Archive of Our Own

The crazy thing was Peter wasn't even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be doing his shift on the other side of the city, looking out for trouble. It had been Gamora's idea - or rather her express command that he take the night off and enjoy himself for once and at this rate he was soon going to hit his pudgy middle ages without having had so much as a kiss in a while. Peter had been considerably affronted at that, but a closer look at the mirror in his room had made him second guess all those extra doughnuts he could have skipped. So here he was, getting pulled along by a maniacally excited Rocket, into a sweaty, loud, crowded club but most importantly a club that had a fuckall taste in music. Honestly, no clubs these days had any good music. There was no soul to the songs they played. Peter was squeezed through men and women alike who were breathing into his space, placing their sweaty hands on him, with his jacket getting caught at random places and his feet being stepped on by pointed stilettos, making him stumble.

He eventually found a pocket of less dense writhing humans and made his way there. Rocket left to down some shots, and Peter tried to concentrate on the music. The EDM that was blasting in sync with the pulsing neon lights was at a tempo that was faster than he was comfortable with. His music let him dance. This? This was just throwing your body around, like a zombie having a fit. He shuffled awkwardly trying to mimic the people around him. It didn't work out well for him. He tried to do the running man feeling a little liberated until his feet connected with someone's shin and a heavyweight toppled over his back. Sloppy lips fell on his exposed neck. Peter would have been totally cool it had it stopped there, but a fumbling hand was definitely reaching for his crotch. He let out a growl, turned and simply broke the face of whoever it was. Soon the loose area became dense, as people around them saw a commotion and got either curious or encouraged. He yelled, “You want some? Come get some motherfucker!” He wasn't sure if they heard him, but he was wildly gesticulating, so maybe that would convey the message.

Apparently, it did not, because someone definitely grabbed his ass, and okay, this was not how Peter had planned the evening out, but one way or the other he was going to have fun. Pulling a tall guy in his late twenties by his lapels, Peter sank his knee into his stomach. Somebody who tried to put a hand around his chest found themselves slammed face first onto the floor. A wild cheer went around him and a few whistles blended with the already loud music. The irritatingly throbbing music was getting to him, energizing him in a way he hadn't expected and in a trance-like state, Peter danced another dance he was very familiar with. He let his fists loose, cracked bones and drew bruises. He hadn't even had a drink yet that evening. Maybe, the music did have some redeeming quality to it.

It lasted all of five minutes though because one, the willing participants to this orgy dribbled down and two, Rocket found him.

“You fucking moron!”, screeched Rocket, springing on top of him like a rodent. The man was little but had a surprising strength and agility for his size. “We are here to get laid, Tyler Durdan! We are not here to start a club!.”

Peter pulled his friend off his shoulder with a hand. “It's not my fault. It's the music,” he yelled in his ear.

Rocket spat and grabbed Petter with his claw-like fingers and pulled him along. They passed through a glass door, towards where the bar was. Peter was unceremoniously pushed into a stool by the bar and a tall glass was pushed into his hand. The thundering noise from the dance floor receded significantly and for that Peter was thankful.

“Here's my hookup advice,” said Rocket, spit flying everywhere as he ranted off in frustration, “If a person sits next to you and doesn't resemble a reptile, say ‘hi’ and offer to buy a drink. If they agree, buy them lots of drinks and ask them if they wanna hook up. Then you get to the fucking part. Which is the point of tonight? It's that fucking simple.”

“Yeah, whatever jackass,” said Peter, rolling his eyes.

“I'm gonna go now and do what I came here to do,” continued Rocket, with a pointed glare, “Don't make this entire night about you, asshole. Just because you don't wanna get laid, doesn't mean none of us should. So don't get into trouble and look for me. I won't be there.”

Peter flipped the bird to his friend's retreating back and settled down to enjoy his drink. He was a little sick of his friends complaining about the lack of his love life or more accurately, sex life. It wasn't that Peter had forgotten to appreciate what a solid body under him would feel like, but his job had been very demanding in the past year and he simply had phased out of fucking anything that walked on two legs and was available. Was it so wrong to concentrate on your career for once? Is that a crime now?

The stool beside him was dragged and someone heavy sat on it. It was definitely a dude. Possibly a stuntman or a sumo wrestler. Peter was looking at him only through his peripheral vision, but it was obvious that the guy was huge. He internally cursed, remembering Rocket's instructions. Well, fuck that, like he was about to ask some wannabe Schwarzenegger for a drink. He pointedly looked everywhere but the person next to him.

The man coughed. Peter frowned and looked sideways. The man was definitely looking at him. Peter shifted away from him. The man leaned in towards him. Rocket had said a definite no to punching, Peter had to remind himself. Besides, he wasn't sure he would do much damage to a body like that. He was about to get up and move to the next stool when the man spoke.

“You - er - you have something on your face.” Peter understood two things, immediately. The man wasn't American and the voice definitely belonged to a God. Peter whipped his neck around and felt his jaw go slack at the sight before him.

He truly was a God - golden mane of a hair, high cheekbones, eyes the blue of cherubs, a strong jaw and a lush carefully trimmed beard that covered it. He was huge as Peter had predicted, but not in an unattractive way. His bare arms were sculpted like that of a Greek statue and his chest was broad, stomach flat and his thighs were - Peter snapped his eyes up realizing that he had been staring. His ears became hot without his consent. The man’s face broke out into a pleased smiled when he caught up to what Peter had been doing. It wasn't unattractive a smile.

“You have something on your face,” he said again, his voice a deep rumble.

“Oh,” said Peter, his cheeks heating up, “Where?”

“Here,” said the blond god-man, leaning forward and pointing to his right cheek. Peter wanted to sigh. The man even smelled good. Was he really real? Not just something Peter had conjured up in a wet dream? Because people like this man didn't exist outside of magazines and theater screens.

Peter reached for where the man pointed and scrubbed with his palm.

“You are making it worse,” said the man, shaking his head and smiling amusedly. He fished out something from his coat’s pocket. It was a handkerchief. This man was clearly a foreigner or maybe older than he looked or both. He wet the kerchief with water from a glass on the countertop.

“May I?” said the man.

Peter felt very flustered at such a simple question. Maybe, he truly was out of touch. He doesn't remember ever having been so intimated and so interested at the same time by just looking at a person.
“Yes,” said he, finding it difficult to breathe.

The stranger bent down, and Peter caught a whiff of moss and oak as he went about gently rubbing his cheek. Peter caught the man's eyes, then quickly looked away. It was too much. He was too near. Peter was going to almost become a puddle of hot mess when the man grunted and pulled away.

“Is this blood?” said the man, sounding surprised.

Peter looked at the cloth he was holding. It did seem like blood. Peter felt even more embarrassed at having to explain his brawl earlier. It made him seem childish riff-raff. He had no clue why the man made him feel so, inadequate. Running a hand through his hair he said, “It’s nothing.”

The man narrowed his eyes. Then, he shrugged as if deciding to go with whatever Peter said and gave him a small smile. “I'm Odinson. Thor Odinson.”

Peter found that he still had ownership of his body. “Peter Quill,” said he, offering a hand to shake. He took a sharp intake of breath and felt his chest tighten strangely when the man took his hand, lifted it and kissed the back of his palm. His cheeks felt hotter than ever.

“It is nice to meet you, Peter,” said Thor his voice a gentle caress. He smiled again, and this time Peter noted with giddiness that there was a desire in his eyes. This night was turning better than he had hoped for.

“Same here, dude,” said Peter, taking back his hand. Suddenly he didn't know what to do with them. It felt heavy on his side. He looked at the drink had been sipping and snatched it so he could hold on something.

Thor was looking curiously at him.

Well, this was it, thought Peter. Now or never. Time to make Gamora proud.

“Can I buy you a drink?” blurted Peter, sneaking a look at the man and then back at the drink in his hand.

There was a pause. Then, “No.”

Peter hadn't expected that. Had he read the vibe wrong? He felt sour. He didn't look up when he said, “Okay. Sorry I think I might have read that wrong -”

“No, you didn't,” said Thor. Peter looked up when the man placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. It wasn't that the man was putting pressure to the shoulder, he was simply just heavy, Peter realized. He was probably a lot heavier than he looked, too. He was smiling again and it made him look like an innocent child. “I can't drink because I'm here for work.”

“Oh,” said Peter, glancing at the clothes the man was wearing. It wasn't in any stretch of the imagination a formal attire. A V-neck tee, with a deep red long coat and tight pants that clung to his thighs sinfully. “You are here to meet a work-friend?” That was a more suitable reason to be clothed like that.

“No,” said Thor, grinning, clearly amused at something. “You don't recognize me, do you?”

Peter frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Have we met before?”

“Clearly not,” said Thor, chuckling, his eyes crinkling in his mirth.

Peter felt a tad bit irritated - the man was laughing at him. He scowled, but Thor struck down his displeasure when he said, “I'd remember a bloke like you.”

This man was clearly attempting to flirt. It wasn't not  working, but Peter had to ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you are cute -”

“Cute? I'm not cute!”

“-awkward and hot,” said the man grinning at his indignant protests, then added, “But most importantly, you are not falling over yourself to take selfies with me or get me to sign something. It's kind of liberating actually. To talk to someone who just sees you as a person and not as an object.”

“Huh?” said Peter, completely lost.

“I am popular,” said Thor, raising his shoulders in a shrug. It was stated as a fact, with neither pride nor accomplishment in those words.

“Are you a celebrity gym instructor?” said Peter, after being a silent for a while. He thought he made an accurate guess. It would explain the bulk and the celebrity status. He wasn’t an actor or a model for sure. If he had been, he would have definitely featured in commercials - what with a face and body like that.

“I wish!” said Thor, throwing back his head and laughing. His laugh sounded like loud booms. This man definitely had to have Viking roots. He had that accent too.

It was then Peter noticed two nearly identical looking guys flanking the blond man, a few feet away on his other side. It made him a little queasy. Celebrities were trouble, and definitely not a dating material. Not that Peter was going to be on a date with this guy. His goal was to get laid - clean and simple. Except, he wasn't scoring very well at the moment.

“So what do you do?” said Peter, now curious.

“Well, it’s probably nothing as exciting as what you do, I’m sure,” he said, all smiles but dodging the question. A single strand of hair escaped the locks and fell to the side of his eyes. Peter found it extremely hard not to stare. His fingers itched to tuck the hair back where it belonged. “I saw you getting into a fight earlier,” said Thor, sounding a little incredulous.

So much for keeping his temper tantrum under the wraps, thought Peter. He scowled. “It was the music, okay?” said Peter, petulantly.

“The music?” said Thor, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Yeah, it's um- it's not my type,” said Peter, lamely, “It pissed me off.” Sure he was making a fool of himself, Peter ordered himself another glass for distraction. He noticed Thor looking at him with serious eyes, his early light-hearted demeanor completely gone. Uh-uh. Well, nobody could accuse Peter of being Mr. Charming, but what had he done to offend the God?

Thor took Peter's hand away from the glass he was holding and clutched it, a little tightly. Peter let him because, damn, his hand felt good when held by a Viking God. “If,” said Thor, his voice gruff, “If I get you to want to dance to the music tonight, can I have your number?”

Peter’s first reaction was to give a confused laugh. It was such a strange request. But Thor looked at him with such an earnest expression that it made Peter realize that the other man was serious about the request. He had to think though; he didn't know this guy who looked like a WWE fighter and behaved like an aristocrat. Meanwhile, Peter had a complicated life and he wasn't really looking for anything other than a one-night-stand. Did he want to get involved with a strange foreigner? But why all the fuss about getting him to dance?

“Okay,” said Peter, surprising both himself and the other man. Thor looked relieved and his eyes crinkling merrily as he smiled. It drove Peter's blood downward. But before his mind could wander any further, the man stood up. Without passing a beat he leaned down and planted a small bristly kiss on Peter’s cheek. Peter’s face was burning as Thor pulled back and looked at him.

“I have to go now,” said Thor, rubbing his hands together. “To work.”

“I thought you were going to get me to dance?”

“I am,” said Thor, simply. He was still smiling but his lips twitched a little as if he was nervous about something. Peter found it extremely confusing, but he was also pleased for some reason.

“But how?”

“I shall know you like the music when I find you dancing,” Peter heard Thor say, instead. He gave Peter a shortwave and left abruptly. Peter watched his retreating back, and what a back it was, as he was guided by his bodyguards into a dark room at the end of the bar. Peter wondered ideally if Thor belonged to an international mafia who was here to make a deal. Maybe, he was mafia who liked to make peculiar bets about dancing. But whoever he was, he would be a good lay, concluded Peter, because that ass. He absolutely refused to think about how his stomach had freaking butterflies trying to burst out like a thirteen-year-old girl’s.

*

Peter had finished his second round when Rocket found him again. “Go away, you raccoon.”

“How does calling me a raccoon even make sense, you dumbfuck?” snapped Rocket, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t beat up anyone else into comatose.”

“I haven’t, so you can fuck off now,” said Peter. He was feeling a little petulant because he felt had been promised a date and had been stood up.

“Also did you know Pirate Angel is here? I swear man, he is like the coolest fucking dude to ever be born on this shitty planet.” Peter had never heard Rocket call, anybody, cool. In fact, Peter had never heard Rocket compliment anybody. Not without it sounding too much like an insult anyway.

“Who is he? A stripper?” scoffed Peter. His mind was still stuck on the blond God. He was just gonna wait out here and see if the man would reappear with other strange requests.

“You don't know who Pirate Angel is?” Rocket literally screamed in Peter's face. Peter gritted his teeth and said, “I don't. Now get the fuck away from me, before I make a hole through your body.”

“Oh God,” screeched Rocket, ignoring the threat and breaking out into a wheezing laugh, “This is hilarious! You really have been living the life of a nun.”

Peter ignored him and turned back to his drink. He found that his drinks generally didn't judge him.

“But man, seriously, you should come and see for yourself,” said Rocket, calming down from his fit. “He is a bloody God!”

Peter stood up, and the stool he had been sitting on scattered to the floor.

“Hey, heyyy,” said Rocket like he was trying to calm down a wild beast, “It was just an idea. Do whatever -”

“Where is he?” said Peter, taking the little guy by his collar. Rocket struggled and tried to wring Peter's wrist away, then registered the question.

“Where is who?”

“The God,” said Peter.

Rocket looked confused for a second, then said, “Oh you mean, Pirate Angel. He's right there on the stage. Doing what he does best.”

“He is a musician?” asked Peter, wondrously. Imagining that well-muscled arm moving up and down on an instrument made him hard.

Rocket frowned at Peter's expression as if he was weirded out by him. “Why don't you come see for yourself like I asked you to, stupid?”

And Peter did. His heart was in his throat when he neared the door that led back to the floor. He wanted Thor Odinson to be good. He didn't want to be disappointed. He wanted to dance.

Peter's stomach dropped when he stepped through the glass door and all he heard was a wild, ear-shattering screech. He covered his ears, instinctually and whipped his head in the direction of the stage. His chest tightened when he found a certain pair of electric blue eyes looking right at him, from across a sea of people who had momentarily paused in their maddening fits.

Then, Thor Odinson whom Peter had now come to know as Pirate Angel grinned like a crazy motherfucker, let go of the turntables and music came flooding back through the speakers. Peter felt electricity course through him that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the melody that assaulted him. The beat was fast, it was still loud, but there was a cheeky preppiness to the tune in the way it jumped and twisted around with surprising turns. It was unpredictable, wild and yet, there was something very familiar and nostalgic about the music. It took him a few more seconds to realize that he was hearing a blend of Come A Little Bit Closer, Jay and the Americans, 1964 with something from 2064. Peter scowled. It should be considered cheating. It could also be considered as fate that this song belonged to Peter's mix.

Peter ventured further into the dance floor, as if in a trance. It got significantly harder to not nod to the beat of the music. One thing led to another, and he found his hips moving of its own accord. He didn't even care when someone in front of him jumped and stamped his feet. He swayed to the music, broke into a series of turns, jumped and landed with his legs splayed. He was lost to the music. The song changed and the next one was even sweeter. His eyes found the stage again and a thrill of excitement ran through his body when only a few seconds later, the blond God’s eyes found his. There were about a few hundred people in the room, who were scrambling to get a better access to the stage, throwing themselves against it and reaching out like they were a wiggling many-armed monster - but Thor Odison’s sole attention was on him. Boy, thought Peter, had he scored a piece for himself that night

Peter sent a flying kiss in Thor’s direction, just for the fuck of it. His heart sort of came to a standstill when the other man made a show of catching it and pressed his fist against his lips.

*

The two bodyguards found Peter lounging around near the bar at 2 AM in the morning. Peter had exhausted himself dancing about half an hour back. He thought he had certainly outdone himself by staying on the floor so long - he wasn't in his twenties after all. The men silently led him through the same door he had watched Thor disappear earlier that night. His stomach felt like it had brick inside it. He felt a surreal mix of anticipation and apprehension as he was led to a door which read 'Restricted Entry’. Peter knew that behind it Thor would be waiting for him.

Before he could work himself into a downward spiral of nervousness, the knob turned and Peter was pulled into a well-lit room that smelt of cologne and cigarettes. It was chaotic inside. An assortment of instruments lay scattered on the floor; there was a makeup vanity in one corner heaped with brushes and bottles, a full-length mirror hidden behind an assortment of costumes. The floor had empty beer bottles, half-eaten takeaway boxes, glitter and on top of everything wires for the sound systems. Amidst all the cacophony stood Thor with a self-deprecating smile.

Thor wasn't as tall as Peter had initially thought - only an inch or two taller than him. But something about him made him look bigger than he was. They were standing close. Peter could smell the same oak and moss on him, but it was buried under the dank smell of beer, sugar, and weed. He wasn't faring any better, though. The sweat from all the dancing had made his t-shirt cling to his back, and in all probability, he stank like a pig. This was turning out to be a bad idea. Maybe, he shouldn't have danced that hard. Maybe, he should have left the scene after dancing.

“So,” said Thor expectantly, rubbing his hands together.

Peter dug his hand into his jacket’s pocket. “So,” he mimicked Thor.

“You owe me your number,” said Thor, smiling cheekily.

“Yes I do,” said Peter, smiling as well, his doubts dissipating. He pulled out his phone from the back pocket and unlocked it. “Let me AirDrop you right away.”

“Or I shall take you to my hotel room,” said Thor, abruptly. When Peter shot him a surprised look. He tugged his hair behind his ear. The said ear was a dark shade of red.

“Or you shall take me to your hotel room,” nodded Peter.

“Let me get my things,” said Thor, beaming. Peter watched as he fumbled around to grab some cables, his laptop, and a bulky bag. Hauling all that with just one hand, he held out his other to Peter.

Peter tittered. Wasn't Thor worried about the paparazzi? He took his hand anyway. It was warm, calloused and it enveloped his own tight. Peter was happy Rocket had left early with his partner for the night. He wouldn't have been able to live it down if he had been caught as he was then: holding hands with Thor, blushing madly and giggling like a schoolgirl.

They left by the back door and got into an Audi after Thor dumped his things in the trunk. The front section was separated by a mesh and gave them an illusion of privacy. Thor was so close to him that Peter could feel each of his exhale on his neck. He didn't dare make eye contact for the fear of what he might end up doing right there in the car. But he knew Thor was watching him. He also knew that Thor knew that he was turned on as fuck. Thor placed a heavy hand on his thigh. Peter wheezed and became utterly still. He needed a distraction or he was going to regret doing too much, too soon. “So do you do this often?” Okay, that was not what he had meant to ask. He cringed internally.

Thor leaned in further, and something wet and hot pressed against Peter's neck. Peter bit his lips and found it extremely hard to breathe.

“Why?” said Thor, his voice dipping. His lips grazed over Peter's skin like a gentle caress, but the scratchy beard left a blazing trail, “Would it make you jealous if I said that I do?”

Cheeky bastard thought Peter, but any ire he might have felt disappeared as Thor nuzzled him. “Just making sure you have had enough practice, sport,” said Peter, gasping. “Don't want you to be overwhelmed by the awesome moves I got.”

“Hmm,” said Thor, kissing Peter's earlobe and blowing warm air against it. Peter shuddered and clutched Thor's knee, digging his fingers in. He could take the teasing no longer. He turned his face and caught Thor's lips in his. It was soft, warm and so very delectable - like having piña colada on a sunny day. The little guy in his pants jerked with interest.

Thor raked his fingers through Peter's hair, clutched it hard and kissed him back. Peter shifted a little so he could have better access and grasped Thor's neck. Thor, in turn, brushed and bruised Peter's lips with his teeth - taunting him.

Soon a keen need bubbled up inside Peter and he pulled at Thor’s hair painfully, urging him to pace up. Thor indulged. He dipped Peter's head back and climbed on top of him, his knees on each side of Peter's thighs, doing all this without breaking the kiss. With the ferocity of a predator, Thor drank him. Peter let out a strained moan and his hips bucked upward. He felt disappointed when he met with no friction, so he tried to pull Thor down. The other man did not budge. Peter strained his neck, putting it on display so he could get the beast like man’s focus elsewhere. It worked instantly. Thor let go of his lips and bent down to nibble at Peter's neck, who took this as an opportunity to pull the man down by his hip. Thor grunted when he lost his balance, slid against Peter's body and fell awkwardly on his side. A sharp pain ripped through Peter’s lust hazed brain, and he yelped.

Peter cursed. He had forgotten his Glock. The blond man’s weight was resting on his left hip, which was pressing his IWB against his bone. Thor who had by now noticed Peter's discomfort gave him a confused glare. Peter fished out his hostler and cast it aside. He reached out for Thor's neck to capture his lips and regain the momentum again, but then the other man's eyes were fixed on where Peter had thrown the revolver. He turned and frowned at Peter, pushing away from him. Peter grimaced at the sudden loss of heat.

“Why do you have a gun, Peter?” said Thor, with caution in his voice.

“It's kind of a job hazard,” said Peter, distractedly. He reached out and touched Thor’s hair. It was silky and soft - just the way he had imagined it would be. Thor’s blue eyes against the golden blond locks made him look like a cherub who had been sprinkled with testosterone-dust. No wonder he got away with a name like Pirate Angel. Peter wanted to kiss him again. He leaned in, only to have his shoulder pressed away, forcing him to look Thor in the eye. “It's not loaded,” Peter tried to assure Thor and reached out with his hand, “Can we get back to what we were doing?”

Thor grasped the back of Peter’s neck with his other hand and held it tight all the while giving him an intense look. It made Peter squirm with want, the hardness in his pants screamed at him to be let out. “Are you in trouble, Peter?” rasped Thor, his eyes too serious. “Yes,” said Peter, moving his hip provocatively, “It’s a tight trouble. Fix it for me, please?”

“Quill,” said Thor warningly.

The thing was Peter wasn’t supposed to divulge his job to someone he had just picked up for the night. But, he had gone too long without sex and at that moment all his blood was at one end of his body, so he blurted out:

“I’m a cop, stop freaking out. It’s my off-duty stick.”

Immediately after that, what brains he had left upstairs caught up to his mouth and he groaned. Telling your date that you were a Five-O either made them remember things they had forgotten to do that night or pull out a knife, depending on which side of the law they were.

Thor for his part, looked stunned, freezing in his place and giving him a look that said it was the last thing he had expected Peter to say. Peter wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or insulted. But he wasn't really bothered at the moment. The hand on his shoulder had slackened, so Peter pressed forward and took Thor's lips in his. At first, Peter thought Thor wasn't going to kiss him back, but then he did - slow, a little hesitant and exploratory - like he was in unchartered waters. The fierce, self-assured passion was replaced by a childlike curiosity.

Before Peter could wonder at the change in demeanor, or do much to rectify it, the car pulled at a stop, and the bubble of privacy they had burst as the doors were opened for them.

*

“We should swap our jobs,” said Thor, the moment they were alone in the elevator. His mouth was swollen and red. The bellboy who was in the elevator with them stood still, but his eyes were playing tennis with the way they were going back and forth between them. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what they had been up to. Peter wanted to adjust his pants so his predicament wasn't too obvious, but knew that doing so would only draw more attention. Thor's voice and presence so close to him didn't help the matter much.

“What are you even talking about?” he said through gritted teeth. “You have the coolest fucking job on Earth.”

Thor pulled him by the waist and leaned in to whisper, “That's all you, Peter. You are the cool one.” Peter shivered at the baritone voice and he glared at the numbers on the elevator, willing it to move faster.

By the time they reached Thor's floor the bellboy’s face looked purple. Thor thrust a few greens into his hand and pulled Peter along with him. There's no point in mentioning that the suite was huge, fancy and smelling like a thousand dollar perfume. Peter had been inside a few suites before, but none like this. Yet there was only one thing in the room that had his attention.

Thor dumped his belongings on a pristine white settee and turned to look at Peter. His tight V-neck left nothing to the imagination, and in the proper lighting of the room, Peter could see how well sculpted he was. A lean neck that became expansive shoulders that tapered into a firm waist that stood on thighs that looked like it was made of iron. His body was made for action. Or for dancing.

It was three in the morning, and he had only come here to have a quick fuck and leave. He was on duty the next day, and all that but Peter just did not care. He wanted to see those hips sway. “I want to dance with you,” said Peter, throwing his jacket and IWB on a table.

Thor who had been watching with keen eyes, smiled suddenly, his face lightening with mischief. He went around the around the coffee table that separated them and lowered the lights. He was about to plug his phone to a speaker dock when Peter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head. Smirking, he said, “My turn.”

Thor’s eyebrows rose high giving him a challenging look.

“It was your idea that we should switch our jobs,” said Peter wryly, giving the blond man a lopsided grin, “Besides, I have awesome taste in music, so shove it.” He pushed Thor's hips with his own but found that he couldn't budge the man even a little. Thor looked down at him, a thoughtful look on his face. Peter winked at him and plugged his phone into the socket.

As 'Hooked on a Feeling’ came wafting through the speakers, Peter pulled Thor close. He slid one hand down to his hip and entwining his other hand with Thor’s. They swayed to the song, taking in the feel of the chimes and ooh-aahs, not looking away from each other. Thor’s eyebrows were bunched in a slight frown, so Peter leaned in and kissed him. Heat pooled in Peter's stomach yet again. Standing so close to the blond God, breathing in the same air as he and tasting his licorice-like tongue, it was hard not to be affected.

When they pulled apart, Thor still had the dazed but intense expression on his face.

“What?” Peter was starting to feel self-conscious, again. “Is there something on my face?”

The blond man blinked, and his face once again relaxed with a beatific smile. He took Peter's face in both his hands and leaned his forehead against his.

“Peter Quill,” he said, his voice a soft rasp, “Will you go out with me?”

*

When Peter woke up the next morning in a king-size, that was far more cushiony than his own, he groaned. His head felt like it had been put through a juice mixer, and his stomach felt like giant worms were crawling inside it. He turned and caught sight of the blond God - his face a peaceful mask, lips slightly parted, brows a little arched and softly snoring. His heart had the audacity to leap out of his throat. It dawned on him that he wasn't going to be able to get away from this man.

He was utterly, royally screwed. He was also unmistakably, undeniably hooked.