DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.
Warnings: more violence, some sexyness if you squint.
Enjoy!
The pain in his head is so intense and the noise so disorienting that he must have blacked out for a few seconds, or more, after trying to talk to Ronan.
When he comes to, there are several gun-toting strangers closing on him and the Kree is nowhere in sight.
"It was a trap..." Peter thinks sluggishly.
He tries to stand up and fight, but one of the strangers presses a button on some kind of contraption and the infernal noise retakes his place in his head. He screams and probably blacks out again, and when he opens his eyes once more, Ronan is charging against the strangers, armed with what looks like a Terran street sign. Peter is so confused that it seems to make sense.
The head of one of the strangers is smashed in at the first blow. Whoever thought that blunt weapons don't shed blood has not seen anyone fight well with one.
Ronan fights like he has never done anything else in his life, which is actually true. After months and months of shy, caring and submissive Ronan, he has almost forgotten how implacable and terrifying he can be.
The strangers are good, they even manage to hit him once or twice, but ultimately they end up broken and bleeding on the floor and Ronan stands among their bodies, all spattered in blood, his cheeks flushed a dark blue with exertion and excitement, and a satisfied grin on his face. He looks magnificent, Peter thinks. If his head didn't hurt so much, he'd totally have a happy at the sight, however creepy it might sound.
Ronan drops the sign and runs back towards him.
"Can you stand?" he asks, kneeling at his side.
Peter thinks about it for a minute or so. Can he?
"Not sure..." he mumbles. Even if the worst of the pain is gone, his head is still all wonky. Even if he manages to stand, he won't be able to walk straight.
"I'll carry you then. We have to move. There might be more of those mercenaries in the vicinity." he declares, and makes to lift him up in a fireman's carry.
Peter resists, wriggling in his grasp.
"No fireman. - he protests - I'll puke down your back. Seriously." he rasps. Just thinking about puking has made him nauseous.
Ronan nods and manages to help him onto his back.
"Hold on tight." he instructs, rising to his feet as he grabs the satchel with the tapes. The Kree starts running at a reasonably fast clip, as if Peter didn't weigh much more than a child.
Peter cannot help but feel safe like that, like when Yondu carried him more or less in the same way when he was a kid. Only, Ronan smells nicer, like soap and clean skin, and is considerably handsomer.
Peter sighs and lets himself drift off at least a bit. He knows that no harm will come to him.
When he arrives at the Milano, running with Star-Lord on his back, the rest of the Guardians are having some sort of snack at the table.
"What the hell has happened?! - Rocket exclaims as soon as he sees them - What did you do to him?!" he accuses.
"We were attacked by mercenaries. - Ronan replies, slightly out of breath - They interfered with his implants. With radio frequencies." he explains.
Rocket curses.
"Let's get him somewhere comfortable!" Gamora orders. They carry Star-Lord to his bed in the tiny room he shares with Gamora. He rouses to consciousness when they call him and finally Ronan manages to relax from his state of near-panic. Seeing him in so lost and in pain was one of the worst experiences since he started living with the Guardians.
Even if he is awake, Star-Lord is quite confused and weak, so Rocket turns to him for information.
"What happened? What were the symptoms?" he asks.
"And since when you are the medic?" Ronan retorts, still upset enough to be confrontational. He doesn't think he will be able to fully relax until Star-Lord is back on his feet.
"Since I patch myself up all the time. - the sentient raccoon declares - Now spit out, buddy!" he orders.
"Headache, confusion, nosebleeds. - Ronan lists - He passed out at least once."
"Did you see what they were using as a source?" Rocket asks, wringing his hands a bit.
Ronan shakes his head. "It was handheld. I didn't pause to investigate further."
"So the bad guys could still be using it?" Rocket points out.
"Not those people. Not that machine." he replies firmly. He has smashed it to pieces alongside its wielder.
He has killed those mercenaries in anger rather than in justice, but he cannot find any guilt in himself for it. Defending Star-Lord was paramount.
Rocket seems pleased by his reply and sets out to examine Star-Lord.
"Rocket... Ronan has been shot. - the Terran mutters, trying to sit up in bed - You need to..."
"I'll take care of this. - Gamora says, shushing him gently - You need to rest." This seems to calm him at least a bit.
"Alright. Groot, stay here with Peter. - Gamora orders next - Drax, Ronan, with me. We need to get out of this place and back to Knowhere. I want Peter seen by a real doctor. No offense meant, Rocket." she adds later.
"None taken." Rocket replies.
Ronan doesn't really want to leave Star-Lord's bedside, but he cannot ignore a direct order, so he goes with them.
Gamora gets the Milano in the air, and on course for Knowhere. As soon as they are suitably far from Shit Prime, she turns to Ronan and asks for a retelling of the events. Ronan complies as accurately as he can.
"So you killed them all with a piece of refuse..." she comments with a hint of admiration.
Ronan nods. "I couldn't allow them to live and call reinforcements." he explains.
"Are you sure they were after Peter and not you?" she asks.
Ronan nods again. "They tried to take me out first, so they could take their time with Star-Lord. - he replies - I think they were trying to capture him." he adds.
"And you said they were mercenaries?" she continues.
"I recognised their crest. - he confirms - I had a few run-ins with them early in my career." he adds.
"Smashed a few heads, eh?" Drax comments.
"A few more today." Ronan confirms smugly.
Fighting them, even while panicking about Star-Lord's safety, was extremely satisfying. He is pleased that his ability as a warrior is still almost intact.
"Peter said they shot you down." Gamora comments.
"It was nothing." he minimises. His chest aches a bit, but it is nothing worrying.
The assassin rolls her eyes. "Says the man who didn't realise he had an internal bleeding..." she taunts. He should have imagined that they would never let him live that down.
"Drax, get the controls. - she instructs - You, come with me. I'll have a look at those injuries." she adds.
Ronan would like to protest, but it is another direct order, so he swallows his retort, hangs his head and follows her to his cell.
She sits on the padded floor and opens the first-aid kit, looking a bit overwhelmed by the situation. He kneels in front of her. She is as scared by Star-Lord's predicament as he is and that she needs comfort as much as he does. He doesn't know how to give it to her, so he waits quietly for her orders.
"Where did they shoot you?" she asks gently. Ronan gestures vaguely towards his chest.
"Ouch! - she comments - Take your top off."
Ronan feels his cheeks instantly burn up in embarrassment. "You... this is not necessary... I am..." he stammers.
"Take. Your. Top. Off." Gamora repeats more forcefully.
He obeys, instantly silenced. His jacket hits the floor, then his hoodie and undershirt, until he is bare from the waist up. He can feel her eyes on him, and for some reason this makes his manly parts start to rise to attention.
"It is nothing, eh?" Gamora comments sternly, placing a hand over his sternum. It is warm and her touch is soft.
Something so mundane shouldn't feel so good. Something so innocent shouldn't excite him like that.
It takes him a moment to realise that he has a very ugly bruise on his chest and likely a few others on his arms and back from tumbling into a refuse heap. He even has a couple of defensive cuts on his forearms. Now that he can see them, they sting, but he had not realised their existence until then.
"I will survive. I have had worse." he declares, rearranging himself so that his inconvenient lust is concealed.
"I know." Gamora says, a sad look on her face. Her fingers slide down his chest, ghosting over the faint, lighter blue line of the scar on his stomach. He nearly shudders in pleasure. He feels unusually warm and light-headed and has to fight hard to hide his reactions.
Gamora takes a pot of bruise salve and starts applying it gently over his injuries, spreading it with her fingers. Having to remain impassive despite how good it feels to have her warm hands on him is almost torture. The evident care in her gestures and etched on her face is driving him even closer to the edge. It makes the temptation of surrendering, of submitting all the sweeter.
Her scent is all round him and her hair brushes his skin when she reaches for a bruise on his back. He doesn't think he can resist long without giving himself away. His hands itch to touch her. He sits on them.
When she finishes treating his wounds he is one step away from begging her to do whatever she wants with him and thus shaming himself for a whore.
Once her hands leave his skin he can finally breathe and think normally. He immediately feels colder from the lack of her touch.
"Better now?" Gamora asks.
It takes Ronan a few tries to find his voice. "Better..." he confirms.
Gamora watches him in silence for a moment, a strange expression painted on her face.
"I know that you're going to say that it was your duty to save Peter... - she says suddenly - but I want to thank you nonetheless." she continues. Her warm hand presses gently against his face. Their eyes meet.
"Thank you for bringing him safely home." she whispers.
Her lips touch his cheek in a chaste kiss, but he feels as if an electric shock has gone through him.
He would do anything to have her kiss him like that again.
