![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
I can't sleep alone because there's something in here
Afterwards, that short span of time he spends back on Earth with Peter doesn't feel real.
They carve out a solid couple of days for themselves where they don't do a whole lot of anything that'd oblige them to put real clothes on, or stumble any further than the galley. It's a warm and hazy space, a world removed from anything that came before or after. It's tempting to curl a little closer into that warmth, to pretend that as long as they're here together like this, nothing else could possibly touch them.
But the fact is he's gone and got himself some fucking responsibilities these days. He can't hide from them here forever, no matter how badly part of him kind of wants to try. They've already stuck around probably longer than they should have; there's going to be a dozen different flavors of crisis waiting for them back on Knowhere, and that's if everything's gone well. They say their goodbyes and get ready to head out, and as they prep for departure, there's a certain edge to the silence in the cockpit.
"Shut up," Rocket says eventually.
"I didn't say anything," Nebula replies.
He shoots her an unimpressed sideways glance, which she meets with absolute impassivity. She doesn't need to say a damn word. The whole crew are family, but after everything, no-one else knows him like she does. Five years living in each others' pockets, no-one to lean on but each other, and he can hear her fucking thinking it. After a long moment she snorts, shakes her head, and returns her attention to the pre-flight checks.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she says, quieter, her gaze firmly focused on the console in front of her.
Rocket sighs and gives a shadow of a grin, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest of the copilot's seat. "I know you know I don't."
That is, mercifully, the closest he comes to needing to have any kind of heart-to-heart about the whole thing. By the time they make it back to Knowhere, enough time has passed that the bites and bruises have faded, and the whole thing is starting to feel kind of like a dream. There's not exactly time to think about it either, not when the aforementioned crises are ambushing them the second they walk out of the fucking airlock. There's always a million things to do, both right here on Knowhere and further afield, and as the sucker nominally in charge every last bit of it's his problem. Never mind dwelling on anything, it's enough of a challenge finding time to sleep.
But...there are quieter moments, here and there. Lying in bed with the lights outside dimmed for the station's night cycle, too bone tired to do anything more than stare at the ceiling but still buzzing with too many thoughts to sleep; those are the moments he finds himself thinking, idle and pointless, about a world where maybe there isn't nothing but a cold expanse of empty sheets on the other side of the bed. It's not regret, nor is it hope, really. It's just...a daydream, maybe, about a world where things went down a little different.
He picks up his comm, looking at the conversation sitting on the screen tempting as a big red button. He doesn't type I can't fucking believe you made me do this without you, much as the thought crosses his mind about a dozen times a day even now. He doesn't type I miss you either, although it's fucking true.
What he does do, in the end, is flick on a lamp to cast some low, warm light across the room, and open the camera. The shot he takes is bordering on tasteful, largely by dint of being intended to tease; it's mostly bare torso, cutting off below the hipbones just as happy trail starts to thicken into denser hair, although the positioning of his free hand where it disappears out of frame is distinctly suggestive. He smirks at the lens as he snaps the shot, and sends it off before he has time to second-guess himself.
>> thinkin of you
no subject
They had some good years, some real shitty ones, and now... now things have changed again, but for the worse. They're just different; Peter was different, and he had to get his head out of his ass, follow Mantis's advice, and try to reconnect with what was left of his roots. So he did.
That doesn't mean he doesn't mind his other family any less. Knowing they're all right, that Rocket is there to guide them helps. Pestering them in the intercoms now and then also makes things more bearable. And Peter has things to do too, helping around when he can, doing odd jobs, gossiping with his grandad... It's good, great even. But the fact that there's still something missing remains.
He doesn't fully understand the extent of it until Rocket visits; they have some of the greatest nights—and mornings, and days...— of Peter life, and then he has to go back to Knowhere and galaxy-saving business. Peter doesn't blame him; he knows firsthand that leaving Kraglin, Groot and possibly Adam alone for more than a couple of days is tempting fate. Hell, they might even manage to accidentally get married to each other if left unsupervised long enough.
So Peter doesn't blame him.
And it's not as if he's thinking about Rocket that often.
Just sometimes, during the cold, long nights. Also, when he showers, because they did some really interesting things in one that one time, and he's sentimental. But mostly he misses him in those moments when he thinks of something silly or irritating that would no doubt have gotten a reaction from the other man (or some sort of tool thrown at his head), and Peter turns, opens his mouth...and Rocket's not there.
It's nothing, really. He's fine; they're all fine. Peter's hands sometimes itch with the desperate want to grab his comm and send Rocket a message to ask how many times he's listened to 'Come and Get your Love' by now, but he resists. Rocket has a job to do, a galaxy to look after, and he probably will call Peter out on being a needy terran. If Jason notices him moping, at least his grandad has the grace to not call Peter out on it.
Peter still keeps his comm link on his person or on his bedside table when he's in his room, just in case there's an emergency that calls for his attention. It's why, when it blinks and makes a small familiar beep, he picks it up with reflexes that would put Nebula to shame. Meaning, even she would feel second hand embarrassment at the fact Peter dropped it twice in his attempt to see who's calling for him. He almost drops it a third time when he reads the message and sees the attached photo.
Oh.
Ohhhh. It's probably good that he's got his own apartment now, and no one can see the stupid, pleased smile on his face. He takes a few seconds to admire the picture and the implications of it before answering. He doesn't say, 'I think of you more often than it's wise', but he sure thinks about it.
Who knew you were such a good photographer? That light looks good on you.
Peter looks around his room, trying to locate the candy he always keeps around, having a sweet tooth has always been one of his vices that Groot also inherited, and lets out a small 'bingo!' when he finally finds what he's looking for.
You know what else looks good on you? Me.
He texts next, figuring that Rocket would either find that corny or suggestive, and both options have the potential to make him groan, so that's still a win.
I was going to take a shower, but I could make some time for you while I finish this.
Peter doesn't second guess what he's doing, snapping a picture and sending it to Rocket. He's resting his back on the headboard and still with a shirt on, but it's tight enough that it might as well be painted on him. And he's also got a red lollipop pressed over his bottom lip, staining it red.
no subject
Even before that last trip, it'd already felt wrong to not have Peter here with them. It's worse now. He doesn't regret it, but damn, they really do have the worst fucking timing.
He snorts at the follow-up message, rolling his eyes. Maybe it's reassuring in a way to know that if Peter ever passes up an opportunity for a dumb innuendo, he can just go ahead and shoot the guy, because there's no way that doesn't mean he's been replaced by some kind of shapeshifter. He's in the middle of typing out a reply along the lines of you'd think anything looks good if you're involved when the picture comes through and his brain abruptly stops working.
Wild to think that just a few short weeks ago that picture wouldn't have had much of an effect on him. After everything, it has him muttering a low, heartfelt curse, lazily palming his dick as a flush of heat washes over him for the memory of Peter on his knees, smirking up at him, lips glistening—
>>your mouth should be fucking illegal
>>wouldn't mind seein that shower either though
no subject
>>My mouth did get me arrested a few times, so it might be.
Not for the first time, he feels the distance like it's a living thing out to get him and make him miserable. Count on him always missing home in some way, no matter where he is. Part of him finds himself checking out the picture Rocket sent once again, partially to see if he can spot any new bruise or injury on the other man that he hadn't told him about. But that aside, hot damn, those abs are distracting, and so is the sharp curve of those hips.
>>The nights have been getting colder these days here. That's the problem with living on an actual planet with seasons instead of an atmosphere-controlled station. I wouldn't mind having you on the bed, close or on top of me, you give some nice, firm warmth. I'd make it worth the effort and show you my gratitude.
Looks like Peter's a talker even when he texts. Unlike Rocket, he's still using both of his hands to type, but that might soon change. He's having enough fun getting Rocket all riled up.
>>Yeah? Any ideas of what you'd like to do in there if you were here?
no subject
To be fair, he does have more positive things to say about Peter's mouth than he used to. A lot of those things were along the lines of fuck and yes and more, moaned toward the ceiling of the bunk with his fingers twined into Peter's hair.
He's always been more comfortable on ships and stations himself; weather's a fun novelty for about ten minutes, and then it settles firmly into being a pain in the ass. But there's something weirdly appealing about the thought of frost riming the windows of Peter's poky little apartment back on Earth, snow drifting to the ground outside maybe, and the two of them in an island of warmth in the bed with all the time in the fucking world to make the most of it. He's not normally much for ideas like peace and holding still, but maybe that few days of spectacular sex fried something in his brain a little, because the moment the idea's put to him he's suddenly struck by how fiercely he wants it.
Or much as he wants to blame his dick for this one, maybe it's just...Peter. He could count on his fingers how many people in the universe he trusts completely, how many he'd do fucking anything for, and Peter's one of them. Maybe he should have seen this coming. If they were ever going to find themselves here, obviously it wasn't gonna be a one and done kind of deal.
He closes his eyes and pictures the scene, feeding the lazy heat humming in his veins as he rocks his hips slowly into the warm pressure of his palm. The steamy haze filling the air, rivulets of water tracing the lines of Peter's body, a flush on his skin from the heat. He gives a slow, shuddering breath and reaches for the comm again.
>> i'd taste every fucking inch of you
>> drive you crazy teasing
no subject
>>Didn't you have a pretty effective method to keep me quiet? And gagged. Wouldn't mind you getting a bit more rough the next time I have your cock down my throat. I don't have a gag reflex.
Possibly. Or at least, he's got a very controlled one. Rocket can see proof of that one of these days; for now, he can enjoy the mental image. God knows Peter enjoys hearing the man curse to the heavens and moan brokenly more than it's probably safe, but that's Peter for you. He never puts a limit on the stupid things he will do for the people he loves. Or the horny things. Those are more pleasant for everyone involved.
Peter likes to think that his apartment is on the side of cozy, not small, even if that's just a comfortable lie he tells himself. He doesn't have much money —or rather, the one he has is useless on Earth since it's a whole different currency— and he doesn't want to mooch off of his grandad even if he offered to help. So, Peter's working to get by all by himself and putting his money on the things that matter. Like getting himself a brand-new bed big enough to fit two muscular grown men comfortably. The rest of his furniture is second-hand, however, and it did come from Jason. But that's not mooching off his grandad, that's just...recycling. Giving things a second life and all that. Shut up.
Anyhow, Peter's really glad about the bed investment because maybe one day he will get Rocket here and comfy enough that he won't mind spending a few hours just doing nothing but existing together. The fact that Peter has two bedside tables and that the one by the side Rocket usually sleeps on happens to be empty, just in case the man wants to put trinkets or tools in the drawers one day, is just a happy coincidence.
He grins down at his comm link, easily imagining Rocket doing just that, and hell if it doesn't get Peter all hot and bothered. Warmth blooms in his chest and travels south, his dick twitching interest in his pants. He's down so bad it's almost ridiculous. Peter pulls his shirt over his head, leans forward holding the com on his lap but angled up, and takes a picture of his chest, the expanse of his neck, and the sharp curve of his jawline. His face is only visible from the upper lip down, and he's holding the round lollipop between his teeth and smirking.
>> You better. The bites you left them with are faded now; you'll need to try harder the next time so they last longer. I liked sucking a mark on your inner thigh; you made really amazing sounds. I think of them often when I feel lonely.
no subject
Fuck he'd love to be able to make good on that. To throw some pants on for the couple of minutes it'd take to make his way over to Peter's room on the station, secure in the knowledge he'd be getting jumped and dragged into the bed before he's even through the door. It sits uneasy as a missing tooth, knowing that room's sitting dark and empty right now. The light years between them fucking ache.
He can't hold the picture of himself on Earth for more than a moment. It ends abruptly at the door of Peter's apartment, beyond that a void of nothing but...whatever it is real people do with their days. Whatever it is Peter's doing now, on the other side of the universe from them
The next message comes with a picture; he gives a groan that's half need and half frustration, and before he can give it any conscious thought, he's already hitting the call button. The second he hears Peter pick up on the other end he's already growling out, "I swear to god I'm gonna rail you until you can't fucking speak."
no subject
And Peter is not too proud to do that. Under the right conditions, and Rocket is an expert at making them happen, he can ask for things nicely. He has to stop himself from giggling like a teenager with a crush at finally being able to hear Rocket's voice. Gods, he missed it even if it really hasn't been that long. He missed more than his voice.
It feels like such unfortunate timing that they have developed this...thing...now that Peter finally decided to try and reconnect with his stranded grandfather. To Peter, it feels a disservice to both men to want to be close to both at the same time and knowing he has to choose.
Time to make the best of what they have. There's an audible wet pop before he speaks, signaling that Peter still had the lollipop in his mouth.
"That's impossible, but you can try." A challenge. Then, a better offer. "Rail me until I can't walk straight either, handsome. How about that? Or I could ride you again and see how much I can make you groan."
There's the soft sound of movement, signaling that Peter's making himself more comfortable on the bed he's in. It's followed, also on purpose, by the sound of a zipper being pulled down, some more rustle, and the familiar noise of Peter's pants hitting the floor.
"Are you calling me because your hands are busy? Please say yes. I wanna know what those skilled fingers are doing when they're not inside of me."
no subject
"Won't know 'til I've tried, will we?" he counters, the smirk on his lips coloring his voice. It's not like they haven't done plenty that was supposed to be impossible, and he feels nice and motivated to take a good crack at this one. "You know I love a challenge." And it's hardly as though he doesn't enjoy the increasingly incoherent praise and pleas he knows he can wring out of Peter; failing at the task he's set for himself will be just as much fun as succeeding.
The lazy heat curling in the pit of his stomach tightens sharply at those mental images, his breath catching and a slow shudder of pleasure rolling through him. "Who says we gotta choose? Plenty of time for a little of everything." It's a lie and he knows it: every moment they'll have for the foreseeable is going to be stolen, always with a looming deadline of whenever one or the other of them has to be on his way again. But for now they can linger in the fantasy of a world where they get to take all the time they want to drive each other crazy. Maybe someday it'll be true.
He closes his eyes and tips his head back against the pillow as he listens to those distant sounds of rustling clothing, hand shifting to start stroking himself off in earnest. A soft huff of a laugh falls from his lips at the question. "You want me to stroke your ego some, huh?" he murmurs, voice low and husky. "Tell you all about how I've got a hand 'round my dick thinkin' about you, what I'd do to that sweet ass if I had you here with me?" He lets himself give a quiet moan, the rhythm of his breathing starting to pick up as his hand keeps working. "Hope so, 'cause that's what's happening."
no subject
He can imagine perfectly the way Rocket's lips upturn at the corners when he's smirking, the smug yet attractive, in a very son-of-a -bitch-handsome way, look that nowadays makes Peter melt. He misses him to the point of acting stupid.
In space, people with Rocket looks are not so common; there are too many alien races around to get confused: different and colorful skin tones, numbers of limbs, sets of eyes... But on earth, surrounded by so many other humans, Peter sometimes finds his gaze trailing after strangers that just happen to have the same shade of hair as Rocket, or a similar build, or a way of carrying themselves that makes him think of his friend. He gets disappointed and ashamed of himself every time.
He leans his head back, closes his eyes, and slides a hand down his stomach and between his legs to palm himself. The distance feels less real like this when he can hear Rocket's voice and knows exactly what he's doing and that he's safe.
"And I like making you work for it." That's only half a lie. Peter likes doing that, bringing a challenge, but accomplishing it is a whole different matter.
He's far too weak when it comes to Rocket paying him attention, mapping his skin with his lips, and marking him with bites and bruises that will last Peter a few days. He gives in and even begs Rocket easily. But it's Rocket; he wouldn't do it with just anyone else, so it's okay. Peter knows he's safe with him.
"Hmm...yes, good point." They are always racing against the clock, but that doesn't matter now. Peter will live off stolen moments with Rocket, as long as they still get time to be together, brief as it might be.
He sighs, his voice a bit rougher now, making it clear without words that just hearing Rocket talk is already affecting him. He recalls the warmth of his partner when Rocket touches him, the firmness of his muscles, and the weight of his body. Of that damned, sexy mouth of his.
Peter listens to him and moans at those mental images, wishing he really were there to take care of Rocket himself and to be touched in return.
"Fuck, you're so hot. " Then he laughs softly, a more mischievous tone to his next words. "I suppose I'll have to up my game the next time I have you all to myself. It won't do to leave you unsatisfied and have you thinking about someone else when I am not around." Not like they ever talked about exclusivity and all that, but Peter's feeling a bit possessive. "I should make sure to bite and make every inch of that gorgeous body of yours. Or leave scratches on your back the next time you fuck me senseless."
no subject
He still likes his chances. He's always been a quick study. And he has plenty of motivation to learn when the reward is getting to hear Peter's voice go low and rough like that, drawing out a few moans of his own in return. With that familiar voice in his ear he can almost imagine that it's Peter's hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him off slow and easy as though they have all the time in the world, grinning like an asshole as he rocks his hips up to try and quicken the pace...
Caught up in the idle fantasy, he's not prepared for the way what comes next makes something tighten almost painfully in his throat. Come on man, you've gotta know there's no-one else he doesn't say, the words balancing on his lips for an endless moment before he manages to swallow them down again. There's just about no-one else in the fucking universe he trusts like he trusts Peter: enough to sleep deeply beside, enough to turn his undefended back on, enough to...fuck, to let Peter hold him down and know in his fucking bones that the hands moving over his skin will never turn to hurt. This is already so much more than he's ever even wanted to offer another living person.
What spills out instead is: "Next time, I want you to fuck me."
A strange thrill shivers over his skin, a sharp swoop in the pit of his stomach like the endless moment between stepping off of some high place and the aero-rig's thrusters kicking in. But there's a jolt of heat that comes with it too, rolling through him like a fever. That's out in the universe now; he's fucking committed.
no subject
If he had any doubts that Rocket really missed it, that he was satisfied with whatever undefined thing they had going on, they're now gone. Buried 6 feet under. With concrete on top. He tries not to think too hard about how it brings a stupid smile to his face that makes his cheeks hurt, lest the universe catches a whiff of his happiness and decides to ruin it as it always does.
When he finally grabs the com again, his voice sounds winded, like he's really worked up all of a sudden. It's a tone of voice Rocket has heard before, more often than not when he's done something to leave Peter's body shuddering and his brain scrambling to collect his marbles.
"Ohholyshityoucantellmethingslikethat." It came out in a hurried breath, then Peter buried his face in one of his pillows to moan into it and try to focus. It's hard to think. Other parts of his are also rock-hard now.
He takes a deep breath before trying to offer a decent answer this time.
"Fuck,yes, that's a wonderful idea. I'll make it so good for you, babe, I promise."
Nailed it.
no subject
This, even more so than the rest of it, is wildly untested territory. But he's never backed down from a game of chicken in his life, and it's far too tempting to press the advantage when he's already got Peter so off balance. Fry Peter's brain is fast becoming one of his favourite games.
"Can't tell you stuff like that, huh?" He reaches for the optimistic bottle of lube he'd picked up, now sitting on the table by the bed, and makes damn sure it's close enough for the comm to pick up the sound of him popping the cap. "That mean you don't wanna listen in while I finger myself?"
no subject
See, he's asking nicely and everything. Now that he's getting over the shock, his mind is conjuring all sorts of delicious scenarios involving Rocket riding him, and he really can't be too mad even when the other man is laughing at his expense. Peter's got it bad; sue him. Apparently, Rocket isn't faring any better, so...win-win for everyone involved.
"If you were here, I'd make sure to keep you busy by kissing you senseless. Let's see if you can keep laughing at me with my tongue down your throat. Just one of the things I'd like to put there."
There's a 'I can't believe you're doing this to me when I can't see you' muttered under Peter's breath a moment later, still audible if Rocket's paying attention. Some more rustling of sheets and clothing on his end too, as Peter finally gets rid of his underwear and his shirt. Yeah, he eventually figured that holding onto the commlink while having phone sex was not a viable option. It's on one of the pillows next to him, too. Coincidentally, the one Rocket usually uses to sleep on.
"No. Well, yes... but don't expect coherency for long if you ...aah... keep it up." That little sound of the bottle getting opened draws out a moan from Peter already, as he wraps a hand around himself and rolls his hips. Two can play this game, though.
"Would you let me do it if I were there? ' Get you all open and wet for my cock? You like my hands. Of course, I could always use my tongue instead. I think you might that one best."
no subject
He hears that disgruntled mutter over the sounds of movement, and for a moment he does consider how easy it would be to set up some kind of video feed. Might as well commit to it after all if he's trying to make Peter's brain melt out of his ears. But the answer, unfortunately, is not so easy that it wouldn't mean having to stop what he's doing for longer than he's willing to. Ah well. Next time. He can get it set up then ambush Peter with a show when he's least expecting it.
He snorts another laugh, squeezing some of the lube out onto his fingertips and tossing the bottle aside. "Babe, I never expect coherency from you at the best of times," he replies.
There's the faint creak of the mattress and a shifting of sheets in the background of the call as he spreads his legs, drawing one knee up and tilting his shoulders to give himself better reach. He gives a shuddering groan, as much for those words as for the feel of slick fingers sliding slow and deliberate over the cleft of his ass. "Fuck yeah," he breathes. He can picture it so fucking clearly: Peter smirking up at him from between his thighs, eyes dark and hungry, greedy for what comes next. Fuck, this is gonna be good.
His breath catches as he presses in a little more firmly with the pads of his fingers, a steady pressure that's not quite enough to dip inside yet, rubbing slowly back and forth. His other hand is still working on his dick, his eyes closed and lower lip caught between his teeth as the sensation washes over him. "Still tryna convince me your mouth has its uses, huh?" he murmurs, low and ragged. "Maybe I wanna hear you talk dirty to me while I ride your fingers. Tell me all about how good you're gonna fuck me."
no subject
He likes hearing Rocket laugh, provided he's not doing one of those fake ones that he uses to purposely grate on Peter's nerves. But even then, it's all part of their usual banter. It's when they both get serious that people start worrying. Peter's favorite noises from Rocket sometimes are the quieter ones, the cadence that his friend's voice takes when they're in bed catching their breaths after a round of mind-blowing sex, when they feel both exhausted and lighter from their high. Rocket's voice gets somewhat rougher, a little bit warmer. It's nice. The memory comforts Peter during his lonely nights away from his lover and his friends.
If the next time they talk it's still not in person, then Peter might be the one to set up a video call. he can even try to make it properly good, leaving the comlink on the dresser or bedside table, angled just right to give Rocket a nicer view of what he will be doing while thinking of him.
He's utterly amused that he managed to get Rocket used to calling him babe, even if the word is dripping with sarcasm and it's used to mock him 70% of the time. Peter likes it still.
"Good. Fewer standards to worry about then." After that, to get back at Rocket, he lets out a drawn-out moan, the kind Rocket is used to hearing when he's the one causing Peter to groan and shiver while impaled on his cock. It's not just for show; listening to the sounds Rocket is making makes Peter's imagination run wild.
It's so unfair to know Rocket got a hand on his cock while they're thousands of miles away from each other —okay, much more than that, but Peter's not about to think of numbers now— when he should be stretched out for Peter to see and kiss and taste.
There's a sharp exhale through the line in response to Rocket's breathless voice.
"Do you, now? Well, good, because I had plans. You love my plans. I'm the best at plans...I was going to eat you out first, long and slowly, until you were nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure asking for more. So gorgeous, opening up for me. And I'd give you anything you asked." Peter tries to keep the humor in his voice even as he strokes himself, rolling his hips in insistent jerks, fucking into the loose ring of his fist. "Maybe I'd make you beg for it a little first."
Not much; he knows it's not Rocket's style, but he would love to drag the man to the brink of orgasm and then keep him there, edging him for a while. He's sure Rocket would make lovely sounds.
"I wish I could see you. bet you look real nice right now, hard cock standing to attention, just asking to be sucked, fingers buried inside you. And an extra one or a couple if you're thinking of me, for realism..." Peter almost laughs a that least bit, boasting simply to get a rise out of Rocket.
no subject
The sound of that moan cuts right through him, bringing back a few fond memories of the all too little time they'd had together, and drawing out an all-consuming greed he might never have know he had buried somewhere deep inside him. They've known each other long enough that it didn't exactly come as a surprise that Peter's every bit as loud and lacking in any kind of filter in bed as he is everywhere else, but he never would have guessed he could be so fucking into it. He wants to pull out every cry and moan and desperate curse he can until Peter's beyond words. He wants to know what it would take to have him too far gone to even make a sound.
That want only burns hotter under his skin for those promises, even if he can't help but snort at the claim that he loves Peter's plans. To be fair, he has developed a new appreciation for them recently; so far Peter's sex-based plans have been head and shoulders above any of his other plans in terms of both quality and payoff. But why would he want to be fair when it's so much funnier and more rewarding to be a dick instead?
"I been away too long," he says. "That ego needs some more holes poked in it." A soft laugh falls from his lips. "You talk a good game though. Hope you ain't makin' promises you can't keep." Not that it matters right now when the promise alone is enough to have anticipation simmering under his skin, coiling greedily in the pit of his stomach. Fuck, he never would have thought this would be something he'd even entertain the idea of, never mind want it so fucking much. But he's never been much for playing things safe, and how's he supposed to not be curious after how obviously and shamelessly Peter enjoyed it?He moans again, louder this time, as he eases his fingers in. There's a sweet ache to it as his body slowly opens around them, and fuck, it's so good he feels dizzy with it.
He crooks his fingers experimentally and shudders, making another ragged noise. "Yeah, you're missin' out on one hell of a show," he teases breathlessly, voice gone rough. "Maybe that's what I oughta do next time. Make you watch while I get myself off."
I am so very sorry about the late tags🙏💕
Even between teasing, joking, or boasting, Peter pays attention to any sounds Rocket's making, smiling to himself when he hears an amused or a pleased moan. Despite his general lack of seriousness, especially in bed, Peter does not like to disappoint, and he prided himself on making sure his lovers had nothing to complain about when it came to sex (many had other things about Peter to complain about, but that's neither here nor there). So yes, even if they can't touch each other, even if he can't run his tongue all over Rocket and make him come his brains out himself, Peter likes to go for the next best thing. Which is offering as many enticing mental scenarios as he can come up with.
"I will always keep my promises to you." It said very earnestly, maybe a bit too much considering what they are doing, but it's the truth. Peter tries to return to a lighthearted conversation by adding, "And I can suggest another thing of mine you can poke at that isn't my ego."
Can Rocket feel the eyebrow wagging? Because it's there, in spirit if not in reality. That was honestly just such an easy joke; Peter couldn't help himself. It also helps remind him how absurdly good Rocket is at aiming for his sweet spot when they tumble in bed, and that draws another groan out of Peter as he squeezes his cock. Rocket moaning like that only gets him closer, too, it's so damn sexy.
"Fuck, I know, hotstuff. I bet you're a treat for the eyes, all flustered and ready. Are you going to come soon for me? I want to hear you loud and clear. Maybe all you'd need if I were there would be a little push, like my lips wrapped around the head of your cock, sucking you into my mouth. Or my teeth on your neck, leaving marks to remind you of them the next day."
Worth the wait 🫶
It's different now. But the scar tissue that built up around it is still there, even if they're mostly all where they're supposed to be again, and there's still that moment of heart-stopping fear every time he turns around to make some stupid dickhead joke and Peter isn't there. The word promise makes his chest tighten, even as some part of him wants to snap then why did you leave, why aren't you here? Part of him knows that isn't fair, but a bigger and much more stubborn part of him doesn't care. Peter's supposed to be here with him. They're supposed to be a team. He wasn't supposed to just leave.
But it is what it is, and it's not the first time the universe has decided to drive home the lesson that what he wants doesn't mean shit. He breathes out a long, slow exhale that isn't quite a sigh and doesn't respond. It turns into a huff of a laugh at the follow-up innuendo, and— and yeah, maybe it's better to move past it and keep things light. Dwelling on the empty space by his side sure ain't gonna get him off.
He closes his eyes and swallows everything else down, focusing on the warm, teasing sound of Peter's voice in his ears and the shocks of pleasure shuddering through him with every slightest movement of his hands. "Fuck yeah," he hisses out, rocking his hips up into his own grip around his cock as he presses his fingers in a little deeper. "I want your teeth at my throat and your fingers inside me." He twists his hips and gives a full-throated moan, absolutely shameless. It won't take much more. "Fuck, Peter—"
Thank you, love ♥♥♥
It happens to him too. Peter brings up something that happened while they were on some sort of mission or shares an inside joke, and it makes no sense to anyone but him. Every time, it leaves him with a heavy feeling in his chest that lasts for days, if not weeks. All the more reason to make the best of the present moments when he can hear Rocket. It's not as good as having him close, feeling his hot breath against his skin, the warmth of his body, and the little cold metal against him that sometimes makes him shudder, but it's better than both of them being completely alone.
He didn't expect a reply from Rocket, and maybe it's for the best. Peter is notoriously famous for saying whatever thing crosses his mind, no matter how crude, obnoxious, or cheesy it can be. Sometimes he even manages to do the three of them together, truly a talent. Hearing Rocket's huff a laugh pleases him enough, and all the other sounds the man is making are getting branded into Peter's memory, his skin prickling with heat. He's not much far behind Rocket, a low burn that settles in the pit of his stomach as his hand tightens on his dick. There's a hitch in his breath, and his voice is just a little lower, gone deep on the other end of the line, when he replies.
“Gods, yes. You know I'd love to scrape my teeth against your neck, right down on the juncture between the softer skin and the shoulder. There, where I can leave a mark that might still sting the next day."
Peter bites his lip to keep in a whimper, then realizes there's no point in that and moans loudly. His hand is moving faster over his cock, a squeeze at the base, a twist at the tip.
"Hear that? Kriff, I am so fuckin’ hard right now, and it's all because of you. As soon as I can, I'm going to finger you open until you're a pleased mess, find that sweet spot of yours, and then hit it nonstop as I fuck you until you're begging to come."
no subject
"I want you so fucking bad," he breathes, low and ragged, the words tumbling gracelessly over each other all thoughtless need as the lust under his skin builds and builds until he doesn't know if he can fucking take any more. "I wanna come on your dick, I wana feel you come inside me, fuck, fuck—"
In an instant not enough tips over into too much and he arches up with a sharp cry as he comes in a hot rush over his curled fist, grinding down greedily onto the fingers buried inside him. It's shocking in its intensity,the sweet ache of it throbbing through his entire body as he goes tight around them, pleasure prickling over his skin in feverish waves. There's a long, low moan on his lips as he melts back into the mattress, catching sharply on a hitched breath as any slightest movement sends fresh aftershocks rippling through him.
And then the moment passes, and once again he's alone, sprawled out on the sweat-damp sheets with nothing but come cooling stickily on his skin and his wrist starting to cramp from the awkward angle. He gives a low breath of a sigh and eases his fingers free, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as he wipes them off thoughtlessly on some random discarded piece of clothing. He closes his eyes.
"...wish you were here," he admits, almost inaudibly soft.
no subject
Peter is only a few seconds behind him, his thighs shaking as he comes, a mantra of 'fuck' and 'Rocket' and 'ohgodsIwishyouwerehere' dropping from his lips until he can't make coherent sounds. It all tapers into a kind of low moaning and gasping Rocket might be even more familiar with than the curses. Peter has always been loud. He makes a mess of his chest and stomach, but he couldn't care less. He
fallsback against his pillows, head dropping back and brushing against the cold wall with one last groan. It helps a bit to clear his head."I'd be soooo annoying if I were there with you." The blond answers just as softly after a few seconds pass, his breath still uneven and sounding as wrecked as Rocket feels. It's clear that he's longing just as much as his lover.
"I'd cover you in kisses and hickeys, then cuddle you to death in bed. And then you'd complain about my beard being scratchy and say that I'm a big oaf that's just too much of a furnace to sleep next to."
And they would both enjoy every second of it.
no subject
And yet here he is, the empty side of the bed cold beside him, nothing but a tinny comm link for company. There's some grand kind of irony in their sense of timing. They could've hooked up at any point in the last five years, and instead here they are, finally figuring their shit out when they're on opposite sides of the fucking universe.
(They couldn't have, realistically. He knows that. It's only in the last few months he's finally made it to a place where he can even think of going for something like this without some animal part of his brain freaking out and hitting the emergency escape, and Peter's had plenty of his own shit to deal with. But still. It's hard not to look back and see wasted time)
He still doesn't entirely understand why Peter's not here, what it is he feels he has to do back on Earth. Not really. Family, as he's come to understand it, means the people who're with you through thick and thin, the ones you turn to when shit hits the fan. He doesn't really get how or why you're supposed to apply the idea to someone you haven't seen for decades just because you happen to share some DNA. But there's no point going through all that again. He doesn't need to understand it to have Peter's back, and right now, mostly that means swallowing down the urge to be a dick about thinking it's stupid.
"Just you wait," he says instead. "You're gonna be laughin' on the other side of your face when you're findin' bolts in your sheets and homemade grenades under your pillow."
no subject
"But at least I don't snore. That should earn me brownie points. Drax could wake up a mummy with the ruckus he makes; he sounds like a dying moose." Does Rocket know what a moose is? Peter doesn't know, but the description is accurate if you ask him.
As he listens to Rocket, one of Peter's hands paws around the bed until he finds his shirt to clean the worst of the mess off of him, too boneless to move much more than that. Holy shit, it's been a while since he's had any action because it's also been a while since Rocket was here, and he now feels lazy in that kind of good way you only get after a sex high, but he also feels colder than ever. He too wishes that Rocket were here or that he were there to kiss and cuddle him for real. Maybe bite him a little, as promised.
As much as Peter regrets the last few years of not doing this with his best friend, none of them were in the right place for that. Peter had a plethora of emotional issues piled on top of one another, and Rocket did not deserve to be any kind of rebound after losing Gamora. Now that he's learned to let go of the shadow of her—not the memories or love they shared, some things will stay with him forever; he deserves at least to keep that—he is in a much better headspace for a relationship.
Peter is no longer getting too drunk to function and reliving the greatest hits of the worst moments of his life, and he knows he owes that to Rocket and the other guardians. In his journey of trying to better himself, he realized that Mantis was right about why and for how long he had been avoiding Earth and his last remaining family, and he too wants to amend the relationship with Jason before it's too late, and he loses yet another member of his family. He's not trying to be cruel to Rocket and torture them both on purpose.
"Just make sure not to leave a bomb countdown timer anywhere near my bed where I can confuse it with my alarm clock. My neighbors won't like waking up to the building falling down on them."
He wants to keep Rocket talking. First, because he imagines the other man is feeling the distance between them more than ever before, just like Peter is doing, and because...hell, just because he likes listening to Rocket's voice and annoying him a little.
"Now, if only all those skills with mechanics translated to the kitchen I would not have to be the one cooking all the time. remind me to teach you how to make lasagna the next time you visit, I think you'd like it."