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: cute awkwardness and awkward cuteness, plus some violence. You're gonna like this!
Enjoy!
Weeks pass, and his new, forbidden urges seem to fade slightly. If the Guardians have noticed his predicament, they have made no mention of it and Gamora and Star-Lord surely haven't tried to step things up ever since.
It is relieving and it allows him to return to a certain degree of normalcy.
He is no longer so frequently plagued by fits of inappropriate stiffening of his manly parts when he looks at them, but a strange sort of longing has grown in his heart, deepening the way he cares for them compared to the rest of the Guardians. He feels awkward and almost awed in their presence, but he tries to hide it behind the formal attitude engrained in him by his grandfather.
It is the only way he has not to look like a total fool in front of them.
After an easy, not very lucrative bounty, they stop planet-side, on a junkyard world called Skeet.
The space-farers nickname it Shit Prime, and the way the place smells, it seems to live up to its moniker, but it also happens to be one of the best places to restock on a budget. All the junk and the dubious acquisitions this side of the Galaxy end up there, creating a thriving market for antiques, second-hand spaceship parts, loot, and other assorted junk.
Ronan is doing his usual reconnaissance run of the market. In the first ten minutes he has managed to spot two drug dealers, at least three peddlers of stolen wares and a prostitute. The standards of legality are even looser than on Knowhere, but he has to admit that the stuff on sale is very cheap and usually in working order if a bit worn. He has managed to tick all the items off his list and is making his way back to the Milano, when he spots something out of the corner of an eye and stops in his tracks to examine it more closely.
On display in one of the market stalls there is an array of small boxy items with two crenellated holes in the middle.
He has seen those before. They are like Star-Lord's beloved mixtapes.
"Where did you find these?" he asks the shopkeeper, a porcine-looking alien.
The alien grunts. "Got the load off some Chitauri. - he replies - They grabbed it on Terra, during their botched invasion. Turns out it's old shit. I mean, it's even old shit on Terra, and that's saying something..." he adds with a grunting laugh.
Ronan makes a noncommittal sound and nods, just to humour him.
"How much is one of these?" he asks nonchalantly. The alien asks just a few credits. Ronan pays up and grabs one of the tapes. He thinks he has recognised the name of one of Star-Lord's favourite groups on the label.
The shopkeeper grumbles something about "retro-tech nerds", but Ronan ignores it and runs back to the Milano.
He can't wait to see Star-Lord's face when he sees that.
"The Jackson 5?!" Star-Lord exclaims when he finally sees it. His eyes are shining with wonder and he looks even more attractive than usual. Ronan is quietly proud of having caused him to become so.
"My mum used to listen to this all the time! - Star-Lord continues - Where did you find it?" he asks.
Ronan tells him.
"The merchant has a lot more of these. Do you want me to show you where his stall is?" he asks. He cannot help but be excited by the idea of spending some time alone with Star-Lord, but manages to keep his tone casual.
Star-Lord almost jumps with joy. "Of course, bluebell!" he exclaims, then grabs his hand and all but pulls him out of the Milano in his haste to get there.
"Come on! Let's go before it closes for the night!" he adds.
The merchant is rather bemused by Star-Lord's enthusiasm for what he considers outdated junk, but at least he is honest enough not to try and raise the prices faced with such an obvious, overt interest in his wares.
They spend quite a lot of time at the stall, as Star-Lord picks which cassettes he wants. Some are from artists he knows, some he picks just for the pictures on the boxes. If they aren't any good, they can always space them, he says.
They end up with so many that they have to use a satchel to hold them.
In the meantime, Star-Lord explains to Ronan some bits and pieces he knows about Terran music and his mother's favourite bands. He used to listen to her music all the time when he was a child.
"She couldn't live without some sort of soundtrack to her daily life." he says fondly.
"Like someone I know..." Ronan comments cheerfully.
Star-Lord smiles. "Music saved my life, actually." he points out, elbowing him lightly.
Ronan rolls his eyes and sighs. "Never underestimate the power of out-of-context dancing..." he drawls.
Star-Lord starts laughing, and he feels so happy that he could fly.
They are out together, talking and laughing, as if it was a date. It is heavenly.
"Ha! This one looks like it was made for you!" Star-Lord exclaims suddenly, grabbing one of the tapes.
On the box there is a picture of four white-faced men with their faces painted with black warpaint. They look quite intimidating.
"Look! The guy on this one has even the same trousers as you!" Star-Lord continues, handing him another box. The man on the cover is smashing a musical instrument against the floor in a fit of rage. His trousers are red and black in a chequered pattern, and in fact look like his own objectionable Xandarian trousers.
Ronan smiles at Star-Lord and hands the box back. "You have funny customs on Terra." he says.
"I'll buy these ones too." Star-Lord tells the shopkeeper, who, as usual grunts and grabs the money.
"Here! - the Terran says, pressing the two boxes into Ronan's hands - It's a present." he adds. His cheek colour slightly darker pink-tan than the rest of him.
Ronan's heart almost misses a beat.
"I cannot accept it. - he says stiffly, almost in a knee-jerk reaction - Technically, I am not allowed to own anything." he adds, hiding his embarrassment behind the legalities of his station.
"Alright. - Star-Lord says, quirking an eyebrow - Then these are mine, but I am ordering you to listen to them. You need to broaden your knowledge of Terran music." he adds, trying to sound high-handed but ruining it by smiling widely.
"Do you know them?" Ronan asks, smelling a rat.
"Nope. Never heard them before." Star-Lord declares candidly.
Ronan gives him a bemused stare.
"I guess we'll have to listen to them together." the Terran says, and Ronan tries his hardest not to look like he is glad of the proposal. He has the impression that Star-Lord notices anyway.
They are already on their way towards the Milano with Star-Lord's stash of cassettes, when the Terran suddenly stops in his tracks with a pained grimace. His hands run to his temples, pressing against the bone as if to keep his head together, and he crumples to his knees with a sharp cry.
Ronan, who was walking a few steps behind, rushes to his side immediately and kneels next to him, trying to support him.
"Star-Lord! What has happened? - he asks, casting quick glances around to check for enemies - Are you hurt?" he adds.
Star-Lord raises his gaze at him, it is blurry with tears of pain and almost vacant.
"Make it stop... please..." he whispers, grabbing his jacket, then curls up further in pain. At the edges of his perception, Ronan can almost hear a thin, very high-pitched sound. It sounds like some sort of radio interference.
"Is this what is hurting Star-Lord?" he asks himself, standing up again to try and identify the source of the transmission.
Some sort of kinetic weapon hits him in the chest with enough force to send him flying into the nearest rubbish dump.
When he emerges from the junk, furious with himself for not having figured out it was an ambush, some humanoid figures are closing down on Star-Lord. They are armed, and he is still writhing in pain on the ground.
Ronan doesn't even think twice.
A section of metal pole with a metal sign attached to it emerges from the junk. He grabs it and launches himself at their foes, his mind flooded by battle fury.
They must have expected him to stay down, and their surprise is almost comical when he caves in the skull of one of them with his improvised weapon.
It is not the Universal Weapon, but it would do to dish up some retribution.
A.N. Kudos to you if you have recognised the tapes I've mentioned.