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“Next time, you go pick them up,” you told Gamora tiredly, trying to shrug off the arm Quill had slung around your shoulders about halfway back to the ship. He let you, only to snake it around your waist, his breath tickling your neck as he leaned into your side heavily, his hand spreading over your hip and his thumb hooking in the waistband of your jeans. “Oh, for God’s sake, Quill.”
He giggled as you pushed him away, and you rolled your eyes at him as he sauntered off and flung himself onto the couch. You’d just spent the last half an hour wrangling him, Drax and Rocket out of a bar in the one of the seedier districts of the city and back onto the ship. You were supposed to be leaving before suns-rise tomorrow, and with both your pilots drunk, that didn’t seem likely. Quill had been happy to see you; he’d spent most of the time bouncing like a puppy and trying to drag you further into the bar to dance. He didn’t seem to care that the closest thing they had to music was the dude coughing every few minutes in the corner.
You kicked off your boots, stumbling when Drax moved past you, bumping into your hip. “Although, if you can manage less than twenty minutes trying to keep them all together long enough to get them out the door, all power to you.”
Gamora gave you a small smirk, tucking her hair back behind her shoulder as she stood. Quill’s head had narrowly missed her lap as he’d collapsed beside her, and she raised an eyebrow at him as he groaned into the cushions. “Did anyone get shot this time?”
You considered that for a moment, tilting your head to the side as you shrugged off your coat. “Actually, no.”
“Then you’re still the reigning champion when it comes to handling drunken fools,” she replied, amused.
“Night’s not over yet,” Rocket grumbled as he headed for the storage-closet-turned-bunk he shared with Groot.
“Oh, please,” you shot back snidely. “You were stumbling so much on the way home; you couldn’t aim right if you tried.”
He snorted obnoxiously, mussing the fur on the side of his neck further as he scratched a paw through it and yawned. “Wanna bet?”
“Go to bed, Rocket.”
He let out a string of half-hearted curses on his way out of the room, and Quill let out a muffled laugh, still face-down on the couch. You ignored them both, turning back to Gamora. “As you can see, they were completely happy to cut their night short and come back to the ship.”
She gave Quill a pointed look before meeting your eye again. “Should we leave him there?”
Quill scoffed into the cushion, waving a hand at the two of you without looking up. You sighed, shaking your head. “I’ll get him to his bunk.”
She gave you one of those small, charming smiles she so rarely shared. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Night.” you replied, waiting until she disappeared from the room before turning to face Quill again. He had rolled onto his back, and he gave you a boyish, crooked grin, his face flushed from drinking. You smiled down at him patiently; this wasn’t the first time you were charged with getting him to actually go to bed instead of just passing out wherever.
You folded your arms across your chest, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You’re gonna get up yourself, or do I have to drag you?”
“Jus’ sleep here.”
“You can’t sleep here, Quill.”
He fixed you with a childish pout, mimicking your crossed arms. “Why not?”
“Because, you idiot, you’re gonna get up in like an hour and do something stupid, like break your neck trying to climb the ladder to the cockpit.” you told him dryly, and he laughed again. “C’mon, get your ass up, Star Lord. Time for bed.”
“Anything when you call me that,” he grinned proudly. He held up a hand, and you took it with another roll of your eyes, hauling him to his feet with a grunt. He bounced on his heels happily, leaning into you and refusing to let go of your hand. “Dance?”
“I’ve already told you, no.” you said, smirking in amusement despite yourself. “Sleep.”
“Ugh, you’re the worst.”
“Oh, shut up, Peter, you love me.” you protested, pulling your hand from his and turning to lead him down the hall. Quill’s hands found your waist as you did, wrapping around your middle. His chest pressed against your back, his cheek touching your hair as he hummed the opening bars of Escape in your ear. The lilt of the tune was almost hopeful; like he could entice you into a dance after all. His hold made it difficult for you to walk at a normal pace, and you sighed, your head lolling back on his shoulder. “Do you mind?”
Quill’s lips travelled to your ear as you reached the door to his bunk. “Come to bed with me?”
You scoffed a surprised laugh, turning between his arms and stepping back slightly so you could meet his eye. “Oh, there’s a good idea.”
“’m serious,” he told you, a cheeky, enticing smile curving his lips and lighting his eyes. His hands were on your waist again, warm through the flannelette shirt you were wearing, and he rocked his hips towards yours once slowly, suggestively. You could feel heat climb into your neck and you pressed your lips together, hoping pointlessly to fight it back. This was completely unexpected; the two of you had a tendency to flirt with each other, especially after a couple too many drinks. But this was different; the way he was touching you, looking at you… it was too earnest, too intimate to be simply playful humor. Peter’s hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them. “Come to bed with me.”
You sighed, fixing him with a tired expression. Still, instead of your usual sarcastic response you decided to try another tactic and said: “If you weren’t so drunk, maybe.”
The words were halfway to a confession of a desire you hadn’t really let yourself have. You were friends, but he was sweet, funny, and attractive and you were too tired to be bothered with pretending like you’d never thought about it. Besides, he was so drunk now, that you were pretty sure he wouldn’t even remember what you said, anyway.
“Aww, c’mon, Y/N.” he begged, opening the door. He continued in a sing-song voice, his hands tapping out a playful rhythm on your hips. “You know you want to…”
You laughed, letting your head fall against his chest. “It’s a bad idea, Quill. You’ll wake up in the morning and regret it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Then maybe I will.”
“Nooo…” he caught your chin, tilting it up so you could look him in the eye again. His hand moved from your chin, ghosting his fingertips over your cheek before moving to your hair and smoothing it against the side of your head carefully. Tenderly, even. “No, you won’t.”
“Yeees…” you teased back, trying to force yourself not to smile. “You don’t even want this, Peter, you’re just dr—”
Quill cut you off by using the hand still on your hip to pull you in, capturing your lips with his. You could feel his smile still on his lips, and your surprise melted away, your eyes closing, as his hand slipped under your shirt to the small of your back and held you to him. You rested your hands tentatively on his chest for a moment, sliding them up to wrap around his neck as he pulled you closer.
His fingers were tangling in your hair, his stubble scratching lightly at your skin and you could feel warmth building in your belly so wonderfully as his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. You could drown in that warmth, sucked in like it was honey or warm caramel. Both of Peter’s hands returned to your hips and he turned you suddenly, pushing you up against the wall beside the door. You let out a little gasp as you met it, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, touching his tongue to yours.
Your arms tightened around his neck, and you leaned against him, going up onto your toes, desperate to be closer to him. One of Peter’s hands moved to your backside, squeezing it wantonly. He pressed his hips into yours, his whole body hard and wanting and heated against your own.
“Quill—” you whispered his name, breathless, as you parted to breathe – barely, though, his lips still brushed against yours as you spoke. “Quill, I—”
His lips were on yours again, his tongue in your mouth. The hand on your hip moved upwards, your shirt bunching up with it. It came to rest on your ribs, his fingers warming your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair, teased his lip with your teeth gently, and couldn’t help yourself when he slung his hips into yours more purposefully.
A moan slipped out, light and yearning and desperate, and it was then that Peter finally pulled away.
A cocky grin spread across his face as the two of you caught your breath, a slightly embarrassed laugh on your lips. He gave your backside another quick, playful squeeze, and you swatted his hand away, remembering yourself. He snickered, his smile widening.
“Yeah, you loved it.”
You shoved him, pushing him back a few steps. “Oh, shut up.”
Quill giggled, that childish bounce back in his step as he moved to stand in his doorway. “So?”
You sighed, forcing yourself to shake your head. Your whole body was still buzzing, but you couldn’t. “It’s a bad idea, Quill. A very bad, very drunk idea.”
“C’mon, Y/N,” he whined, his hand taking yours again. He tugged it, trying to urge you to follow. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“God, you are such a guy,” you sighed, stepping back. He was drunk, so you bluffed. “Tell you what, Quill. You still want this in the morning when your big brain is back up to being in charge, you come find me, okay?”
He pouted, but it softened as you stepped forward again, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “’Night.”
He smiled softly, surprising you by returning the gesture and kissing your forehead. It was light, but his lips lingered against your skin for a few moments. You closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the touch while you could. When he spoke, it was against your skin. “Night.”