Chapter Text
“What is it this time?”
“He’s planning a mutiny. He is, I’m telling you,” says Quill, seeing her expression.
She opens her mouth to call him an idiot, but ends up saying nothing.
Because in the years that passed in his absence, the years where all there was left of the Guardians of the Galaxy was Rocket, it became easier. She still had her sharp edges, her short temper, never mind her very limited tolerance for the idiocy of these people - yet somewhere along the way she managed to break the habit of snapping at them over every little thing.
The fact she was even capable of restraint when it came to Quill was very much the final proof of the change. “You’ve been accusing him of that almost daily," she says calmly enough and, after a meaningful pause adds, "since he started losing weight."
The terran looks insulted. Because of course he does. There is a comment on his insecurities in what she just said and they both know it.
Because when she says Thor has been losing weight they both know what she’s speaking of is only worth remarking on when compared to his previous bulk. And Quill, who was less than secure in his alpha status since the Asgardian came aboard, still overreacted to the minute change by getting progressively more paranoid.
“Oh, if you’re that worried,” she says in a tone that says I’m really trying to indulge you here so you better appreciate this. And, after closing the panel in her forearm with a casual, practiced motion she gets to her feet.
“What…?” says the terran uncertainly blinking up at her.
“I can’t listen to your idiocy anymore. So I’m going to do something about it…” she explains tonelessly starting to cross the expanse of cluttered space around them. Heading for the blonde Asgardian who has no idea he has been the subject of their conversation, what with the earbuds. Sitting there, doing nothing much besides nodding his head a little in time with some unheard melody, he has no idea that what their captain sees when he looks at him is someone plotting against him.
“Ehm, Nebula…?” says Quill, stopping her in her track.
And because the tone of his voice tells her he has no idea what she’s planning she glances over her shoulder, uttering, “I’m going to make sure he’s too busy to plan mutinies. Will that help you finally shut up on the subject…?”
“Possibly,” admits the terran. And now he looks at her with a kind of horrified fascination of someone who doesn’t quite know what is it he has a front row seat to and because of this very reason can’t make himself look away.
She crosses the rest of the distance then, putting a hand on Thor’s shoulder to get his attention. He looks at her, immediately putting the zune aside and getting to his feet. “I need your help,” she tells him.
“Of course. How can I be of assistance?”
She doesn’t reply, merely starts walking, certain he’ll follow.
She leads him out of the cavernous space in the center of the ship and beyond, to where the claustrophobic affairs that are their cabins lay. For a moment she wonders if she'll have to explain but Thor doesn't seem to question this situation at all. Not even when it becomes obvious that she's headed for her own cabin.
Closing the door once he's over the threshold she reaches for the communication unit in her pocket – twin to the one she left near enough to where Quill was sitting for it to be able to pick up…
“…I mean I know she’s messing with me,” comes the terran’s voice from the small device in her hand. “But that would make her the employee of the month. I would never have to worry about him trying to take over because he’d have no energy for anything.”
“Please don’t elaborate,” comes Rocket’s reply.
“I mean she would obviously just destroy him…”
“Starmunch, buddy,” says the raccoon in a tone that clearly tries for patience. “I need you to really think about what you just said. About your dead girlfriend’s sister...” he adds meaningfully.
“Oh, come on. It’s a reasonable assumption. You saw her fight. She probably gets exactly as intense about...” There is a silence for a beat. “You know what – you’re totally right… I’m hearing it now,” says the terran in a semi-horrified tone. “Couldn’t be more inappropriate.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” chuckles Rocket.
She switches the machine off then and turns to Thor to explain. But there is no need, apparently. His amused expression tells her he knows exactly what’s going on. And he doesn’t mind in the slightest, because he might be finding Quill’s constant suspicion more entertaining than anything else but every now and then he does something very much like this himself. There’s never any meanness to it, not really, but it is hard to resist when Quill goes on like that.
“I suppose I should stay here for a while,” he says.
She just nods, walking over to her bunk. She stretches herself out on it while Thor takes the only chair in the small room and they spend several minutes in silence because they never really have that much to say to one another. Which is not a problem as far as she’s concerned. There is entirely too much empty talk going on for her taste anyway.
No, she doesn’t mind the silence. What she does mind, when she finally picks up on it, is the way his mismatched eyes stray her way every now and then. And at first she doesn’t know why it’s getting on her nerves.
And then she does…
He never looked at her like that. And his vaguely guilty expression makes it clear that he knows that too and is convinced it’s somehow… unworthy. But he does wonder. Because he saw her fight himself. He knows exactly what she’s like on the battlefield, when anger and bloodlust take over. And he never before wondered what someone ruled by such violent emotions would be like as a lover. Until now.
“It’s better if you don’t know,” she says, startling him into actually meeting her eyes. And he doesn't even pretend that he doesn't know what she's talking about…
“I would never presume…”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” she interrupts. And her tone is light and less than serious and it does something to dispel the sudden tension. “Of course…”
He laughs as she knew he would and things once again settle into silence.
But in another minute he’s looking at her again. And this time he’s nothing less than deliberate about it. This time he doesn’t seem to care if he gets caught doing it. And she’s almost tempted to make him cut it out the only way she knows how. By telling him the so plausible lie that when her body was being altered, when almost all of her old, organic self was gone and what was left was placed in this artificial shell of a body, certain things stopped being possible.
Anyone who knew the first thing about Thanos had no trouble believing that he would do that to her. Damage her beyond repair in that way – because what need would the perfect weapon he was creating have of such things.
But her father never went as far. No, he made a point of not doing so.
Then she wouldn’t be able to experience life fully and she’d lose the connection to all those beings whose lives he sent her to end. It would make her a less effective weapon, he seemed to have believed. And that never would have done – not when weapon was what he wanted more than he ever wanted a daughter.
But there were advantages to it. To the plausibility of the lie. She’d rather have people think she was irreparably broken. They were so much easier to deal with when they believed that as attractive as they might find her there really was no pleasure to be had with someone like her. With someone who was all hardness of metal where a real woman would be anything but.
But just when she decides it would be for the best, when she opens her mouth to make him yet another person she sold that familiar lie to, he speaks before she can.
“Besides, I wouldn't expect you to be interested in…” he says with an expansive gesture that means to indicate everything from his now far from perfect physique to the shaggy mess that is his beard.
She rolls her eyes before she can quite stop herself. “Why does everyone feel like I’m the person to share their insecurities with?”
“Because you’re such a good listener,” he says. And somehow manages to keep his face straight. For a moment. For long enough to make her the first one to smile at the utter ridiculousness of the statement.
“Thor?" she says then, still feeling the remnants of the smile tugging at her lips. "Can you come over here?”
“Of course.”
She sits up and folds her legs under her to make room for him to sit. And it’s so clear that he has absolutely no idea what to expect, that he’s just about stopping short of holding his breath…
She can feel her smile returning for a moment and then she just sighs and makes herself say what needs to be said. “This,” she tells him, pressing her hands against the folds of fat around his middle, “has nothing to do with why I think it would be a bad idea to…”
Which is as far as she gets. “You know, I actually believe you about that,” he says with a kind of bemusement, looking into her eyes.
“I mean it.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then just shakes his head. He still seems almost grateful and then, surprising her, he leans over to plant a kiss on her temple. And even though there is only metal there and she feels no real sensation she enjoys it for the gesture it is. There is a kind of harmless affection to it.
But the moment doesn't end there...
And he probably genuinely believed that was all that was going to happen – that he would brush his lips against the side of her face and that would be the end of it.
That’s what his expression tells her. That he just surprised himself, kissing her a second time, kissing the place where the crescent of metal that is the fixture of her face digs into the skin under her eye. That he doesn’t know what possessed him. That he’s ready to start apologizing, both for the kiss and for the fact that his hand is now on her thigh.
He wants to apologize, he does, the fact is impossible to doubt even as he kisses her again, moved by an impulse he doesn’t seem to know how to control. And he reaches her lips this time and there is no forcefulness in it, no pressure and that has to be why she finds herself responding, sliding her tongue into his mouth to let him know that he can do more, he can do anything he wants. And if he won’t she most certainly will...
There is nothing restrained about the kiss after that. She’s breathless when it finally ends. One hands is still tangled in his hair as the world slowly comes into focus again she finds that the machinery underneath her skin shifted into that familiar purr-like vibration. And that can mean only one thing.
Because for all its artificiality her body still has its ways of letting her know it has needs. And she needs a lot more than a single kiss.
She’s about to say as much when…
“Okay, so you guys are clearly busy,” she hears Rocket’s voice from the direction of the door.
“You seriously need to learn to knock,” she snaps, turning to glare at him.
“I did. Nobody was answering so I thought I’ll… check…” he adds sheepishly.
And then it’s not just him peeking in through the half-opened door. It’s Quill too. Making Thor realize this really isn’t what he wants to be caught doing. Not by the captain of the crew he joined so very recently. And suddenly he is in a hurry to put some distance between them.
She rolls her eyes, lets herself collapse back onto the bed and just… waits.
Because there is no chance the terran will leave it like this. No, he’s most certainly going to say something that will make him look extremely punchable in the next moment.
“I was so sure she was just joking,” he says, words obviously meant for Rocket.
“And I was sure this was a private cabin,” she replies.
Her tone is openly threatening. Quill takes no notice of this. “Private, yeah. But, you know… not soundproof. So maybe bear that in mind,” he replies, his tone completely casual. And she finds herself looking around for some - preferably heavy - object to launch in the general direction of his head.
“Are you two planning on leaving…?” wonders Thor, who, having gotten over the initial shock apparently decided he’s exactly as annoyed at their continued presence in the doorway as she is. And she could kiss him. And she will. As soon as those two idiots realize they really need to make themselves scarce. Now.
In the end it’s one of her murderous glares that does the trick. And they’re gone and it’s just the two of them again.
They don’t discuss it. They don’t ask one another for reassurance that this is really what they want. The second the door is closed she extends her hand, takes a handful of his shirt and pulls him down and…
And they’re equally matched in their enthusiasm for what’s happening and that is such a relief. She had some problematic encounters since her body became fully artificial. Lovers that avoided the touch of the metal parts of her, those who couldn't quite hide their apprehension and uncertainty about whether there was anything of interest to find between her legs… And he's nothing like that and that's making her more eager than she thought she could be.
His eyes light up at the sight of the symmetrical patches of contrasting shades of blue that skin consists of when she makes a quick work of taking her coverall off. The first thing he does is run his tongue over the space between her breasts, along the line of paler shade of blue meeting a darker one. The flood of sensation mixed with relief makes her moan as she runs her fingers through his hair. Because when he does that she feels like a person, not a thing.
It makes her feel at home in her body, this body that so often felt like a prison. Not right now, though.
Now she wants to enjoy it, wants to feel it flooded with pleasure – but not as much as she wants to give him everything he needs. And sensing that for all that he wants this he clearly minds the thought of the weight of him on top of her, minds the discomfort he might be causing her, she momentarily makes herself stop running her hands over him and… “Is something wrong?” he asks, his mismatched eyes immediately full of worry.
“No,” she reassures him. In a hoarse whisper, words spoken right in his ear as she briefly presses her legs tighter against his sides. But still she makes herself loosen their grip on him, makes herself put a hand on his chest to make him move so she can get some manoeuvring space.
She turns to face away from him and gets on her hands and knees. Making his protruding belly less of an inconvenience to the proceedings – because even though she doesn’t mind he clearly does.
He enters her almost immediately, with no warning, and she has to dig her fingers into the bedsheets to steady herself against the force of his thrust. And even though the noise that escapes her is one of pleasure she immediately hears him apologize. Because he probably surprised even himself by how fast he gripped her by the hips and…
“I’m sorry,” he repeats and she can feel his hand sliding upward, settling on her breast. “I just… I needed you now.”
She could tell him not to apologize, that he has absolutely nothing to apologize for. But there are other ways to let him know and so she just stats moving, certain he’ll get the message.
He does.
What follows is… It's electric. It’s amazing and exhausting and it sends the unseen machinery underneath her skin into overdrive in the best possible way. And she can’t remember ever experiencing anything that even came close to this. There is only the sensation. Only the awareness of his touch that makes it impossible not to let go of the anger and pain that were all she could feel for so long and give herself into this. Into something good, for once. Something that makes her forget every way in which she's damaged. Makes her feel whole.
She can feel the electricity running over his fingers and brushing her skin when he, at last, climaxes. And then they both collapse down on the bed, weighed down by exhaustion of the last hour.
“I really have to lose this,” is the first thing he says when he’s no longer too breathless to speak, one hand running over the layers of fat around his middle.
“No, you really don’t,” she says. Hoping he knows she means it. That she doesn’t want some perfect god, she just wants him.
“It’ll make it easier to...” he starts before trailing off, reaching over to run his fingers over the metal digging into her cheek, wiping away the sweat that gathered there. Then he simply says, “I want to be able to see what’s happening,” as he runs his fingers along her jawline. “I don’t even know if you…”
“I did,” she says with a contented sigh. “Twice.”
He smiles that big, delighted smile on hearing that and she finds she has to smile herself. And it feels good. It feels impossibly good after a lifetime of having to fight for everything and losing constantly…
She closes her eyes and lets herself rest then, for a moment. For several long, peaceful minutes. “Of course we’re far too tired to do this again this soon,” she hears him say eventually as his hands start lazily tracing the lines on her skin. “Of course,” he adds, seeing her open her eyes.
“Of course,” she grins and pulls him closer.