded like he was underwater.
It wasn't much distance between the galley and the bathroom, so it didn't give Rocket nearly enough time to think of what he was going to say when he knocked on the door. He rapped loudly on the metal door, waiting for a few moments before speaking to what he hoped was Drax behind the door.
"Drax. I gotta say I was bein' a right jackass an' maybe I'm willin' t' listen to your plan about how we can not make me stink up the joint until such time as Groot is fully restored." Blunt, simple and with just that edge of humility needed in a proper apology. By the raccoon's account, that was the perfect sort of apology and it needed nothing else.
It was a few moments before the door opened, Drax once again looking down on the procyon with what looked like a smile curling the edge of his lips. "Your apology is accepted. Perhaps now we should discuss terms, as I assume that is what your idea of this 'deal' we are making needs."
Rocket nodded, drawing himself up to his full height before he started rattling it off. "First, since we can't really jus' wear clothes in the shower, we just make sure we don't look at one another's junk. Y' look your way, an' I look mine. You help me clean my back aroun' the implants and that's it." He swallowed a bit. "And I swear if you tell anyone b'sides Groot, I will flay you in your sleep and leave you on some sun-scorched wasteland until you cook. Unnerstand?"
"Your terms are agreed and accepted. Now, let us get you in the shower. It does you no good to leave the area around your cybernetics untreated." Which was the truth, there were all sorts of nightmarish things that Rocket had heard about improper care. Especially from the scientists who'd 'created' him, up until he'd snapped and slaughtered them all to leave the laboratory a scorched and ruined heap, never to be spoken of again.
Rocket stripped out of the underwear as soon as he the door was closed behind them, the procyon using his bushy tail to cover his frontal bits as he walked forward. The water came on again after Drax's large feet stumped over to the shower, leaving them both standing in an awkward silence as water poured over every inch of their nude forms. They stayed there like that for what seemed like an eternity, Rocket keeping his arms folded over his chest and his eyes forward.
It was coming, but he still hissed instinctively when the strong, calloused hands met his back. The hands were surprisingly gentle as they nearly caressed his flesh and worked a bar of soap into lather, spreading the foaming bubbles across the procyon's fur. The contact with the implants was brief, but it still made him cringe and nearly fold in on himself.
"They must be sensitive, being so exposed like this." Drax said simply, moving his hands subtly away from the scarred tissue but it still made Rocket grateful for the gesture. "The ones who... who put you together certainly did no favors for your natural anatomy."
"Nah, they sure as hell didn't. Jammed shit int' my hands, my feet, my back... I think I might have some plates in my head, what makes me so stubborn." The joke fell flat in the air, Rocket's voice ringing hollow even as he said it. He felt no joy about his conditions, even if he appreciated the use of the myriad metal under his skin and what it did for his overall capabilities.
"Your story is indeed a sad one, my friend. Everyone aboard this vessel lost something before we joined this group." The hands moved away, letting Rocket rinse his back free of the soapy residue. Already he felt better, a pleased sigh working out of the mammal's lips. Before he could make a move to get out, twin hands held firm to his shoulders.
Rocket visibly bristled up until the hands started to work along his shoulders, easing knots out of the muscle that the raccoon had never noticed building up. Every motion of thick, calloused thumbs worked a weak groan out of him and some small bit of tension. The mammal's eyes instinctually lidded themselves, a small hum working out of his throat as he pressed back easily into the powerful hands. Who knew that such strong, murderous hands could also be so... magical?
The hands worked from his shoulders to his arms, squeezing and gripping around the comparitively thin arms. Lactic acid was so painfully easy to build up for the raccoon, it still surprised him just what a little work could do. Biceps reduced into jelly, the hands went further up, taking hold of Rocket's hands and pressing into the metal-infused digits. There was the worst of it, the mammal groaned under the expert care at which they worked those digits to an easy looseness.
He flexed his fingers against the working hands, rewarded with a matching squeeze from the emerald mitts of the gentle giant. His breathing slowed down as let himself get guided in different positions with those warm hands working along his furred body, made all the better by the hot water rushing over them. It let Rocket do the unthinkable: He relaxed.
"That is much better, you were so tense. It is no wonder that you are snapping at the team so often." The voice was soft, practically crooned into the mammal's sensitive ear.
"How'd y' get such fuckin' magic fingers, big green?" Rocket muttered aloud, his voice sounding dim to his own ears as if from far away. Like he was looking down on the situation from a distance, he swore he could feel the presence of the man behind him and he just sighed in blissful pleasure.
"Studying anatomy, I learned many things. I learned how to kill as easily as I learned how to bring comfort. There may have even been a brief time I considered becoming a medicinal professional, but that is in the past." Drax stated firmly, thumbs working into Rocket's palms as he spoke. "But that as all gone when-"
"When your wife and child were slain by Thanos. Sorry for cutting across it like that, but that's about what it was, wasn't it?" He didn't need to hear or see the nod to know that Drax was doing just that. "Look, I'm gonna level... why not move on from 'em? Drop the whole revenge thing entirely?"
"Because unlike the ones who crafted you in their twisted image, my enemy still draws breath. I will kill the mad god and he will know to fear my name before then." The voice growled from behind Rocket and he knew he'd stepped over the line. Even the pressure on his palms was vaguely uncomfortable now.
It was quiet, just the sound of the running water to keep them company. They'd both lost track of the time, the water didn't nearly seem so warm as before. Certainly not as inviting. Rocket's eyes fixated on a point on the shower wall, trying to bring a single speck of dirt into focus than talk at the moment.
To Drax's credit, he kept up the massage going despite the rather uncomfortable topic that had come between the pair of them. At least the steam was helping Rocket's sinuses out a little bit, clearing out some of the stuffiness that he felt at all times.
Drax's fingers slowly worked back up from the palms, sliding along wrists and up to shoulders before easing around them. The palms squeezed rhythmically, driving the thumbs against the corded muscle to drive it into a looser state. It practically made the mammal butter in Drax's hands, his tail tip even fidgeting a little bit away from his groin. And then the man spoke aloud.
"...Rocket." Drax spoke, his voice like a rumble of thunder. "You are... aroused." There was a chuckle somewhere in there, as if it found the situation amusing. Drax probably did, but the first thing Rocket felt was an ice cold pit forming in the center of his stomach as he looked down at the pink thing standing against his stomach fur.
"FUCK!" Rocket screamed out suddenly, clutching at his privates as he bolted from underneath the running water. He didn't even bother with his clothing, grabbing a towel on the way out and streaking down the hall to his private quarters. Inside, he locked the door and disabled the outside communicator. He wanted nothing more than to shrink into oblivion, to disappear into some small hole and never come back out.
But first he had a problem to take care of.