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Over time, you had grown used to how comfortable everyone on the Milano had grown with each other. In fact, you even grew more comfortable, too. Not enough to, say, waltz out of the showers without a single stitch of clothing on your body like certain individuals (Drax), but enough to get dressed and undressed before and after missions in front of the rest of the team.
It had been strange at first when you first joined the team. Before the team came together, you had lived with just Rocket and Groot for so long that you weren’t used to seeing half-naked humanoid bodies. It was kind of funny; Drax would have full conversations with the rest of the team while he stood there in all his nude glory while Rocket, clad in entire layers of dark fur, would hiss at you if you ever accidentally looked at him for too long before he had his vest on.
To each their own.
By now, you were somewhere in the middle. You didn’t mind changing in front of the others, but you usually kept your back turned—unless someone was giving out instructions—and you had finally stopped rushing through the motions, taking your time to strap on your vest, lace up your boots, and button up your shirt without worrying that everyone was staring at you. Still, you always changed your underwear in private. You didn’t want Rocket reminding you about that time you’d lost a bet and let him write “ROCKET RULEZ” on your behind in permanent marker. That had taken weeks to wash off.
However, it wasn’t Gamora, Drax, Rocket, or Groot who had made you nervous about group changing sessions in the first place. It was Peter. He was the only other Terran you’d seen in decades, so naturally the two of you had grown close, bonding over as much shared Earth experience as you could, since Peter hadn’t lived on Terra for very long. You’d even grown protective of the punk, ever since he pulled that stunt on Xandar, holding a goddamn infinity stone in his goddamn hand. Peter’s body was the first fully human body that you had laid eyes on in years, and vice versa. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t let your gaze linger on him for a little longer than usual whenever you caught him changing shirts. He was a handsome guy, with a form to match, and you’d secretly prayed that his constant jokes would start to annoy you but instead, you’d found yourself falling deeper and deeper in…well, whatever it was you felt for him. Eventually you started to worry that he would want to pursue something with you—which was silly, since that was exactly what you wanted—but you worried because he might be looking for the epitome of Terran perfection, and you were far from it.
Today’s mission was a simple one: get in, take back some energy source that had been stolen from some lofty-voiced monarch who couldn’t bear to send their own soft citizens, fight some bad guys, and get out. You’d already forgotten the empress’s name. You were scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes, so all of you were currently changing, except for Groot, who sat on the table, kicking his legs back and forth, listening to Rocket as he went through the rules: No running off, no yelling, no fighting people who look at you funny…
You grinned as you shucked off your T-shirt, leaving your torso bare. You grabbed your undershirt and slipped it on over your head, and that’s when you heard murmuring behind you. You pretended not to be eavesdropping but couldn’t help yourself.
“Quill, you are staring again.” Drax’s voice. He never did learn how to whisper. You bent over to step into your pants.
“I am not—okay, fine, maybe I am. Can you just leave it—”
“You should not be ashamed, Quill. I can see how Y/N’s form would appeal to you, especially given your common Terran background.”
“It’s not our ‘common Terran background,’ genius. It’s—”
You turned around at that, arching an eyebrow at Peter. “Something wrong, Quill?” you asked him, holding his eyes while you pulled your pants up.
Peter’s face went red. He was still shirtless, sitting there in just his pants and boots. “No, nothing, Drax was just—”
“I was reassuring Quill that he should be proud of his interest in you. It’s natural for him to be drawn to you. You are the only other Terran on this ship. I may not find your body attractive but he certainly does.”
You smiled weakly. “Thanks, Drax.” You turned back around. You could hear Rocket snickering behind you, and Gamora rebuking both Drax and Peter in a harsh whisper. You tried to focus on buckling up your holsters instead of the revelation that Peter had been staring at you, and that this hadn’t been the first time.
The mission went well. Kind of. Rocket had suffered a blow to the head, and you’d been scratched by some beast cybernetically engineered to guard the planet’s treasury with its life, but the rest of the team had been relatively unscathed. Now you were sitting at the table in your underclothes rehydrating while Gamora knelt in front of you and cleaned the wound on your thigh.
“Thanks,” you told her, taking a swig of water.
Gamora peered up at you briefly before returning to her work. “Thank goodness our faithful leader stepped in to help,” she mocked as she bandaged you.
You grinned. “Thank goodness indeed. I can handle myself though.”
“Oh, he knows that. But he still wants to protect you.” She tied off the bandage with a knot, standing up and regarding you with just the hint of a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s natural to protect the ones you care about. Common Terran background and all.”
“Oh, please,” you huffed, but you knew she could see right through you. Gamora walked away, and you leaned back against the table, mulling her words over.
“Hey.”
Dammit. “Hey,” you told Peter, flashing him a grateful smile. He was shirtless again. Very, very shirtless. You cleared your throat. “Thanks for helping me out back there.”
Peter shrugged. “No problem. What was that thing anyway? A dog? I was getting some dog vibes.” He sat down next to you.
God, he was sitting so close. You carefully focused on just his eyes and not his pecs, or his shoulders, or his stomach, or his hips. “I guess, but I’ve never met a dog that didn’t like me.”
He nodded, wringing his hands and looking down at them, evidently lost in thought. You finally gave in to your urges and let yourself appreciate the way he looked, how wide his shoulders were, how the muscles in his thick waist rippled when he moved, how his arms were corded with muscle and his hands were huge—
“You’re staring.”
“What?” You whipped your eyes back to his, cursing inwardly when you saw him smirking at you. “No, it’s nothing,” you insisted, but it was too late. His smile grew and grew until it lit up his entire face. He was on his feet, pointing at you hysterically.
“You were staring at me!” he crowed triumphantly. “Like I stared at you! Ha!”
“No, that’s not—”
“You like me! You do! It’s all over your face!”
“Peter—”
He knelt down in front of you, his hands grasping your knees, and you gulped, watching him with wide eyes. “I like you too,” he said evenly, and as much as you couldn’t believe it, you could see in his eyes that it was true.
“That’s…” You couldn’t look away from him. “That’s cool.”
Peter licked his lips, standing on his knees so he was closer to your eye level. He was gripping your legs for support, avoiding your bandaged thigh. “You know what would be even cooler?”
“What?”
“If you kissed me.”
So you did.