Alright, you guys. Here I am again practicing my Peter and Gamora voices. Hopefully it kinda seems like something that would happen between them? I'm thinking it seems plausible, at best.
There was something tranquil about just kicking back, feet up on the edge of the control panel, and staring through the clear glass at the surrounding galaxy. The sky itself was a stark black, the darkness making the vivid colors all that more lively. Tiny stars reflected against the colors, brighter than usual, as they twinkled. Outlines of planets were visible, their colors ranging on the color spectrum.
It was relatively quiet, for the most part at least. Soft hums buzzed from the controls beneath his boots, and the sound of his Walkman playing made his head bob to the beat. His body, more of its own accord, starts to move until he finds himself on his feet. Being dramatic proved to be one of the guardians' strong points, hence why he's currently dancing around his chair before halting to point towards the glass, one hand shot out to his side while the other rests on his abdomen to do a hip thrust.
"Hey, Quill! Ya' gotta see what Drax did, s'freakin—What in the hell?" As if this wasn't a common occurrence. "Someone's high on life," snickers the furry ex-con as he instead opts to walk out of the cockpit and leave the dork to himself.
Dancing had always been a thing for the man, ever since he was little. Something about arm waves and body rolls and the epic moves of Footloose had stuck with him that decade or so ago when he was captured. If anything, he was feeling like Kevin Bacon—taking advantage of the stars and letting them be his makeshift spotlight.
After the next two songs played, he found himself sweating in the enclosure of the cockpit. He placed a hand on the back of his chair and took a deep, soothing breath and glanced toward the door which was slightly ajar. "Well, shit." Peter murmurs to himself, pondering which of the team would hold this over him in the future.
Beads of perspiration trickled down his curls locks and cascaded down his cheek, using the back of his hand to sweep the droplet away. Deciding that the coordinates were already locked in and considering the ship was on autopilot, he decides that he probably needs a shower to freshen up. He finds himself walking to his bunk, taking off his Walkman and placing securely in the spot he always put it, and retrieving his towel and body wash he'd snagged from a planet they had previously been to—yeah, no, it was best not to bring that up.
A yawn escapes his lips as he strolls towards one of the two showers upon the Milano, walking in only to be bewildered by the sight. "Aw, c'mon, Rocket. Not cool, man." He mumbles with a soft groan as he inspects the enclosure for any sign of the shower-head or one of the missing dials. "Little, furry son-of-a-bitch."
So, he finds himself walking into the other bathroom. To his relief, it's unoccupied, at least it had appeared so until he was close enough for the door to slide upon. When he took a single step in, the door closing tightly behind him, he finds himself wide-eyed and slightly aroused by the sight before him.
Green. Numerous shades of green. His blond head tilts to the side as he admires her strong yet smooth-looking shoulders, how her back was lean and feline-like, but he was mainly looking at the soft curves of her ass. When she straightens her posture from bending down, she shifts on her heel to walk towards the mirror when she sees him.
She hisses at the sight of him staring at her exposed body, his silence more than appalling considering he had always had something to say. "Peter," she growled as she reaches for the towel that she had placed upon the closed toilet seat, wrapping it securely around her form. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" She queries as she glares at the man before her.
"Uh, I mean—I was gonna take a shower but apparently Rocket stole the dial and shower-head from the other bathroom, probably for another bomb or something like that.." He silently cursed that stupid towel for being conveniently placed beside her. He had caught the briefest of glimpses of her smooth body, and, okay so she's glaring at him. "Hey, hey. To be fair: the door opened right on up and it said nobody was in here, so ya' can't really blame me." Peter shifts uncomfortable, feeling his arousal swell against his thigh as he watches the drops of water trail from between her slightly parted lips, down her neck, and downwards until it disappears beneath the towel, presumably between her breasts.
"I am going to kill you," she states as she throws the knife towards the male who looks more than frightened as the knife jams into the door, beside his head. "Would you care to explain how, when you saw it was occupied by me, you still continued to stand there and gawk at me like some-some pathetic, hormonal teenage boy."
Pale pinks had parted ever so slightly to retort the first comeback that had popped into his ever errant mind before his mouth clamps shut. Jeez, if he would have said 'ask my penis,' there's no telling how she would have responded.
Don't let that crispy, white towel fool you. Regardless of what the assassin was wearing, she was dangerous nonetheless. Though he can't help but to snort as he watches her grasp a bar of soap within her emerald clutches, fingers sinking into the slippery wax.
"Are you laughing, Peter Quill? This is no laughing matter." Her lips settle into a straight line and her eyes are narrowed further, mentally contemplating the variety of ways she could murder the man with that tiny piece of soap in her clutches.
He raises a defensive hand but snickers aloud, though his countenance twitches as he attempts to be serious. He sees her poise the bar as if she's about to chuck it at him, huffing at his lack of his response. "Okay, okay. Chill out, take a chill pill. S'just—you don't look as scary in just a towel with a bar of soap in your hand.. Which is weird because you could probably kill me in thirty.. Thirty-two ways. maybe?"
"Thirty-four, actually." She corrects promptly, though her mood doesn't lighten up at all, despite the tiny smile that quirks at the corners of her lips. "And I will most definitely not take a 'chill pill,' or whatever your peculiar Terran medication is."
He leans casually against the sink then with a thoughtful expression on his face, "Not to correct you or anything because m'more than sure you're probably gonna find a way to disembowel me with that scented soap of yours, but that was actually just a metaphor." He finds his face scrunching up in fear of what was going to occur seconds later only to hear an audible 'clunk!'
When he opens his eyes, he finds that her hands were covered in the slippery substance and that the soap had slipped from her death-grip and was currently sliding along the surprisingly clean tile of the bathroom floor. For several heartbeats, he remained completely silent as she stalked closer towards him until she was face-to-face with him. Or, well, close enough. He was only slightly taller, to the point where she had to tilt her chin up to stare him directly in the eyes.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Dark eyes assessed the latter's lighter ones for a considerate minute, noticing the amusement gleaming within them, before she raised her hand to deliver a firm smack to his cheek. He hisses at the pain and curses loudly as he grips his cheek with his hand, rubbing at it as if that would somehow relieve the stinging pain there.
"Aw, c'mon. S'not like I meant to come in here while you were bent over and—" She grabs the lobe of his ear, applying pressure to it, while she stares at her with her head tilting as if saying 'an apology is in order.' He huffs a bit, rolling his eyes, as he attempts to work up enough pride to actually utter the words. "Okay, okay. Jesus, woman." He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales through the mouth, "I'm not exactly sorry for walkin' in on you, even though it was definitely on accident—" He adds, raising his tanned hands defensively before him. "But I am sorry for, uh, 'gawking' at you in all of your green-skinned, assassin glory even though I wouldn't mind 'accidentally' doing it again."
Looking somewhat satisfied by his apology, she releases his ear and instead offers him one of her small, rare smiles. "That is all I wanted to hear, Quill, even though you are still a complete ass." She shoves him away from the counter so she can wash the remnants of the soap off of her hands, glancing over her shoulder at him as he continues to stare down at her with his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairlines.
Offense overcame the man as he stares at the woman, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Ya' don't mean that, do you? S'not like I'm a complete ass.. At least not all the time." He watches as her eyes shift to the mirror, staring back at him with an unreadable expression present within her intense gaze. "It's not like you don't like it, am I right? S'all apart of the Star-Lord charm."
An amused hum echoes from the emerald-skinned assassin at his words, finding herself laughing wholeheartedly. "Was that supposed to be one of your jokes, Quill? That one was rather.. Funny." She speaks, placing her freshly-washed and dried hand over her lips, veiling her ivory teeth as she straightens to face him directly.
"You know it's true, sweet-cheeks." He states with a confident smirk as he places his hands upon her hips, his thumbs brushing against the material of the cotton towel. "You like me better when I'm a complete asshole, ya' can't lie to me." He states, the two finally exhausting their little argument.
"But you know how I feel about.. That.." Her voice is suddenly soft and un-like her, a tone she only takes on when she was alone with Peter. It was evident she wasn't referring to him being an asshole, because she was sure everyone had pieced that out.
"Swear it was an accident, I respect your boundaries.. And that's saying somethin' coming from me." Yes, because the great Star-Lord was known for carelessly crossing boundaries with a wide array of women. "I get it, Gamora. You don't want me seeing you au naturale until you're 'ready to cross into that territory' with me. I get it, though you really gotta stop smacking me like that."
They had, after all, starting dating almost four months after the battle against Ronan. But Gamora was an interesting specimen, he had known that the day he had first met her. She had gotten comfortable being around the team, but not comfortable enough to fully open up to any of them, except Peter. Somewhere beneath his childlike behavior was a man who understood her and her fears of intimacy and expressing herself, as well as her very own emotions. Coming to terms with the fact that she had felt even the slightest of flutters for the Star-Lord had seemed like forever, especially since he had dropped hints and flirted with her numerous times before she finally decided to speak on it.
"You like it when I hit you, don't lie." She breathes softly as she hesitantly glides the back of her hand along the reddened cheek of the man before her, "plus it's the only way you listen and understand.." Her wrist twists slightly as she cups his cheek with the palm of her hand, brushing her thumb along the sensitive skin there. "Maybe if you would refrain from watching me and treating me like I am made of porcelain, I would not have to remind you that I am not."
Deciding that he was quite tired of the assassin scolding him, he does something about it. His large hands find their way to her smooth, emerald cheeks and his lips find their way to her slightly-parted ones. Their lips crash, soft and tender at first, but still fueled with passion nonetheless. His head tilts slightly as he allows himself to revel in the feel of her warm lips moving timidly against his own, kissing her leisurely as if they had all of the time in the galaxy to get the moment right.
He reaches absently for her hands and places them upon the back of his head, her nimble fingers gripping at the silky curls at the base of his neck and offering a soft tug. He groans into the kiss and presses against the thin cotton of the towel separating their bodies, allowing his teeth to nibble and suck at her bottom lip. His hands rest upon her hips then, rubbing his thumbs into the plush material beneath his fingertips. He shifts slightly against her as he presses her into the edge of the counter, finding himself more eager for the lavish kisses she's providing him.
Her tongue gently glides along his bottom lip then, intent for dominance. Regardless of her situation and who was clearly domineering her, she found herself in constant need of being the dominant one. It was programmed into her and she needed to always feel as if she was in control, even when she feels like she could melt in the wistful sensations the latter brings her. So she presses back earnestly and sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hearing him yelp audibly. Her lower body presses back against him and her hands abandon their position to press against his chest until she swiftly shifts their position so he's the one leaning against the sink.
She presses a chaste kiss to his lips once more before backing away from him and nudging her chin in the direction of the sliding door. "I have yet to dry off and you have yet to leave, Star-Lord."
"Finally someone's gotten it right." He teases playfully as he turns towards the door, waiting for it to open and stands between the sensors so it doesn't close automatically. "Oh, and by the way.. Next time, press this little button right here and this thing will turn green and say 'occupied.' Just for future reference, sweet-cheeks."
"You are such an ass, Peter Quill."
Constructive criticism, please? Lemme know how I did? Still not sure I have their voices down just yet..