"There Is Love (In Your Body)."
By B.B. Asmodeus.
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Fandoms: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 1, 2, 3.
Main pairing: Rocket/Peter Quill (Star-Lord).
Rating: Adult, for explicit sex.
Categories: Alternate Reality Vol. 3, First Time, Communication Problems because Peter and Rocket are Idiots, Canon Readaptation/Canon Rewrite, Missing Scenes, Romance, Humor, Drama, Established Relationship, SMUT/Explicit Sexual Content, Mpreg, Time Skips, Rocket POV, Peter Quill/Star-Lord POV, Alien Physiology.
Warnings: References to PTSD, self-esteem issues, depression, animal abuse (nothing beyond canon), non-consensual experimentation, and alcohol abuse as a coping mechanism for depression.
About the timelines: This story will run in two timelines at the same time. As I rewrite key scenes from the second half of Volume 3, we will also be traveling back in time to the moment Peter and Rocket began their relationship. Why? Because I think it's extremely important to explore Rocket's point of view during this transition from friendship, friends-with-benefits, to possible-love-of-his-life, starting from Thor: Love & Thunder.
I decided to do it this way keeping in mind that when Rocket finds out he's going to be a father, I want it to be the main climax of this story. The power of context!
Another thing: Please remember that Rocket's point of view is subjective and tied to his low self-esteem for reasons we all know. What he thinks is not necessarily reality.
Special clarification: I've thought considerably about the possibilities of how to credibly make Mpreg possible without using the Omega 'verse, and ended up with two very feasible options. I'll use one of them for this story and save the other for another story. I just want to warn you that Peter will be the one from the pregnant state (not everyone is a fan of Bottom!Peter) and will NOT be having little raccoons (yes, the idea is adorable but it doesn't fit what I have in mind, and we already have adorable baby raccoons straight from the canon).
Spoilers: Avengers: IW/Endgame, Thor: Love & Thunder, Guardians of the Galaxy: Holiday Special, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1-3.
Synopsis: Even with hearts hardened by their past, Peter and Rocket discover there's still love in their bodies. The real surprise, however, will be finding out the result of their extraordinary affinity together. All amid kicking the High Evolutionary's butt, of course.
Post-Thor: Love & Thunder; alternative version of GotG Vol. 3.
Last but not least:
(1) This story is a translation of the original work in Spanish "Hay Amor (En Tu Cuerpo)." I'm not a native English speaker, so any mistakes are mine and since I'm a zombie right now, I know there may be some.
(2) The wonderful Florence Welch does it again, the title of the story is inspired by her song "Hardest of Hearts" which if you ask me, perfectly describes the emotional problems between Quill and Rocket.
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01.
"There is love in our bodies
and it holds us together
But pulls us apart
when we're holding each other."
-Florence + The Machine.
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Now.
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Nebula had been forced to remove the liquid directly from Rocket's lungs to give him more time.
The process was crude, Peter avoided looking at the syringe closely as he held Rocket's hand on the stretcher. Nebs was efficient, however. Not a second to spare, was that needle stuck in Rocket's chest.
When the scans came back with a positive diagnosis, they both sighed, somewhere between relief and uncertainty. "We don't have much time, Peter."
-You already said that. Peter looked at Rocket's face. He looked weak. Something Peter would've never associated with him. "Can you give us a second?"
Nebs turned to Peter with innate suspicion. "You should rest too."
"I'm fine." Quill denied immediately. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not an invalid."
"It wasn't what I was going to say." Nebula caressed Rocket's opposite hand. "Things have changed. You keep acting like they're not, Peter, but sooner or later, reality will catch up with you." Returning to Quill, her voice softened. "Reality has not been merciful to any of us… But at least know that you won't be alone. You must be ready for what's coming."
A lump got stuck in Quill's throat. He patted Rocket's head to distract himself. After the confrontation with Gamora 2.0 about how dangerous it would be to confront the High Evolutionary, the reality had been inescapable. Gamora wouldn't understand. The terror chilling Quill's veins right now at the prospect of failure. Of not getting the damned passkey. The desperation to keep what he had, contained, safe, because otherwise Quill would lose everything.
Nebula left him alone and the sliding doors closed behind her.
Quill crouched over Rocket immediately, overwhelmed.
"You have to hold on, Rock." He pleaded with the still body. "Give me time. "I'll fix it, I promise."
The monitors were the only answer.
"You were right." Quill sighed with the weight of what he knew bearing down on him. "When we fought that night—something happened. Something, that I... I had no idea how to handle it, okay? That's why I've been acting so restless these past weeks."
Quill rubbed his face, wanting to find the right words. He had believed that confessing to an unconscious Rocket would have been easier. It wasn't.
"Only Nebula knows. I know you suspected it; Nebs told me you tried to get it out of her several times. Sure thought we were sleeping together, don't you? You paranoid ass." A brief smile softened his lips. "But you gotta understand that I asked her to keep it a secret because I knew I had be the one to tell you. It wasn't anyone else's business."
That night of the attack, when they had argued, Rocket had acted like a cornered animal. As if he had been waiting for the worst news, finding Peter vomiting in the toilet once again.
("You smell different. I ain't no fool. I know that, on a physiological level, something has changed inside you, Pete!... Are you drinking again?)
"You kept insisting and insisting that night—I needed time, Rock…" Peter hadn't gotten it, though. And in a panic, he had attacked back. "When you accused me of drinking again, I… I'm sorry… I said a lot of bullshit. I just wanted you to back the hell off." The hormones certainly hadn't been making things easy. Quill had always been emotional, but this rollercoaster inhabiting his system was taking him to another level.
In the end, the right words didn't come. Quill chose to let Rocket know by his actions instead. He took Rocket's hand carefully—covering it entirely in his own—to settle it into the spot on his stomach where medical scans had revealed the embryo to be.
"You have to hold on, sweetheart."
Rocket's chest rose with the help of the artificial respirator. Although warm, his paw didn't move an inch.
Moisture welled up in Quill's eyes with the lack of reaction. It was so wrong, for Rocket not to explode into chaotic motion at this moment. That he didn't lose his temper with the news.
"I can't do this on my own." Peter swallowed. "I'm going to go get that passkey, we're going to save your life, and then—"
Then.
Well…
"Peter, we're here." Mantis's voice echoed through the med-bay.
Quill sniffed and after releasing Rocket's paw, he did his best to wipe his face to restore his composure. He stared at Rocket for a second, stuck between needing to get out onto the Bowie's deck immediately and not knowing how to say goodbye. In the end, he bent down to plant a fleeting kiss on the top of his boyfriend's head.
"We'll talk about then later, okay?"
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Before.
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It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
Quill, pressed against the alley wall, panting, and mumbling with his eyes closed, while Rocket massaged the inside of his pants. Both were drunk, celebrating the purchase of Knowhere that night.
"Shit." Quill's hands hovered near his shoulders without touching. Rocket was on top of public recycler, almost at the same level as the Terran. "Oooh."
Rocket had no idea they would go this far. At the beginning of the night, he had only sought to get Quill out of his mercurial moods, happy one moment and depressed the next. Drinks had been shared all night, accompanied by rounds of gambling in Contraxia's casinos with the units left over from his big acquisition. Drax and Mantis were still inside the casino, having fun.
Quill's hand finally stopped hesitating. It landed on the back of Rocket's head, his soft moans almost silent in the darkness of the alley.
Chills came over him at the contact. D'ast. Quill's fingers shocked him for a second. Nearly made him bolt out of the alley.
Then the shock passed, and invigorated, Rocket sped up his strokes. He was fascinated by this—the sensation of providing pleasure to someone—someone who, honestly, deserved to forget about all the shitty things they'd had to deal with lately. Quill deserved this release, even if it wasn't the greatest of carnal experiences coming from someone like Rocket.
In the distance, laughter momentarily came from the outskirts of the alley. It caused both to freeze for a moment.
With his head crouched against Quill's sternum, Rocket took a deep breath. He was aware Quill's scent would remain in his memory, even long after this encounter. When they both pretended this never happened, Rocket's senses would continue to torture him.
Returning to where they left off, Quill stroked Rocket's fur. "Faster," Came the hiss from above. "Please…"
It was the plea that affected him.
The member in his hand pulsed, blood vessels dilated and pre-ejaculation showing that Quill would need little to find climax. Rocket slid his hands up and down in the requested rhythm, creating a tunnel that made Quill's knees tremble. Rocket enjoyed being able to affect him like this. Being able to perceive the little hairs on Quill's soft belly in every movement—curly like its owner's own copper locks. Damn night vision, Rocket didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse.
"Ummm." The tightening of Quill's fingers on the back of his neck was the only warning.
Quill cursed, head pressed against the wall and eyes closed.
Rocket looked up and saw everything.
Neon lights were partially reflected on Quill's face, highlighting his involuntary grimace—devilishly attractive. Rocket barely managed to move out of the way to avoid getting cum on his jumper. He continued massaging Quill, however. Because that's how greedy he was. He wanted to feel every shudder; every sign that his friend had found relief…
"Oh my God." Quill whimpered, moments later. He hissed through gritted teeth, after a few moments of further stimulation. "Rocket, wait, that's enough—"
Hearing his name out loud was a shock. Rocket let go of Quill immediately.
Quill opened his eyes. He looked for him through the shadows. "Sorry, it was too much." He pointed to their laps between gasps. "Scut, that was…"
The quickly sobered Rocket up. The justifications that had guided his actions up to this moment suddenly seemed unclear to him. If not flarking stupid. He watched Quill's clumsy attempts to close his pants and put his dick back where it belonged, with a heavy heart.
When Quill's hand stretched out to touch him again, Rocket jumped off the recycler.
"Hey, hey…" Quill tried to track him down. "Where do you think you're going?"
Rocket felt his chest tighten. Any incandescence caused by the eroticism of touching Quill—of hearing him, of breathing him—in a lonely corner of this ill-born planet, died. "You got yer fun, Quill. We better get back to the casino."
"I'm sorry, what?" Anger soon seeped into Quill's voice. "Are you kidding me? You better be kidding me—Rocket, could you at least look me in the damn face?"
Rocket ignored him until he emerged onto the main street. The disastrous noises of recyclers being knocked to the ground told him that Quill wasn't willing to let the matter drop. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Why the hell—? Hey! If you were going to be a jerk about it—"
"Sssh! Flark, Quill, let the entire planet know what we were up to, will you?" Rocket began his walk back to the casino. Offended snorts were the response.
"Go to hell." Quill appeared next to him. "I want an explanation, Rocket. What the hell was that?"
"What do you think it was?" Rocket wiped his muzzle with the sleeve of his arm. It was a mistake. Quill's scent was impregnated into his clothes. "A small favor between friends is nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone does that back in your planet, don't they?"
"You did it out of pity, then?" Quill slammed on the brakes at that. Rocket advanced a few meters further, but then sighed to himself.
Shit.
He spun around.
"We thought it would help distract you." Rocket mumbled.
"'We'? Who's this 'We'?"
Oh, scut. "I thought it would help! You know, some fun to get you out of your weird moods! I didn't saw anyone else volunteering except me, so, here we are!"
That definitely didn't help.
Quill's expression only grew darker and darker. Snowflakes were falling on the humie's leather jacket and hair. Rocket could feel each flake brush against his fur as well. When Quill regained his voice, it was almost monotonous.
"I see. Poor Star-Lord, needing a quick hand-job to feel better! Oh Geez. Thanks for everything, Rocket. I don't know how I'd cope without your wise intervention. I guess you saved me the 600 units I would have spent on a pleasure bot."
"That's the spirit." How Rocket would get into this kind of mess, he'd never understand. He had only wanted to see Quill smile again. Instead, Quill looked like he was one step away from strangling him. For a moment, as Quill restarted the walk to the casino and passed Rocket, he was sure that Quill would at least try.
"You're an asshole."
Rocket remained standing in the same place for a long while longer. He received impatient looks from the other tourists as they passed him by.
The cold seemed to have numbed his brain, though.
He couldn't process it.
Why Peter would've sound so… hurt.
The next few weeks were uncomfortable, to say the least.
Fortunately, with everything the team needed to take care of during the transition from inhabiting the Benatar to inhabiting Knowhere, Rocket had plenty of excuses not to share the same space with Quill for more than five seconds. They were civil with each other, but they did not dare to talk about topics other than the work in their hands. Rocket couldn't think of anything to break the ice, much less to try to start a normal conversation with Quill. The best alternative, in his opinion, was to let time pass until what happened in Contraxia was completely forgotten.
If the team noticed the tension, they kept their mouths shut about it. Small victories.
Knowhere needed to undergo multiple repairs. Quill's plan was to build a base in the city to be the main point of contact with the Guardians of the Galaxy, and Rocket already had the plans in motion. Turning them into reality would take some time. Good thing, then, that time was something that Rocket had in spare.
One of those afternoons, while Rocket was examining the damn blueprints of their new HQ, Groot cornered him.
"I am Groot."
"Dunno what're you yapping about." Rocket folded his ears. "I didn't do anything to him."
"I am Groot."
"That's his problem."
"I. Am. Groot."
"Quill drinks uncontrollably because he's an idiot." Rocket growled. So, Quill was back at it. After four weeks sober, he had relapsed again. And somehow, Groot believed it was Rocket's fault. Nice. "Believe me, I'm the last life form that could do anything for him. Emotions—you know how I do with them, when I try. Somehow, it all ends in violence."
"…I am Groot."
Scut.
Rocket crumpled up part of the blueprints. "…Why would he feel alone? Quill has all of us." Rocket didn't need this drama. He didn't need to know that they weren't enough. That they weren't Gamora. That what Rocket had shared with Quill in a dark alley of Contraxia had been filthy and insignificant, compared to the love story between Quill and his late friend. None of this was necessary—Rocket had enough on his plate. He had a building to construct. A new ship to acquire. Supplies to manage with Nebula.
Rocket threw the blueprints onto the worktable. He clenched his fists as he growled.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." Rocket finally mumbled, heading out of the workshop. Satisfaction wouldn't last long for Groot once this blew up on his face. He acted like he didn't know them.
Quill had taken up residence at the local cantina. On the way there, Rocket spotted Drax and Nebula moving a shipment of supplies to the warehouses. Outside the cantina, Mantis was peering inside, standing on tiptoes. She looked worried about the idiot inside, just like Groot. When she saw Rocket approaching, she staggered back to solid ground and her antennae went up.
"He's been in there since this morning." Mantis rubbed her hands together. "He hasn't even eaten anything decent. He's going to get sick again."
"Flark." When Rocket looked through the window, he saw Quill at the bar in complete solitude. The moron had a bottle in front of him, emptied halfway. "Go help Nebs, I'll talk to him."
"Rocket, you are a good friend." Mantis smiled at him.
Rocket waved a hand as he left, heading towards the entrance of the cantina. "Let's see if Quill thinks the same."
There was depressing music running through the atmosphere of the place when Rocket went in. Quill did not react to the new presence. Since Rocket hated being ignored, he headed straight for the Zune's deck with every intention of provoking the humie.
In two clicks, he changed the ballad to some heavy rock. Time to wake up.
"What do you think you're doing?" Quill drawled his demand with a heavy tongue. He didn't turn to Rocket, still curled up in a ball on the bar.
"So, you are still conscious. Good to know." Rocket let some of the anger out of him. "Can't be too sure these days when you get into your weird moods. I guess someday we'll just have the smell of decay to tell us when you've choked on your own vomit."
"Leave me alone, Rocket."
"There's nothing I would want more right now," Rocket walked towards the bar. "But Groot and the others seem to think I'm special enough to deal with you." Rocket jumped into the seat parallel to Quill's. He spotted the label on the bottle. He grimaced. Kraken's Breath? That drink was pure poison. When he spoke again, he tried to soften his tone. "Quill, you are scaring the masses. Why don't you slow down and go take a nap?" He inhaled the aroma of the drink and his nostrils twitched. "Or shower."
"You're not my boss." Quill mumbled into his folded arms. "Nor my mother."
Rocket swallowed. "I'm your friend."
A snort came from the nest of tousled curls. "…Are you?"
Again, that hurt tone. It burned in Rocket's chest to recognize it.
Scut. That's why he hated interacting with this Quill.
"Friends don't give each other hand-jobs in dark alleys, right?" Quill continued, raising his head. "Mm. Friends with benefits? Nah. We're not that either—at least in that case, both parties get a happy ending, not a lame sendoff after a pity fuck." A caustic snort continued. "…You didn't even let me touch you." Quill reached for the bottle in his hand. He tilted it in consideration with slow movements.
After a month of ignoring what happened, Rocket wasn't prepared for Quill to open the topic without any preamble. Well, so much for the forget it ever happened plan. It seemed Quill had forgotten absolutely nothing.
"You did." The admission slipped out, Rocket almost biting it back. He cleared his throat. Automatically, he rubbed the back of his own neck, remembering the brief caresses. The fingers in his fur. "I mean, I remember that part."
Quill's profile twisted toward him. Half of his face was red from having his head pressed against his arm for too long. His eyes glistened with moisture, however. They set on of Rocket's hand touching his own neck and with a sudden inhalation, Peter and Rocket were on the same page.
"But not in the way…" Quill grimaced. "I wanted…"
Defensively, the hairs on Rocket's back stood up. "Wanna know somethin' else? I remember you tellin' me to stop, Quill. So, why don't you drop the offended act and grow up already?"
"Wait, what?" Quill's hysteria reached that high-pitched level that twitched Rocket's ears a little. "When did I say that, exactly? You were the one who acted like his ass was on fire! You didn't give me a second to react when you had already disappear from sight!"
Flark it. Everything was getting confusing. Quill had asked him to stop. Rocket remembered.
…Right?
D'ast. Rocket admitted that they had both been pretty drunk. Rocket could vaguely evoke panic. The adrenaline. Both shouting at each other, in the middle of the main street of the city.
"Whatever." Rocket shook his head. "It's not like you really wanted anything more than what you got!"
Quill stared at him.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Rocket got close enough to take the bottle from his hands. Quill didn't fight it.
"But I did."
Rocket squeezed his fingers around the bottle.
"…I wanted more. I wanted to touch you more. Feel you more." Quill muttered under his breath, now examining what was left of the drink in his shot glass. "Flark, Rocket, I was—we could've rent a room to make the most of the night, at least. I would've been all for it." Quill gave him a suspicious look. "Of course, that was before I knew you only jumped my bones because of a stupid bet, or because you were bored—or for whatever messed reason I don't know about." He emptied his drink. Then, he moved his hand towards Rocket. "Give it back. I'm still too sober for this conversation."
Rocket looked at the bottle.
Then, he looked back at Quill.
"OK. You wanna touch me so bad, Quill?" Rocket placed the bottle on the bar. "Leave this crap here and follow me."
"Rocket." The growl was a warning. "I'm not interested in your mind games."
"Ain't a game." Rocket jumped off the bar. He turned to Quill and shrugged. "I'm not gonna lie, Quill. I barely remember a thing of what we did that night. We were drunk up to our eyeballs. Doesn't mean we can't give it another try, though. If that's what it takes to fix this mess. I don't wanna loose our friendship!" He waited a moment for the words to sink in. "So… Interested, or are you gonna chicken-out?"
He didn't wait for a concrete answer. Instead of leaving himself vulnerable to possible mockery, he made his way out of the cantina. His heart raced, not fully believing what he was doing. He knew that sex used to be a big motivator for Quill—but since when did Rocket seriously considered himself part of the Terran's wide catalog of extravagant lovers? One drunken night didn't mean much.
The bench creaked behind him. Rocket's ears flickered as he registered the commotion.
Rocket paused for a second in the doorway.
The sound of boots echoed off the metal floor.
"Where are we goin'?" Was the mumbled retort he got.
Feeling Quill hot on his heels, Rocket resumed walking. He didn't answer.
They had temporary quarters while the official Guardian compound was being built. Although he hadn't visited it personally, Rocket knew which private quarter Quill had chosen. That was where they were goin'.
Rocket took the less crowded route, not wanting to attract the attention of their friends. Between sneaking through the labyrinths of Knowhere, he heard Quill spit curses, ducking at intervals to avoid decapitating himself. Rocket didn't bother hiding his laughter.
"See you up there, Star-Lover." He gestured toward the tin can window that Quill had chosen as his room on the second floor and continued to slide through the pipes, climbing his way there. Still on land, Quill babbled more complaints.
The window had no lock. Of course not. Quill was a dumbass. Rocket opened it a sliver, enough to slip through.
The room was dark. Quill's bed wasn't made, the first sign that today hadn't been a good day.
Rocket was aware that nightmares plagiarizing Quill still. In the minimal space of the Benatar it had been difficult not to notice it. The leather jacket that Quill loved so much was hanging from the chair of his small desk and part of the Bowie blueprints were spread out on the surface. The tablet and his comm lay on top of the plans, acting as a counterweight. All in all, the Captain's personal room wasn't a disaster, although there were certain clues that revealed a bit of the whirlpool shaking his mind.
Footsteps on metal were the only sign before the apartment door slid open. Quill rushed in. He slammed the lights on, making Rocket blink.
"You're here."
Rocket narrowed his eyes. "Yes, that's what I said."
"I don't know, I thought…" Quill stopped in the middle of the bedroom with big eyes and disheveled hair. Then the humie toured his own territory uncertainly. "Sorry, I didn't have time to clean up. We had a conference with the R'kuk early today to fine-tune the Bowie negotiations."
"It's not like I'm used to the high life, Quill." Rocket refocused on Quill's Tablet, receiving no negative reaction from his friend when he started snooping around. Quill behaved like a paranoid wife, rushing to gather his nightclothes off the floor and pick up used dishes from the table next to his bed. "So, how we doing with that? Those R'kuk are sure taking their sweet time closing the deal."
"They are a calculating race."
"Mm. Greedy more likely."
"They want 150 thousand more units."
Rocket rolled his eyes. "They are nuts. They're exceeding the market prices of this entire quadrant."
"And they also request a little of our… assistance."
Rocket growled lowly. "What kind of assistance?"
Quill uncovered his window. For a moment he looked content to allow some light to illuminate the metal box he called his bedroom. Then, he looked at Rocket intently, and seemed to reconsider. He closed the curtains again.
"We still don't know, man. We agreed that they would send the details at 21:00 hrs. today. Nebula will follow up." Interesting. Why did Quill look all red? "I—um. Do you want something to drink? I have drinks." He gestured toward the personal refrigerator. "I'll go to—Um. Get some water or a soda, if you want, or not. I'll be back."
It all happened in less than six seconds. Rocket, confused, watched Peter flee to the apartment's adapted lavatory.
-That was weird. Rocket hoped that at the very least, Quill was ready to metabolize all that Kraken's Breath. -I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go. He accepted the invitation for an ice-cold soda and took a seat at Quill's desk. He had been in the workshop for days. He couldn't even remember his last snack.
Upon Quill's return, it was revealed the Terran had not only emptied his bladder. Thick steam escaped from the threshold of his lavatory. When Quill joined him, he was completely wet, wearing a towel around his waist and mumbling to himself.
Soda got stuck in his vocal cords. Rocket coughed a fraction of the liquid onto his jumper.
"I thought about getting dressed—But then I realized, wouldn't that be a waste of time?" Quill walked towards the bed without seeing Rocket. "Besides, I forgot my clothes here."
Oh, son of a flark.
Quill bent down on his knees to snoop under the bed. In the process, his enormous butt was exposed with only a towel separating him from full nudity. Rocket couldn't take his eyes off him. He swallowed—and discovered that saliva had deserted him.
"AHA!" Quill pulled out a plastic tube. He went on to put it on the table next to the bed.
He looked revived—vibrant—compared to the previous minutes. Rocket suspected that Quill hadn't been that drunk in the first place.
There was a layer of moisture that made his skin glow all over. Quill's stomach was soft, not hardened with muscle. A line of light hairs ran from his navel downwards. The same type of hair sprinkled his chest. Rocket also found freckles on his shoulder blades.
Tiny droplets slid through the wet locks. When Quill fell onto the bed, those drops bounced everywhere. "So?"
"So what?" Rocket's first impulse was to hide the impact. To not being transparent with the blood pumping vigorously under his skin.
Slowly, Quill laid back down the length of the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. "Are you really that thirsty…" Clear eyes shifted from the soda bottle in his company's grip, to Rocket's waist. "…or do you prefer that we pick up where we left off last time?"
Rocket stood up from the desk. "You say that now." He sighed. He gestured towards his body. "Wait until you see the rest."
Quill frowned. "Hey, have more faith in me, Rocket… Oh, I know what'll help!" Getting back up, his friend knelt on the bed until he was close to the headboard. Rocket watched him reinsert a cassette into the old player Quill had repurposed from the Milano. Music filtered through the bedroom.
Rocket smiled, shaking his head. "You don't have to try so hard, Quill. I'm a sure deal."
"Shhh. It's part of setting the mood, mister kill-joy." His friend raised his index finger to encourage him to come closer. "And if we're going to do it right this time, you probably should stop calling me by my last name."
Rocket started pulling at the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh yeah? What should I call you then? I can think of a lot of other options."
"You can start with Peter." Quill crawled on his knees back to the edge, watching him. He was grinning like a fool. "No objections to God, as we get more into it. It's completely normal, even expected."
"How about moron?" Rocket's vision was blocked for a moment, the shirt passing through the dimensions of his head while undressing. Finally, he let the discarded shirt fall to the floor. He ignored Quill's watchful gaze, focusing on the boots. He bent down to start removing one of them.
-"Uuuuuuuh, love to love you, baby."
The singer seemed to already be starting to have fun without them, with all that purring and moaning. Extreme heat ran through Rocket, the more he exposed himself. He pulled off a boot. Focused on the other. When the task was done, his hands froze on their way to his waist. Ice intermingled with the flames inside him with the prospect of knocking down the last shield off himself.
-Scut, now I remember. Rocket snorted. -The panic. Peter had tried to touch him. The memory came like a thorn in his mind. Peter had tried to touch him, and that hadn't been the original plan. So, Rocket had freaked out.
"Rocket, look at me." The mattress squeaked due to movements on its surface. "Rocket."
A smile greeted him as they locked eyes. Gentile. Sweet. Peter Quill, the conciliator.
"Let's do it together, huh? That'll help with the nerves." Peter palmed the right side of the bed in invitation. He winked. "You and me, buddy, at the same time."
For a moment, Rocket was enthralled.
Seeing Rocket shed his clothes had caused an obvious reaction from Quill. The towel did nothing to hide it. Rocket found it hard to believe. Was Quill really attracted to a freak like him?
The evidence was there. And this time, Quill had his eyes wide open and set on Rocket. There wasn't any dark alley to make Rocket think otherwise.
"Quill…" Well, Rocket was no prude. His erection pushed against his own pants, demanding equal attention. It was all that damn towel's fault. "I didn't do it out of pity." He hissed as if the admission hurt his throat. "Or because of a stupid bet—I mean, we're worried. And yeah, we shoot the shit every now and then with stupid suggestions, thinking how to make you feel better… but we don't do it because… we want to humiliate you."
Quill's Adam's apple bounced considerably as he swallowed. Some of his gentleness hardened. "Come here."
Rocket growled. "Are you not paying attention?" He rubbed his head for a moment. "I need—I mean… Flark, why is it so hard to say…?"
"That you're sorry? I think you just did." Quill scooted toward the edge, spreading his legs provocatively. Fuck. What a way to shut Rocket's brain the hell up. "It's fine, but I won't forgive you until you get rid of those damn pants."
A weight that he was not aware of being carried was lifted from his shoulders. Rocket took a deep breath. "Pervert."
The smile widened for a moment. Then, seriousness seeped into his expression as Quill watched Rocket's steps towards him. "Rock, you have no idea… how much I want to touch you."
"Why?" Rocket mumbled. He stepped between Quill's spread legs. "You that bored?"
"Because you're sexy. Since that night…" Peter interrupted himself. He licked his lips, and let his hands hover in question, stopping himself from making contact with Rocket's pants. "Can I…?"
Rocket considered the humanoid hands in front of him. They were pale on the back, while the fingers looked tanned, a consequence of the use of combat gloves. He also found freckles scattered in different spots.
These were hands that knew how to pilot. Hands that could kill. Hands that could also be gentle. These weren't cruel hands, willing to cut Rocket open to the core, wanting to find out what made Rocket tick—to determine what could be discarded and what could be improved.
Rocket took them in his, his palms barely covering Quill's.
He guided them directly to the elastic of his pants.
"And you take care of me." Peter encouraged Rocket towards him with gentle tugs on his pants.
Rocket snorted. He used two of his fingers to create a clamp and anchored them over the knot tying the towel. "On the count of three?"
Quill's pearly teeth peeked out. "One, two—Hey!"
"Surprise." Rocket scoffed, twitching his whiskers in a laugh. The suspense was over. All at once, Rocket met Quill in his birth suit. "Huh… you really are blonde everywhere."
"I thought you had already seen everything." Peter unzipped Rocket's pants.
"Told ya—I barely remember what we did that night. I was wasted." Rocket gave a tiny jump when a huge hand entered his groin area. "Whoa."
"Oh, that's it." Quill mumbled. "God, I need to get this off." Quill pulled Rocket's pants to the floor impatiently. Rocket stuck out one leg, holding on to Quill, and then the other. "Look at that pretty thing of yours."
"Shuddup." Rocket pawed at Quill's chest. "It's not pretty."
"Oh, but it's gorgeous." Peter whispered. He made the first brush against Rocket's length gently. His fingers felt huge as they wrapped around it. This time, Rocket held on to Quill for different reasons. "Ready for me, aren't you?"
"Quill." Flark, was that his voice? Scut. Rocket was surprised how his body took on a life of its own, vulnerable to the stimulation Quill knew how to apply. He spasmed against his hand, crouching over Quill's lap.
"Rock, please." Quill whimpered. "I want to feel you too."
Rocket rubbed his muzzle over the stomach at his disposal. That damn smell, the same one from the alley. Rocket caressed the human's wide thighs to get familiar. To savor the masculine texture of blonde hair and skin. Quill experimented in kind, letting go of his erect member to stroke the fur of Rocket's stomach. Up, down, up, down, up—then heading down again. His opposite hand remained anchored to Rocket's waist.
Without much prior experience to consider, Rocket imitated the petting. He moved up Quill's thighs toward his hips. His stomach. The sides of him. He found strengthened muscles and softness of a new Age where the Guardians no longer starved themselves, nor took missions without advanced pay. The weight Quill had lost while mourning Gamora upon returning from the Snap had been well compensated for during the new lifestyle, they were establishing in Knowhere. Rocket felt greedy, then.
"Lay down." He pushed at Quill's torso.
"Fuck yeah." Quill slid down the bed immediately. With the soles of his feet, he pushed himself towards the headboard. "What do you like, Rock? Tell me."
Rocket jumped onto the bed. With one foot he removed the wet towel to the floor. "Dunno." He shrugged a shoulder.
Quill frowned. "You never had… other lovers?"
"I'm not a humie, Quill. Different needs. I don't have the same impulses… or at least, for a long time, I thought I didn't."
"What changed?"
Rocket sat next to Quill, resting his back against the headboard. At the same height, he couldn't stop the impulse of stroking a copper curl out of Quill's face. "Five years on my own."
Peter turned to him. The green tone of his gaze was lost in the low lighting of the room.
"I haven't been with anyone else either, since Gamora." He shared, stroking Rocket's leg. "It didn't feel right, you know? To sleep with people I'd only meet once. Without any connection—other than the obvious." His lips curled. "It's been a long time since I've felt this way…"
Rocket frowned. "What way?"
"You know. Excited to be with someone." Feeling Rocket's fingers still in his hair, Quill tilted his face in his direction like a gigantic cat. "With someone I trust." His hand slid to Rocket's lap area, stealing his breath. Quill caressed his balls with exploratory certainty. Rocket had had no idea about the high sensitivity. "Someone… who I find incredibly attractive. Everything in one package."
Rocket brought his snout closer to the Terran's profile. He breathed in the artificial scent of shaving cream. He gave an experimental lick. "You talk too much, Quill. Anyone told ya that before?"
"This mouth is multi-talented." Quill changed tactics; caressing Rocket's chest next. The feeling was electrifying. "Wanna start getting to know one of many?"
Quill did indeed show him.
Rocket found himself digging his claws into the covers, enveloped in the assault of foreign—exhilarating—sensations. Intimidating sensations. Quill had him propped up on the pillows, legs extended, while the Terran slid into the middle of them, slowing down until he was leveled with his groin.
Flark, Rocket had to close his eyes—the vision was too much. Quill's naked body spread across the bed like that, ass raised in the air without any shame. It burned nerves inside Rocket that he didn't know he possessed. He growled to himself, struggling to master the physiological reactions that went beyond the cybernetic evolution that had been imposed on him.
Shit. And Quill was still talking. "—if you want me to stop, say it, and I'll do it, okay?"
Quill had the nerve to look smug as he raised his head, massaging the base of Rocket's cock, leisurely. He realized that Quill was waiting for an answer.
Rocket nodded, ears folding.
Quill smiled sweetly at him—Rocket didn't understand it.
"Hold on to your butt, cowboy."
Tears to the sheets were imminent.
The licks returned. Quill didn't grimace at the taste—something Rocket had expected. On the contrary, the twists of his tongue endured and expanded in time and dedication. He dragged his mouth down Rocket's length as if he had all the time in the universe. Rocket's tail curled around the back of Quill's neck in moments, then twisted in the opposite direction, completely confused. Quill made sounds every time he felt the contact, but he didn't stop.
"Uggggh." It was difficult to stay still. Rocket flexed his legs involuntarily, watching Quill's head rise and fall, slowly lowering himself onto his erection. The smell was inescapable, then. It thickened around the bedroom. Pheromones? Would Quill be able to reproduce them like Rocket? "F-Flark."
"Mm-hmm."
Rocket rolled his eyes to the back of his skull.
Quill separated his mouth, continuing to massage him. "Rocket…" His voice sounded hoarse. Reopening his eyes, Rocket detected movement beneath the Terran. Quill, stimulated himself. His entire face was a flushed, wet mess. He was covered in natural fluids. Rocket's impulse was to jump him and lick everything. "Feel free to say, no, but I wonder if you'd be into… fucking me."
The member in Quill's hands twitched. When Rocket eventually realized the extent of what was said, tension built up in his body. He lifted his head from the pillows.
"What?"
"Shit…" Quill planted his face in the other's abdomen. "Do you think it's too crazy? Just though since it's your first time… it'll make it special. I'll make you feel so good, I promise."
Rocket panted into the pillows in need of a break. Quill just kept hitting him with these d'ast surprises.
He tried to string together coherent thoughts. He was good at this. Thinking.
Of being inside Quill. Of fucking Quill.
"I've never done that before." The idea overwhelmed him, but at the same time it interested him. "Wouldn't it hurt you?"
Quill kissed his stomach. "No, baby. Not if we do it right."
"You've done it before?"
Quill nodded, his chin brushing the fur. "Sometimes. It's been a while, but yes."
Rocket gulped. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, flark yeah, I fucking loved it."
Well, Rocket could hardly refuse with such enthusiasm. "What I do?" He rolled his eyes. "Besides the obvious, I mean."
"Don't worry about a thing." A certain glow of emotion illuminated his lover's face. Without further ado, Quill sat up on the bed to stretch towards the table next to the bed. Rocket spotted the tube that had been pulled from the floor, now in the Terran's hands. He winked at Rocket. "I got this, buddy."
Rocket made room on the bed so Quill could lie down. "What are you doing?"
The humie lay back on the bed, legs spread. "I have to prep myself." When he applied pressure to the tube, clear, oily liquid gushed straight to his fingers. Peter took care to cover two of his fingers in particular. Then, he took deep breaths in intervals to relax. He glanced at Rocket. "God, just look at you…" Quill caressed his own erection for a few moments. "So hot."
Rocket folded his ears, seeing a finger going over the humie's testicles. Quill directed it toward his rectum.
Oh.
The process was tortuous in terms of waiting. Rocket vacillated between asking more questions—How would he fit in there?—looking away—something quite impossible with the way Quill was mumbling approving sounds—and stroking his own erection to sooth it.
"Almost." Quill gasped. He had two fingers inside him, sliding it in in a parody of what they were about to do. "Leave that alone, Rocket! Don't spoil the fun when we're just about to start."
"Hurry up, Barbie." Rocket hissed through fangs. He pressed on the base of his erect member to try to cut off the blood flow. He felt like he was about to combust on his own.
"Okay, okay… I think that'll do it." Quill threw the tube at him. "It's lube, get it all over your blaster, Casanova."
Rocket snorted at the comparison. "W-What are you doing now?"
"It will be easier this way." Turning onto his stomach, Peter pushed the pillows under his body, at waist level, to elevate his butt. "Trust me." The idiot smiled at him. As he bent his knees across the bed to kneel, the last neurons inside Rocket evaporated. "Come on, Rock. Let's get this show on the road."
There was something so… innately sensual, about the way Quill handled his entire body. Rocket had noticed it since he put the idiot in a bag. Quill used every movement of his hips as a lethal weapon.
Of course, that in the context of sex, that sensual grace of his would be deadly.
Rocket remained standing as he settled behind Peter. Blindly, a human arm reached out toward him, seeking to guide him. When he didn't find him within reach, Quill whimpered.
"Please." He insisted. "Do it now. Stop thinking about it so much."
Everything in Rocket shook. "Typical of Star-Lord, always wanting things to go his way." He closed the distance with his heart in his throat. He planted his hands on Peter's buttocks, caressing them for the first time. With just the tips of his claws writing on his skin. "…'Rocket, do this', 'Rocket do that.'" Rocket extended the firm buttocks until he found the hidden core that held the aroma driving him mad.
There.
Rocket gasped as he caught sight of the dilated ring. So pretty. Pretty as the rest of Quill.
"OhGod—Rocket." Quill's body convulsed slightly as he felt the licks on his center. Rocket did it again. The taste surfaced on his tongue. The pheromones destroyed his sense of smell. He felt Quill practically melt into the bed. Oh, the sounds. They were enough to push Rocket very close to the limit. Growling, instinct led Rocket to rearrange himself on top of Quill, holding onto his broad waist as he guided his cock to the right spot. "Ooooh, hell yeah."
"Quill." Rocket whimpered back. He thrusted little by little. He didn't expect everything to be so overwhelming. The heat. The pressure. Seeing himself disappear into another body. Rocket crouched over Quill like he was wounded. "I—Does it hurt?"
"Oh, baby, no… Keep going, Rocket…" Quill pushed with his butt to convince him. Rocket did so, slowly rocking his groin until there was no longer any space between his bodies. After that, Quill needed a moment to acclimatize. Then, he caressed Rocket's leg that was closest to him. "Start moving, please… I'm fine."
Even if a hundred years passed, Rocket knew that he would not find the words to describe the sensations of this day. Rocket acted on impulses he had never though he was capable of. The carnal pleasure, the closeness—Rocket had never thought he would experience them. So, feeling it all at once—it overwhelmed him beyond what his brain could compartmentalize.
Setting up a rhythm, the bed squeaked in anticipation of their less than innocent activities. Vaguely, music was conceivable. Either way, Rocket was much more interested in continuing to listen to the dirt pouring out of Quill's mouth.
At some point, the Terran wasn't even babbling in Standard.
Rocket ended up hugging the terran's torso, licking the sweat straight from the source. When Quill demanded more in that-bossy-tone, Rocket lost considerable self-control and tightened his nails to steady himself.
His cybernetic modifications had provided him with a physical strength that wasn't often credible to his adversaries, until they felt the consequences of their own stupidity. And Quill knew it. He knew exactly what Rocket was capable of.
And he didn't give a fuck, urging him on.
Rocket's groin hit Peter's ass in a reinforced wave that pushed the idiot towards the headboard. The impetuous display had Quill pulling on his cock like his life depended on it. Rocket hissed again at the raw display.
Fucking Quill.
The lines seemed to get blurry right there and then.
The cadence of their bodies wasn't perfect. There were moments where Quill wanted to move in the opposite direction to take control, breaking the rhythm semi-established by Rocket. When that happened, Rocket grumbled, squeezing his nails to warn him to stay still. In reaction, Quill cursed with renewed flourish. Feeling the marks emerging on his skin seemed to excite him, rather than bother him. His hand was almost flying under his body at this point, stimulating himself eagerly. With the opposite hand of his, Peter held onto the headboard, head hunched over the mattress.
Rocket tried to imagine it. Quill's expression at this moment, the pout on his flushed face. Sweaty hair plastered against his forehead.
Scut, his cock. Rocket had barely glimpsed it, Quill's swollen member, red and plump, glistening with the strange substance Peter had rubbed on it. Flark, would it taste he same as his core? Rocket wanted to lick it all up.
Rocket's hips short-circuited. Without further ado, he met the outcome—a supernova crushing his cells.
"R-Rocket." Quill noticed. His butt writhed along with the last thrusts, jumping to the same abyss. Rocket couldn't produce anything coherent. He growled. He pressed his face into Quill's back and let himself be carried away by the damn fireworks. "Mmmm—yes, yes! Mmmm!"
Quill's body clenched with the natural spasms of his orgasm. Too sensitive to bear it, Rocket screeched to himself. It was too much. He could feel everything.
It was too much.
Rocket had to get away.
"Ow… careful." Completely melted into the bed as he enjoyed the aftershocks, Quill hissed at him as he turned to face him. Something must have snuck in from Rocket's body language because he was quick to lift his head up. "Hey… baby, you okay?"
-Don't call me that. Rocket was nobody's Baby. Quill had never chosen to give him those kinds of nicknames before. Why now? Just because they fucked? Rocket wasn't Gamora. He shook his head and turned his back to the terran, sitting at the edge of the foot of the bed. Rocket gasped, overwhelmed, claws on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
"Rocket?"
-Abort and get out of here. With a hand, he rubbed his face and muzzle. It was just like in the alley. Panic. Fear—although Rocket didn't get the fear of what, exactly.
The bed bounced a little, marking movement behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Rocket caught sight of Quill's legs and feet retreating from the edge. Rocket had ruined the freaking moment. Quill must have been thinking of a way to get him out of his apartment after such a terrible disaster.
Steps of bare feet against metal announced that Peter had risen.
Rocket focused on breathing. As soon as Quill was out of his line of sight…
He didn't expect for Peter to come back. Much less to come back with two bottles of iced water. The Terran sat next to him on the edge and offered one of the bottles. For a moment, Rocket just examined the offering in shock.
"It helps." Quill whispered. "And to breath. Keep breathing."
Rocket ripped off the bottle. He opened it and took a long drink. Afterwards, he passed the condensed bottle all over his face.
He had no flarking idea what to say.
So, he opted for silence.
Quill picked up his legs from the ground, opting to sit cross-legged. "Rocket, I'm sorry. "I shouldn't have… pressured you."
Rocket frowned. "You didn't."
Quill sighed. "I don't know, man. I feel like I did."
Rocket stared at the condensation on the bottle in his hand. He continued breathing deeply for a few moments. "Lemme me be crystal clear about somethin'. This…" When he felt controlled, he gestured towards his chest to make it clear that the only culprit here was his own body. His own mind. "Ain't nothing to do with ya, Quill."
"It was a panic attack, right?" Peter inquired in a neutral voice. "I have them too. Sometimes. During the nights."
"Heh." Rocket scratched at the fluff on his arm. "Guess neither of us are anything to brag about. What a pair of losers."
A slight snort showed the reaction to his attempt at humor. "Did you enjoy it, at least?"
What a fucking loaded question.
Rocket took another swig from the bottle. This time he didn't stop until he emptied it.
Then, he twisted the bottle and threw it into the recycler can near the bed.
How to answer that? I think I enjoyed it too much. That's the d'ast problem? or I swear my brain just melted out of my dick?
He didn't want to make Quill feel bad, despite everything. These panicked reactions weren't his fault. Rocket was the only one who had to pay them mind. And in the end, he had achieved the freaking goal here: getting Quill away from the cantina. Focus on something else that wasn't getting totally wasted. If having constant sex with Rocket could help keep Quill away from getting shit-faced in a daily basis, Rocket wouldn't disqualify the method just yet.
Rocket just needed to do better next time.
"Dunno, Quill. Think you may be up for repetition anytime soon?" Rocket shrugged his shoulders. Then waved a paw around his head. "Just so I can make up my mind. I'm still fuzzy on the details."
When he turned towards Quill, green eyes had widened in surprise. "You serious?"
Rocket grimaced as he noticed the mess in his lap. "Sure." He jumped out of bed. He sent Quill a considering look over his shoulder. "But first, how about you show me how that primitive thing you call a shower, works?"
[+][+][+]
End of Part i.
[+][+][+]
NoA: To my non-spanish speakers, I bet you didn't see this coming, huh?
I don't know how it happened, but I sat down and started the translation and here we are. I'm not 100% convinced, cuz Rocket is such a hard character to portray, but hey, I'm trying my best to be loyal to his personality!
Notes
(from original work in Spanish):
I KNOW. Sex to keep Peter entertained is NOT the best way to start a relationship. Rocket is about to experience the consequences, don't worry. Oh, rather, yes, worry.
Please be patient. Rocket will eventually pull his head out of his ass, I promise!
Next chapter: We'll get more flashbacks + more present time with Peter arriving on Counter-Earth.