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: none really. There is some cultural incomprehension, and some slight angst, but a lot more light-hearted than in the previous chapter, plus Ronan's confused boner.
After their "little" breakdown, things change between him and the Guardians. It seems as if now they really know each other, now that they have seen each other at their weakest, and have learned of each other's deepest fears and anguishes. No one tries to belittle anyone else for them. Actually, it seems as if there is a deeper respect between them now, a deeper understanding and more tolerance for everyone's quirks and moods.
The conversations start to flow around the table and in the cockpit, they start feeling natural and not a form of enforced politeness.
Ronan knows that he should not, that he should be ashamed that he hasn't managed to stay strong and aloof from his masters, but he is glad that doesn't have to hide anything from them anymore. It is relieving.
Now that he knows about his nightmares, little Groot has taken to sneak into his cell at least a bit of time every night, and curl himself against him to comfort him.
Sometimes Rocket does that too, and he wakes up in the morning with an armful of rumpled, groggy, furry mechanic. They don't make a big deal of it. He has nightmares, Rocket has nightmares, by sleeping together they have less of them. It is a sensible arrangement, and no one seems to take it amiss.
So far Ronan had been seeing the Guardians through the filter of his expectations about them. He has interpreted them as haaq-masters, as non-Kree, and as bounty-hunters in turn, but rarely as just people. The realisation that Drax's feelings about his lost family are the same as his for his own has been an eye-opener for him. From then onwards, he tries to see them as they really are, to observe without judging.
He used to be quite good at observing, it was part of his job as an Accuser, and it seems that his fall has not dulled his perceptive and deductive abilities. As soon as he starts truly looking, he starts noticing things: how Rocket likes to sleep wedged in tight spaces when he is not curled against someone else, the care with which Drax hones his knives, how Gamora's cybernetics sometimes pain her, making her movements slightly less fluid and her moods more mercurial. He notices more subtle things too, the smell of Gamora's shampoo, what is Peter's favourite beer, and that Rocket likes some "exotic" food that the others would not even look at. Acting on his observations would seem like the next natural step, but he is torn.
Ideally, a haaq should serve faithfully, but should not become attached to their masters, and should be ready to return to their previous life at the drop of a hat if they are freed.
Some masters make it easy for their haaq, by keeping their distance or treating them with scorn. Most haaq, especially those who are taken young, and treated with care end up enjoying their fate, and loving their masters as if they were their family. This behaviour is considered with a fair amount of scorn by the upper castes of the Kree. If his grandfather could see him now, he would express all his disapproval.
Pama however says to repay kindness with kindness, and to be considerate to all. If Her message is so universal, it cannot apply only to Kree.
It takes a while for Ronan to come to terms with his inner conflict, but by the time Gamora's shampoo needs to be replaced once more, he has firmly decided that the path he plans to follow is right by the spirit of Pama's teachings, even if maybe not by the writ of Kree law. It is rather unsettling for him to break away from that anchor, but it is totally worth the dread of the leap.
He is now in charge of most supply runs when they are planet-side and, especially when money is plentiful from some successful bounty, or when they are on planets where bargaining is acceptable, it is no great chore to him to get a few extra things to make the Guardians happy. Once it is some medicinal herbal tea for Gamora, or her favourite brand of shampoo, next time it's some deep-fried bugs or some electronic junk for Rocket, or fertilizer for Groot.
They smile at him, and he feels proud of having put that smile on their faces.
When Drax's whetstone and weapon oil need to be replaced, Ronan doesn't think twice about including them in his next supply run. He haggles with the weapon-smith at the market, and proudly presents his catch to the Destroyer when he comes back.
Drax's skin subtly shifts colour and he looks at him with a slightly worried look.
Ronan has been observing him for long enough to realize that Drax's species does not have a blushing reflex like his or Star-Lord's. The pigments of his skin actually change slightly in response to his emotions.
The subtle shift in nuance from greenish-grey to brownish-green likely means embarrassment.
Ronan takes a mental step back.
"Did I just step on some cultural practice I didn't know of? - he asks, growing rather embarrassed too - Have I offended you?"
Drax shakes his head, and grows even more brownish. "No, you have not. - he replies - This is... what you have been doing with us lately... all those gifts..." he stammers, and Ronan realizes that whatever it is all about, it must be serious, because Drax is rarely anything less than blunt.
"It seems to me that you are trying to court us. - he blurts out - For marriage." he adds, as if it wasn't clear enough.
If he grows any more brown, Ronan thinks, he'll look like Korath. His cheeks are burning too, and must be nearly indigo with embarrassment.
"Ah. - he manages - I didn't... well, it's not as if I wouldn't be honoured by... by an alliance between our Houses..." he replies, reverting to a formality he has grown unused to.
"But courting you wasn't really my intention." he adds immediately.
"Ah, I see... - Drax says, sighing and growing greener in relief - I... I am glad. I don't think I would enjoy having sex with a man... even if you are rather handsome... I mean..." he adds, and a brown tinge returns to his skin.
Ronan feels like he is going to pass out in embarrassment. "You are a fine specimen of warrior too... - he retorts, not wanting to offend him - Rest assured that none of the gifts that I might give you in the future will be given in the intent of courting you." he explains.
Drax nods again. "So, who are you using me as a decoy for? - he asks cheerfully - Is it Gamora? Or is it Star-Lord?"
"I... I beg your pardon?" Ronan retorts, as his brain refuses to parse the question.
"Come on, Accuser, I know how these things work. We used to do the same in my village. Misdirection. Inciting jealousy in your chosen partner. - Drax continues, blissfully unaware of his confusion - It is a rather dangerous tactic though. And you don't really need it. You have good chances already, with both, but especially with Star-Lord. I have seen how he looks at you when you wear those trousers..." he adds, winking in complicity.
"Trousers...?" Ronan asks weakly.
Drax nods. "Yes, the trousers you stole on Xandar. The ones that make you look like you are on display." he clarifies.
Oh, Ronan thinks, those. Why is everyone so hung up on that garment? And how has he never noticed that people were looking at him in... inappropriate ways?
"My intentions have nothing to do with wooing anyone." he declares, rigid with embarrassment.
Drax tilts his head to one side. "Oh, I thought..." he starts.
Ronan shakes his head. "It would be totally inappropriate for me to do so." he explains.
"Well, if it is so..." Drax concedes, sounding far from convinced.
"It is." Ronan confirms.
"Thanks for your gift anyway. It was much appreciated." Drax declares finally, putting an end to one of the most embarrassing conversations he has ever had in his life.
Later on that night, when he is in his cell, lying on his bedroll, snippets of their conversation slowly float in his mind.
Does Star-Lord really look at him inappropriately from time to time? He cannot imagine why.
He has never considered himself an attractive man and neither have others. The only reason why well-born women sought him out back home, and even that was rare, was his lofty position and the station of his family.
Not that he cared back then. He had never had time for romantic pursuits, and he had never truly been attracted to anyone. That was an area in which he didn't really function normally.
Maybe Drax has just had the wrong impression. During his work as an Accuser, he had come to appreciate the fact that eyewitness statements, are often inaccurate and that people have a tendency to see what they want to see.
True knowledge comes from the repeated observation of reality in controlled conditions, so the following day he wears his objectionable trousers and waits for a reaction. He doesn't have to wait long. Star-Lord comes to breakfast, and as he sits down he casts a long glance at him.
Ronan pretends he hasn't seen it and forces himself to stay calm. One observation could be happenstance.
By the end of the day, he has observed enough to be reasonably sure that Drax was right: Star-Lord looks at him in that way, and not just him. Gamora does too. He has even caught her staring dreamily at him while he cooked dinner.
Ronan doesn't know how to feel. He is pleased of the attention, but embarrassed and slightly frightened by it. Most of all, he feels guilty about it.
Many haaq end up being forced into sexual situations by their masters, it is a sad fact of life, and one against which they cannot resist.
Whoring oneself out to one's masters is an easy way of gaining their favour, but it is considered an undignified, morally reproachable act, even worse than growing to care for one's masters. It is seen as dishonest and underhanded.
Growing to like being used in that way is bad enough, but actually trying to seduce them into doing it... he shudders at the thought.
He should not encourage such interests in his masters. They still have absolute power over him, even if they pretend that they don't, and he might end up being ordered in their bed anyway, but at least he doesn't want it to be because of his behaviour. The whole matter is something he definitely wouldn't be comfortable with.
The Xandarian trousers end up at the bottom of his stash of clothes and he stops bringing gifts to either Gamora or Star-Lord. He is not sure they would equate to courtship in their eyes too, but he thinks it is better to be safe than to be sorry. He doesn't want to surrender his last shreds of dignity by becoming their sex slave. He is not attracted by them, he tells himself.
They are not Kree, and Star-Lord is pale and stubbly, while Gamora is far too muscular for the standards of beauty he is used to.
Now that he has gotten into the mindset of observing them, however, he cannot help but noticing how Star-Lord's eyes light up when he smiles and the slight tan of his skin when he spends lots of time planet-side, and the way he laughs, and how Gamora's cybernetics blend in with her green skin and her two-toned hair whips around her face when she trains.
She has started to do some dance training too, to reconnect with her more innocent past, and one day he catches himself looking intently at her as she dances, marveling at the play of muscles under her soft skin and imagining how it would feel to run his hands over it, the contrast between cold cybernetics and warm flesh, between hardness and softness.
As soon as he realizes what he is doing, he snaps out of it and stalks away, fleeing from the temptation.
From then onwards he avoids watching her as she trains, but now that he has opened that door, it cannot be closed, and he is more and more frequently surprised by moments of loss of control.
Once he is brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and Star-Lord waltzes in dressed only in a pair of boxer briefs, thinking nothing of it. Ronan sees him only for a moment before averting his eyes, but he is so mesmerized by what he saw, that later that evening he ends up cutting himself quite badly as he chops the vegetables for dinner out of how intensely he was recalling it.
He cannot un-see the beauty and the attractiveness of their forms, and the Milano is so cramped that there is no way of avoiding to look at them for long spans of time.
His body starts responding to them both in mortifying ways, and he doesn't know how to stop being affected by the two of them.
He has never taken so many ice-cold showers in his life.