Peter knows that he will never be able to compensate Rocket and Nebula enough for the lost years—hell, he probably owes the universe as a whole—and it's something that has often eaten at him. They all lost so much. So much time, so many people. He also knows all too well what it's like to feel desperately alone in the universe, and he doesn't wish that on Rocket or anyone he cares about. Maybe once they see each other again in person, they can have a conversation about it. If they don't jump each other's bones the moment they cross sights, that's it.
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."
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."