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: this chapter contains background Sane, Safe and Consensual (SSC) BDSM scenes, a M/M lime with bondage and blood-play, and, quite obviously, Ronan's confused (and then maybe not-so-confused-anymore-but-who-knows?) boner.

I would definitely say it is NSFW.

Enjoy!

One of the first things cadets of the Kree Academy are taught about infiltration is that getting out of an enemy structure is always far harder then getting in. Therefore, the instructors say, it is vital to observe and memorise all possible escape routes for eventual use.
Observation is a second nature to Ronan. As they enter the lobby of the Silk Den and Star-Lord negotiates their entrance fees, he unobtrusively observes the room, noting the alcove of the cloakroom, a door behind the counter that must lead to some kind of office and the big, ornate double doors leading deeper into the club.

The decor is lavish but tasteful, done mainly in black and cream, with understated golden accents. The music is soft and soothing and the crested alien at the counter is wearing an elegant black-and-cream livery. The look and feel of the place communicates an aura of refinement and luxury. It is a sophisticated place, that much is sure.

Notices on brass panels alert that the Silk Den is an alcohol-free establishment and that drug use on the premises will not be tolerated, another stresses the importance of risk assessment and consent in all the activities performed in the club, and an even bigger one alerts that entrance is strictly forbidden to people younger than the age of consent of their respective species and culture.
Ronan is heartened by the sight. It seems that the management is trying to operate within strict legal requirements. It is a comforting thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some money change hands between Star-Lord and the concierge, then two doormen push open the big inner doors for them.
"Come." Star-Lord orders, giving the chain a light tug. Ronan half-bows in acknowledgement and follows his suit. They are in, and it was far more easy than he would have thought.

The decor of the inner areas of the club is much like that of the lobby. Ronan barely notices it though, and the memorisation of escape routes is all but forgotten in a mere moment. His mind is boggled by the people who are in there and by the things they are doing.

The crowd of patrons is quite diverse for age and species. Skin of more then a dozen colours is exposed for all to see, and in far larger quantities than he has ever imagined.
As under-dressed as he might feel, he is one of the least naked among the "slaves". Collars are de rigeur it seems, proper clothes are not.
As they walk towards the bar he sees several men in nothing more than underwear, at least one wearing leather trousers that leave his backside uncovered and a few wearing only padlocked chastity girdles or nothing at all.

A small crowd is lounging on an isle of plush, leather-upholstered sofas. They are watching a feather-crested alien tie up his partner, a yellow-skinned, long-limbed young man, using purple-tinted silken ropes. The youngster is likely uncomfortable, with his limbs stretched and tensed as they are, but he is smiling peacefully, and as they pass by, his "master" is asking him if he is alright. What could amount to torture in another context, here appears pleasant, almost artistic in a way.

Closer to the bar, another "master" is performing with two "slaves", dripping coloured wax on their skins as if to form a painting. They hiss in discomfort, but the expressions on their faces are ecstatic.
Ronan does not know what to think.

"Let's have a drink. - Star-Lord proposes - The first one is included in the entrance fee."
Ronan nods and they end up at the bar. As per house policy, they don't serve alcohol, but that doesn't prevent them from having a long and varied cocktail menu. Ronan ends up with a cup of something creamy and nutty with a distinct chilli afterburn. It is really good and he drinks it in tiny sips to make it last.

Star-Lord guides them towards an empty sofa and sits down. Ronan sits on the floor at his side, leaning his back against his legs.
"What are you doing?" Star-Lord whispers in Kree. Ronan has been teaching him the language, as the same time as Star-Lord has been teaching him Terran. They are both rare languages throughout the Galaxy and they use them as a mode of stealth communication.
"Keeping up the charade." Ronan replies. He is secretly glad of being able to speak in his native language.
Star-Lord sighs and sips his cocktail.
"What now?" Ronan asks.
"I'm looking for the manager. He'll be able to point us towards We'al." Star-Lord replies.
"I thought We'al was the manager." Ronan objects.
"He is the owner. The manager is a guy called Mr O. - the Terran explains - Look out for someone who is especially chatty with wealthy patrons." he instructs.
Ronan nods. "Will do."

Meanwhile, the bondage performance has finished and the stage has been taken by a couple of dark-skinned males one of which is flogging the other's back. Sounds of pain spill from the man's lips, but his partner doesn't stop. He won't until the sub says the safe-word. Ronan is in equal parts fascinated and horrified.

He tries to look out for the manager, but everywhere he looks, he sees things that distract him.
Here two men are embracing and kissing tenderly, there a young man spanks his older partner with what looks like a paddle of some kind. Everywhere tenderness and violence, care and ownership are mixed in a way that makes the difference hard to spot and he is trying very hard not to feel aroused by it.
He doesn't want Star-Lord to dominate him like that. Or does he? He cannot tell anymore.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. Ronan nearly startles.
"I think I have found him. - Star-Lord announces - Wait here for me. I'll go and have a chat with him." he says, and as soon as the Kree acquiesces, he ties the chain to the armrest of the sofa and walks away.
Now that he is not so overwhelmingly close, Ronan feels his tension ease a bit and can finally think past the turmoil of conflicting desires within him. He needs to calm down and concentrate if he doesn't want to jeopardise the mission. Closing his eyes, he tries to meditate away the urges of his body, but soon someone plonks himself on the floor next to him, breaking his concentration.
It is the yellow-skinned youngster from the bondage performance and a big, impish grin is plastered on his youthful face.

"Hey, handsome. - the stranger says - Looks like your dom has left you alone. Don't worry, I'll keep you company." he offers.
"Name's Lukan." he adds in an afterthought.
"You're Xandarian." Ronan says without a hint of doubt.
Lukan grins even more widely. "Got it in one! - he confirms - And you can only be a Kree. I thought you guys weren't into this sort of thing..." he comments slyly.
Ronan shrugs. "It is an age of change. I am experimenting." he replies dispassionately.
"With a Xandarian." Lukan notes.
Ronan shrugs again. "The treaty says that they are our new best friends, doesn't it?" he comments with as much sarcasm as he can manage.
Lukan laughs nervously. "Your government stuffed you well and good. - he says - Ours did too. You can't imagine how the taxes rose to finance the war in the last few years. And freedom of speech was basically scrapped!" he adds indignantly.
Ronan looks at him with surprise. "I thought all Xandarians supported the war." he says.
"Ha! The government wished they did! - Lukan replies - I was an anti-war activist, before I had to leave. They accused all my posse of intelligence with the enemy because we were looking into war crimes." he reveals.
For a moment, Ronan is rendered totally speechless.
"W-were you?" he manages.
Lukan nods enthusiastically. "The government wanted us to believe that it was a war for freedom and for the defense of our civilisation, but we knew that it wasn't so. - he continues - I mean, you people might be a bunch of stuck-up prudes, no offense meant, but it was clear that the main reason for the war was the control of the asteroid mines in the XK-27 quadrant." he declares assuredly.

Ronan blinks a few times, feeling his world reassert itself once more. Xandarians opposing the war. That was... unexpected.
"So they tried to silence you?" he asks.
Lukan nods. "I left. I like bondage, but I knew I wouldn't fancy prison. - he replies - Wandered here and there, and finally ended up here. Now that the war between Spartax and Shi'ar is hopefully winding to a close, it's a nice place to be." he explains nonchalantly.
Ronan files the information away for later and nods politely.
"And what do you do normally?" he asks.
"I am a performer. I do dance, theater, video-art. A bit of everything, really - Lukan replies proudly - Me and my partner, we have founded a performing arts company. We are still small, but we're growing steadily." he adds, jerking his head towards the feather-crested guy who was performing with him earlier.
"Oh, and are you staging some show?" Ronan asks politely. Talking to this man is a lot less awkward than looking at people pleasuring each other with pain. He had never thought he could have a meaningful conversation with a Xandarian without wanting to kill them. He should have imagined that the citizens wouldn't necessary align with their government. They didn't in the Empire, even if the entire society was more disciplined and rigid.
"We are auditioning for some of the roles. Interested?" Lukan asks, winking at him.
"Oh, no. I have no artistic training whatsoever. I was a soldier." Ronan replies awkwardly, feeling himself blush.
"Ah, I should have imagined. You have the physique du rôle. - Lukan comments - We could have used a handsome blue man in the company, though. The show is going to be based a lot on colour and movement." he explains.
"What is it about?" Ronan asks, suddenly genuinely curious.
"It's an allegory of the senselessness of war and the need for peace and brotherhood in the Galaxy. - Lukan explains - It's a topical issue around here. The Spartoi and the Shi'ar have been at war for years, but now they're treating, and rumor has it that they are going to solve everything with a royal marriage. Make love, not war. Isn't it cool?" he reveals.
"Yes, it seems a desirable state of things." Ronan admits ruefully.
"What's your name again?" Lukan asks.
"I am Coehl." the Kree replies. He hopes his father is not going to be angry at him from the underworld for using his name in what amounts to a disreputable establishment.

"Well, Coehl, you and your partner are doing more or less the same, on a smaller scale. - the Xandarian offers - Many people in the club are raring to see you two perform, you know? They find the idea of a Xandarian and a Kree together very exciting..." he adds, laying a hand on Ronan's thigh.
The Kree startles a bit and lowers his eyes in embarrassment. Someone shares their opinion, it seems.

"Aren't you supposed to be a sub too?" he asks pointedly.
Lukan chuckles. "I am a switch, actually. With some people I sub, with some I dom. - he replies - Your dom seems to have little interest in you..." he adds suavely.
"I could dom you, if you want... - he offers - I like you. I'd be gentle, promise. I'd make you feel good..." he whispers in his ear.
Ronan feels like his face is bursting in flames. He backs away a bit, trying to put some space between him and Lukan. The performer is attractive, he cannot deny it, with his lithe, almost soft body, that smooth, bright yellow skin and that smile, and he is basically naked and very willing...
But he is not Star-Lord, and that makes all the difference, he thinks, casting a quick glance at his master.

"Sorry, but I have to decline your offer, however enticing." he replies, trying to be gentle, because he doesn't dislike Lukan. It's just... he doesn't want him, not like he wants Star-Lord.
"It would make my professional life complicated if I didn't." he adds.
"He's your boss?!" Lukan asks, a bit worried.
Ronan gives Star-Lord another, longer glance. He is my everything, he thinks.
"He is a businessman. I am his butler. - he replies, twisting the truth without outright lying - Our relationship only recently evolved to this kind of... practices." he adds.
"You are in love with him." Lukan says without a hint of doubt.
Ronan is rendered speechless again. "What...?! How...?!" he stammers.
Lukan smiles once more, but this time it is all soft and gentle. "The way you look at him. - he explains - I'd die to have someone look at me that way. Does he know?" he asks.
Ronan shakes his head, not even daring to talk.
"Why?" Lukan asks gently.
"I... it's complicated. - the Kree sighs - I..."
"You don't know if it is mutual?" the Xandarian concludes for him.
"Yes..." Ronan confirms, finally realising that the key issue is exactly that.

More than any cultural prohibition about mixed couples or master-haaq relationships, more than the reproach reserved for men who still waste their time in dalliances with other men after graduating from the Academy, that is the reason why he is still resisting his own inclinations and desires.
He knows that Star-Lord and Gamora want him, but somehow this is no longer enough. Maybe it never was.
Simple lust doesn't do it for him anymore, he needs them to love him back, because if he surrenders to them, it will be nothing less than complete surrender. He will give himself up to them heart, body and soul, and he needs to know that they will keep him, that they will truly care for him, for however long as it may last.
He is no good at halfway solutions. That has not changed, and likely it never will.

"Then there is only one way to know. - Lukan declares, switching back to friendly and comforting - You'll have to ask him, mate. Or at least tell him about your feelings." he adds, patting his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
"I'm not very good at that. - Ronan confesses - I find it very embarrassing."
Lukan smiles. "Life starts at the end of the comfort zone, they say... - he provokes - Oh, there comes your partner..." he adds then, resuming his impish persona. Ronan tries to turn, but Lukan grabs his chin and holds him still.
"He looks quite jealous... - he whispers placing his face close enough to Ronan's that it will probably look like if Lukan is kissing him - Good luck, handsome... and if it all goes to hell, remember me, alright?" he concludes, then in a fluid movement he is back on his feet and walking away, leaving a totally flabbergasted Kree behind.

"What the hell happened?" Star-Lord hisses, as soon as he is back. A scowl is painted on his face.
Maybe Lukan was right. Maybe he is jealous. That is a good sign, right?
Ronan is still confused by the turn of events and by his sudden epiphany. "That man... he was... he propositioned me..." he replies, part indignant and part surprised.
Star-Lord shakes his head. "Cheeky bastard! - he exclaims - Well, you are attractive. I should have imagined it would happen..." he comments, sighing and flopping on the sofa.
"So, I managed to speak with the manager. - he reprises after a brief pause - Apparently We'al has communicated with him and would like very much to see us... perform. Apparently he likes to watch." he reveals.
"And that would grant us a parlay with him?" Ronan asks, feigning disinterest. At the mere idea of Star-Lord actually doing something to him, his manhood jumps to attention.
"Yes, it would. - Star-Lord replies, also very neutral - But you don't have to do this. We can find another way of getting to him, maybe follow him after he leaves in the morning..." he adds, losing a lot of his composure.
"This is the easiest way of getting what we want. - Ronan retorts - I have told you, I don't care about... doing this." he lies.
He cares a lot. He wants it, at least this to know how it feels.

Star-Lord's eyes flash for a moment, then his expression returns smooth and pleasant.
"Let's do this then." he adds, unwinding the chain from the armrest and standing up. Ronan follows him to the center of the room, pretending that he doesn't see the rest of the people in the club staring at them with eager anticipation.
They reach an area where chains hang from the ceiling and are bolted on the floor. A small rack of diverse instruments is laid out on a table nearby. Ronan desperately tries not to look that way. He is not comfortable with the arousal he is deriving from the situation, but he cannot deny it. Given what sort of trousers he is wearing, probably all of the people in the room are aware of it as well...

"Take your jacket off." Star-Lord orders. His voice is sharp and steely and for some reason that gets to him like few things before.
His cock twitches desperately in his trousers. The jacket hits the floor in record time.
Star-Lord guides him to stand below the chains.
"Raise your arms." he orders. He snaps the cuffs attached to them around his wrists, then kneels to fasten the chains bolted on the floor to his ankles. He is spread-eagled and nearly unable to move, but more than the chains, it is Star-Lord's gaze that pins him inexhorably. Scalding hot and possessive... nothing much has happened, and he is already trembling just because of it.

"Let's give them a show... - he says heatedly - But remember that you can stop it whenever you want. You just need to say the word." he adds, more gently as he disappears behind him.
Ronan nods and closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he tries to steel himself for the first blow.
This is the position in which prisoners used to be flogged, back in the day, and there is a flog handy, on that little table. It all makes sense.
A blindfold covers his eyes, prolonging his wait.
He doesn't mind too much. It's not as if he really likes Star-Lord's Xandarian disguise.
It is the face of a stranger to him, and he'd much prefer looking at the Terran's true countenance, at the visage he has learned to love, but he knows he cannot.
At least his voice and his scent are unchanged. It is enough for him to feel a little bit like he is in heaven anyway.

He is expecting pain, so when he feels the soft, warm touch of Star-Lord's hands on his back, he nearly cries out in pleasure and surprise.
He catches himself at the last moment and clenches his teeth to prevent himself from making a sound. He can't give in so soon.

Those warm, clever hands roam all over his back, a bare brush of fingers down his spine, then a palm pressed against his lower back, kneading, teasing and then feather-light again, so that he won't know what to expect next.
Ronan has known for a while that he yearns for closeness and touch, that he finds it comforting, but this is much more, this is innocent and maddening at the same time, and he loves it.
Keeping silent becomes harder nd harder as Star-Lord's fingers starts wandering up and down his neck and over the back of his head. He has always hated being bald, but for once he doesn't mind, because, by the grace of Pama, he likes the feeling of the Terran's blunt nails raking gently on his scalp and he can't help arching into his touch.

Star-Lord's breath is warm against his skin, and heavy with lust, as he dreamed it would be.
It is already overwhelmingly good, but then Star-Lord shifts his hand to his front, and all of a sudden it becomes even better, and he wraps his hands around the chains to be able to hold on to something because he fears he might fall apart otherwise.
Gentle, explorative touches trace his chest and abdomen, then his arms, up to where the chains are fastened around his wrists, and he can feel Star-Lord's breath on his face and he knows that it would take hardly anything for his master's lips to claim his own, and he wants it, he wants it so hard that he cannot think of anything else.
He can feel the warmth of Star-Lord's body getting closer and closer and he tenses up unbearably, wating, wanting...

When the Terran's nails rake across his pebbled nipples, filling him with a mixture of pain and delight, he cannot contain a whimper and Star-Lord suddenly retreats with a low growl.
Ronan curses inwardly. If he had just managed to keep quiet for a moment more...
He hears Star-Lord taking something from the rack and the next thing he knows, something hard and cold and edgy is sliding against his skin. It takes him a moment to realise that it is the blind side of some sort of knife.
"Some people here would like to have you for themselves, my haaq... - Star-Lord says suavely - I shall mark you as mine, then, so that all may know it." he declares, and suddenly the sharp edge of the knife bites into his skin, along his ribs, so quick and light that he might have imagined, only the tiny, superficial cut stings, and he can feel the blood start to well, and then something warm and wet is on him.

Star-Lord is licking the wound clean with his tongue, and it stings even more, but it feels so good... It is so amazing and overwhelming that he cannot control himself.
He cries out, and arches helplessly against his touch, and Star-Lord cuts him again, and again, cold blade and warm mouth, pleasure and pain so mingled that he cannot distinguish them anymore and he doesn't care.
He is whimpering with every breath. He trembles, and his legs can hardly support him any longer.
He barely remembers that there are other people looking at them. They don't matter, Star-Lord is the only one that matters, the only one that ever did, and he hopes that this is not just for show, because it is all he would have dreamed of, if he had ever allowed himself to dream of such things.

"You are mine." Star-Lord declares again. He is now standing at his back once more and his mouth traces lines down his neck and across his shoulders.
He is stating nothing but the truth.

"Say it. Tell them." Star-Lord orders. He bites down on the muscle connecting his neck and left shoulder, hard enough to hurt slightly on top of how good it feels, and sucks on the skin to make sure that it will bruise, that he will be marked for at least a little while. For some reason that mixture of feelings absolutely strips him of control.
"Yes! - he cries out - I am yours! Oh, fuck!"
He doesn't usually curse, but when Star-Lord bites him again, he cannot think.
He doesn't care that everyone is looking, he doesn't care about what he had told the Terran before they got in the club, he just wants Star-Lord to strip him bare and fuck him there and then, in the middle of the room.

Before he can start to babble and maybe blow their cover, Star-Lord slips in front of him again, and this time their lips crash together, hard and passionate. The Terran's mouth tastes like his own blood and he does not know exactly what he is doing, but Star-Lord takes control of the kiss, clamping a hand against the back of his neck to prevent him from escaping (as if he would), and it feels wonderful.
Their bodies are pressed close and something hard is digging in his tigh, and he is sure it is not a gun, they have left all weapons on the ship...

"Oh!" he thinks, realising what is the most likely, no, only explanation. His own manhood twitches in response and he moans into the kiss.
He can't think, he can hardly breathe. It is almost too much.
Star-Lord finally breaks the kiss, releasing him. Ronan gasps for air and whimpers quietly, hungry for more.

"I think they learned the lesson. And you did too, didn't you?" Star-Lord growls, hovering close enough for him to imagine that it could continue.
His tongue darts lightning-quick against his lips, and Ronan tries to somehow capture him again, but all he gets is a sharp tap with a finger against his nose.
"No, bluebell, this is not why we started this." he chides gently.
The painless but resounding blow and the nickname manage to break through the lust that has clouded his judgement. He has gotten carried away by the charade, but can Star-Lord truly blame him for that, seeing that it is mostly his fault?
"Apologies, my Lord..." he manages through gritted teeth. He is still so hard that it is becoming uncomfortable, and now that the haze of lust is gone, he is starting to feel his arms ache from the tension and the nicks scattered on his torso sting and burn.
"It's alright. Let's get you out of this." Star-Lord retorts softly, confusing him even further by gently petting his cheek.

The chains are loosened and the blindfold discarded. Ronan feels weak and shaky and the soft lighting of the club manages to feel overbright and dazzling.
Star-Lord helps him to a sofa. The Terran's hands shake slightly and his voice does too when he asks him "Are you alright?".
Ronan meets his eyes briefly. Star-Lord looks as confused and dazed as he is. He is glad that their moment has affected him as strongly, but he doesn't know how to express his feelings and that is not the right moment anyway, so he just drops his gaze and nods.
"I need to speak with the manager again. Will you be alright if I..." Star-Lord asks.
Ronan nods again. "I am fine." he declares.
Star-Lord hesitates, licks his lips (and Ronan tries very hard not to notice the smudge of blue blood near the corner of his mouth), then nods and stands to leave.

Ronan's moment of solitude doesn't last long though. In a moment, Lukan has appeared with a glass of some beverage in his hands.
"Here, have this, it'll do you good. - the performer says, thrusting the cocktail into Ronan's hands - You are a lucky bastard you know?" he adds as the Kree starts to sip on the pinkish sweet-salty liquid. It tastes like some sort of isotonic sports drink. He realises that he needed it.
"Am I?" he retorts, puzzled.
Lukan laughs. "Let's put it this way... that thing you and your master did there... It was the sexiest thing I've seen in this club since, like, forever. - he reveals - I'd give lots to have someone who knows me and cares for me enough to top me with so much feeling and passion. And you said you two have just started..." he comments dreamily.
Ronan feels himself blushing again. It is weird how can he still feel embarassed after he has basically had public sex with his master.
"It was the first time we tried something like... that." he confesses. The Xandarian is so friendly and chatty and totally uninhibited that... it just feels right to talk to him about what happened.

Lukan whistles in admiration.
"Like I said, you are a lucky bastard, mate. - he continues with a chuckle and a light shake of his raven-haired head - Don't let your chance pass because you are too afraid to talk, alright? Things like the one you two have there, they are too precious to waste. Just keep it in mind, OK?" he adds, and Ronan looks at him in confusion, because he doesn't know if they have anything, but Lukan seems so adamant. Has the Xandarian seen something that he could not?
"Ah, gotta go now, before your master breaks me in two for talking to you again! - Lukan exclaims with a chuckle - Let me know if I was right, OK? I'm Lukan Hurst. Find me on ComNet." he adds, then saunters away, blowing him a very theatrical kiss.

"Again?! What does that guy want from you?!" Star-Lord exclaims, definitely vexed, when he comes back.
Ronan shrugs, feeling some of the already-healing cuts reopen.
"Lukan? He is just trying to be friendly." he replies nonchalantly.
Another flash passes over Star-Lord's eyes.
Jealousy. This time it is quite clear. Star-Lord is actually jealous of him.
"Are you upset about it? - he asks - You never told me... you never said I wasn't allowed to meet new people." he adds quietly.
Star-Lord sighs and lowers his head. "Look, I'm sorry... I'm a bit high-strung about this situation. - he says, rubbing his forehead - Of course you are allowed to make friends, bluebell. Was that guy Xandarian?" he adds with a forced smile.
Ronan acquiesces. "Things change. And he doesn't like their government either." he explains, forcing out a smile too. The mood has shifted, and not in a happy way, even if he doesn't know why.
"Ah. - Star-Lord comments, mildly surprised - We'al will see us now. Are you well enough to stand?" he asks, now back to being gentle and caring.
Ronan nods and stands without any ill effect. That drink has truly worked wonders.
"Here." Star-Lord adds, handing him his jacket. He had completely forgotten about it.
"We left it down there." the Terran explains.
"Thanks. - Ronan says - Shall we go then?". He drapes the jacket on his shoulder instead of donning it. He doesn't want to cover himself just yet. He enjoys bearing Star-Lord's marks on him.