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“All combat has rhythm to it. You need to know your rival’s next move and guess where they may strike next.”
Gamora went to jab at him with the dull dagger, stopping inches from the base of his throat. Peter ducked, going in for a swift stab to her midsection to which she caught, twisting his hand and causing him to drop his weapon.
“Rhythm, huh? So like a dance?” Peter smirked, taking a few steps backwards and assessing his next move.
“Focus, Peter,” Gamora said fondly, rolling her eyes at him before going in for a surprise attack.
“No, I’m being like, one-hundred percent serious.” Peter blocked her attack, spinning out of the way and throwing a fake punch to the side of her jaw.
“One hundred percent?”
Peter hummed with approval, nodding slightly and dodging another counterattack.
“Fine, I suppose dancing and fighting have similarities if you dig deep enough. If that helps you start taking this seriously then I—”
“Hey! I am taking this very seriously.” Peter bent over to retrieve his fake weapon, only to receive an unexpected attack to his left. She sent a roundhouse kick flying in his direction, stopping mere inches away from his temple.
“You are?” Gamora scoffed and planted her feet back onto the mat.
“Wha- Yes!” Peter couldn’t help being a little offended by that. Okay, so he wasn't thrilled to be spending their night training, but he took everything Gamora taught him seriously. “It’s just… is this really necessary?”
Peter wiped the back of his hand along his forehead, which was beaded with sweat and clammy to the touch. He staggered back on his feet, regaining his balance as he faced Gamora.
“You won't be able to rely on your blasters forever. Closer ranged enemies will have an advantage if you are not skilled in hand to hand combat,” Gamora said, taking a few steps back and tightening her grip on the blunt-ended dagger, made for the sole purpose of sparring.
Peter mused at her form. She wore a softer pair of leggings, similar to the ones she wore to sleep when she wasn’t wearing one of Peter’s oversized shirts. Her tank top crisscrossed in the back, made visible due to the braid of Peter’s own creation resting on her shoulder.
The skin that was showing was vibrant, lacking the sweaty slickness of Peter’s own. Peter resisted reaching out and caressing her muscles as they flexed under the light, knowing that it would probably result in a pseudo-dagger to the throat and a few quips that he definitely did not want to hear right now.
“Well, unluckily for them, I’ve got a badass girlfriend that can do my stabbing for me.”
Gamora approached him, grabbing onto his wrist and twisting it, using it as a distraction before kicking Peter’s legs out from under him and flipping him onto his back in a somewhat graceful manner. She straddled him between her legs, holding the dull blade towards his chest with a show of triumph. Beneath her boastful gaze, there was a flicker of something vaguely familiar. It was the same look she gave him whenever he narrowly escaped grievous harm during a mission.
Dread, maybe. Like she feared he was living on borrowed time.
“And what if your badass girlfriend is unable to come to your aid in battle? You need to improve your combat skills,” Gamora emphasized, her voice stern and uncompromising. “An enemy has you pinned down, about to strike, what do you do?”
They had been practicing for a while, hitting the gym whenever they had time to squeeze in their busy schedules. Peter knew how important it was that he take Gamora’s training seriously; he knew it could amount to life or death, that it would grant Gamora peace of mind knowing he was well trained in all areas of combat.
Peter sent his counterattack towards her upper body, twisting his lower half and managing to pin her to the mat, disarming her in the process. He held her down with his knees, reaching over to grab the fallen weapon strewn across the floor. Peter made a show out of it, placing the metal to her throat and letting out a victory laugh.
“Ha! How’s that for combat skills?” Peter asked, the cockiness in his tone lighting up his face with a jubilant beam.
“Very good,” Gamora complimented, holding back the full extent of her satisfaction. Peter knew she was pleased with him, but she also believed that high praise resulted in overconfidence. Gamora didn't want him to be naive on the battlefield.
“Does that mean we’re done?” Peter asked from over her, tossing the dagger beside their bodies and looking down with a sly smile.
“You're doing much better. I think we can end our training for today.” Peter hummed a content sigh and tightened his straddle around her as he reached up to stretch out his sore arms. Gamora shifted beneath him, hips rising to meet his, an unconscious action he knew she had no immediate control over. She blushed dark green anyway, despite them having been long established as a couple who engaged in such actions more often than not.
Peter reached down and swiped a thumb across her lips, dragging it over to caress her cheek. “Why do we always end up on top of eachother?” He smiled, knowing the effect this was having on her and loving every second of it. There was something feral in Gamora’s eyes, a mix of pure love and the competitive spark he had lit in her, threatening to burst out of her small frame.
“You tell me, Starlord,” Gamora said, her voice smoky and low. Peter knew what she was doing now and, hell.
Two can play at that game.
Peter leaned down, practically laying on top of her as he went to whisper in her ear. He smiled, placing a few stray hairs behind her ear before speaking.
“You teach me, I teach you,” Peter said in the huskiest tone he could manage, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he nibbled at her ear.
Gamora squirmed under his touch. She let out a content sigh, leaning forward and kissing him ravenously. She held the sides of his face and pushed them up into a sitting position, deepening their kiss and running one hand down his chest.
“I win,” Peter said, picking her up bridal style in one swoop and making the trek down the Benatar’s long hallway.