Work Text:
The bar was mostly empty by the time Tony had made his way down, just a couple of stragglers shifting at their tables, nursing their drinks and clearly wanting to be left alone. The bartender with six eyes and four arms looked at him weirdly as he sat down at the counter, but obliged his order for a drink. They didn’t get many humans around these parts, but he’d managed to relay his request for a non-alcoholic drink by drawing up a diagram of the chemical structure of ethanol on the table napkin, and crossing it out with a big, fat X.
The swirly violet concoction in the tall highball glass wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he couldn’t read the menu, and besides, what could it hurt to follow the locals’ recommendations? It was nothing like alcohol, which was perfect, but the sugar content was probably fucking lethal. Tony ordered another one after he finished the first.
A blur of artfully tousled blond hair sat down on the stool to his left, along with the rest of Peter Quill. He was down to the long sleeve undershirt he wore under the plates of white body armor, the rest of his usual bulky gear nowhere to be found. Peter planted his hands on the counter jovially, rattling the drinks on the bar. Tony drank the rest of his not-cocktail in case any more unexpected Spartax princes decided to sit in on his moping.
“So this is where you’ve been, Stark? Rocket’s been asking whether you’ve been eaten by a band of rogue Broodlings or something.” Peter tapped the counter for the bartender, who came over and gave them both new glasses of the violet whatever.
“Aww, Rocket’s worried about me?”
Peter clinked their glasses in a toast, and Tony was grateful for the casual confirmation that whatever he'd been drinking wasn’t poisonous. In the dim lighting of the bar, the blond hair and reliably broad shoulders were painfully familiar, but he chose not to think too hard about it. “He wants to teach you Kymellian poker and con you out of your stuff. Of course he’s worried,” said Peter.
Tony laughed. “Well, he can come down here and join me instead. I don’t know what I’m drinking, but the armor sensors say it’s not alcoholic or fatal, so I’m quite enjoying myself.”
“The great Iron Man, bored with space?” Peter replied, light and teasing.
The outpost they had stopped on was built on a massive asteroid, latched onto the rock with deep metal roots, its tall neon spires bright against the perpetual black. Outside the window of the bar, he could see the massive expanse of the asteroid field they were part of, and the binary stars they revolved around, revolving each other. If Tony squinted, there was the shimmer of the force field that kept their artificial atmosphere from being sucked away in a vacuum, or the city from being crushed in impact with their neighbouring rocks. It was something straight out of Heinlein, out of Asimov, and man, this whole involuntary wide-eyed wonder routine was just cramping his style. How was he supposed to be cool and blasé when everything was so awesome?
“It’s incredible out here,” said Tony, staring grimly into his drink, as though the secrets of the universe might be hidden in its swirly violet depths. “But apparently I’m even more terrible at not-micromanaging everything than I thought? This is supposed to be my vacation, but I’d already cannibalised Rocket’s phone and integrated it to the armor systems so I could remote control the armor back on Earth.”
“That’s...actually impressive, but what, you think Earth’s gonna disappear when you’re not looking? Pretty self-centered, don’t you think?”
Tony stared at him for a moment, before he offered out his hand and said, “Hi, Tony Stark of Earth, have we met?”
Peter laughed and batted away his hand. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s not space. I know you don’t have the same attachment to our home planet as I do...but I can’t help but worry about what condition I left the Avengers in, or whether Steve’s okay and—” he swallowed and paused, “—coming out here, seeing nebulae formation with my own two eyes and all, it just kinda reinforces how everything that matters to me is on that little piece of rock...” Tony trailed off, wistful and maybe a little embarrassed. Then he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, because he was definitely a bit more loose-tongued than usual, but again, didn’t want to think too hard about anything. “Whatever, it’s stupid, I don’t know why I’m telling you this?”
Beside him, Peter sipped his drink thoughtfully, distracted, (distractingly) before he spoke. “I don’t think anyone can fault you for that, Stark. Earth was never my home the same way it is yours, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand the sentiment.”
The conversation was far more serious than what Tony was comfortable with, but the steely glint in Peter’s eyes was mesmerising. “We—the Guardians—we’re a family. There’s a bond in being the only one of your kind left and...I don’t know what it’s like being an Avenger, but if it’s anything like being one of us, well, I’d judge you if you didn’t worry, to be honest.”
Tony paused, before quirking his mouth. “So can I take that to mean that you don’t judge me?”
Peter just smiled into his drink. “Oh, only a little.”
Their conversation fell into a brief lull, in which Peter finished his drink and ordered another, this one violently orange, and Tony tried not look too intently at the man next to him. He just didn’t do impromptu heart-to-hearts, but Peter was so relentlessly good-natured that Tony could hardly begrudge him for being the cause of it. He couldn’t say that he didn’t feel better, anyway.
“So,” Peter started, a little awkward after the brief pause of their conversation, “Congratulations on the long-range remote control armor. How are the Avengers?”
“Well, last I checked in with them, we were trying to rescue a bunch of young, hyper-evolved, self-sustaining humanoids in the Savage Land from being kidnapped by the High Evolutionary.”
“...And how did that go?”
“He activated a giant robot of destruction named Terminus and squished my armor,” said Tony flatly.
“Oh.”
“They’re okay, though. One of our Avengers is part of the Shi’ar Imperial Guard. She contacted me and told me they were fine. Thor saved the day, as Thor likes to do pretty often. Then Izzy and Rhodey helped me set up another remote control armor.”
“There’s a human in the Shi’ar Imperial Guard?”
Tony grinned, not a little proudly. “Isabel Kane, one of our newest recruits.”
Peter let out a low whistle, and looked at him with an expression of vague surprise. “I’m almost glad we have the whole of the Spartax Royal Guard on our tail, or I’d be worried you’d be bored flying out here with us.”
“Not bored at all. A little lonely if I were being honest, maybe.” Which, ugh, he usually made a habit of not being. What was wrong with him?
“What?” asked Peter, frowning. “But why? Do you really want Rocket to teach you Kymellian poker? ‘Cause I’m telling you right now, bad idea.”
“No, I mean, you guys are all such good friends!” Tony said defensively. “It kinda feels like I’m intruding sometimes, y’know?”
Peter clapped his back supportively and said, “Oh, you’re getting along with everyone fine. Or okay, mostly everyone.”
Tony flinched, and Peter noticed, much to Tony’s consternation. “Guess I should’ve warned you about hooking up with Gamora, huh?” he asked, smiling apologetically at him as he did so.
Tony tried not to grimace too obviously, before giving it up as a lost cause and slumping his shoulders with a deep sigh. The stool made a squeaking noise as he twisted around in his chair and leaned back against the bar. “Captain Kirk made it look so easy.”
Peter blinked at him, adorably clueless (wait what?) and still really blond. “Captain who?”
“Oh, come on, Star Trek? USS Enterprise, ‘going boldly where no man has gone before’?” Tony asked, waving his hands animatedly in what might be interpretive motions of saucer-shaped spaceships in flight, before shaking his head disappointedly as Peter only shrugged.
“I guess I vaguely remember something like that?”
“Weren’t you an astronaut? Jeez, Quill. Somewhere, a NASA technician just started crying and doesn’t know why.”
Peter rolled his eyes, smiling. “We don’t exactly get a lot of syndicated Earth shows up here, Stark.”
Tony barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Peter and his strong, slightly stubbled jaw. “Okay, whatever, my point is: sexy green space babes. It was a formative part of my childhood!”
“And what, green ladies wasn’t all it was hyped up to be?”
Tony grimaced again, and maybe it should’ve occurred to him earlier that hey, his brain-to-mouth filter really, really seems more broken than usual, but he was already talking by the time he could even think to do something about it. “Opposite, actually. I think I broke something after the third or fourth time I came? I don’t know how she zeroed in on my prostate, I swear there was probably like, a targeting system on that strap-on?” he said, before the meaning of his own words truly registered to him. Tony raised the purple drink to eye level and narrowed his eyes. The bartender looked at him suspiciously from down the counter, as though expecting him to take off with it at any moment.
“Jesus. This is waaay too much info—why am I telling you all this? Why are you letting me talk? Are you sure this is non-alcoholic?” It didn’t taste like alcohol, and the sensation wasn’t quite like being drunk, and he’d scanned the drink before drinking it but he really couldn’t shut up, wow, how much would it suck if he accidentally relapsed in some Mos Eisley Cantina-knock-off—
Peter was doubled over in laughter, precariously close to falling off his stool, which, good, the bastard deserved to fall off his chair. He clutched at his sides even as Tony put on his best this isn’t funny face.
“Sorry, just, you’re nothing like I was expecting,” he said, after he finally stopped laughing. “You know, Iron Man, founding Avenger, one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes? I was thinking every one of you’d be like Captain America or something.”
“You’d be surprised. Now tell me what I just drank three glasses of and how likely is it to kill me?”
“Well, this is Oolna Prime’s infamous U’dqart juice, which has components that produce an effect similar to...benzodiazepine? But not exactly. It’s really popular with the Kree, anyway.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “This fruit juice is getting me high?”
“Not exactly!” said Peter, raising his hands appeasingly. “Your body chemistry isn’t quite the same as the Oolnans, of course, but it’s the closest analogue? It doesn’t have any addictive properties, but you will probably experience heightened sensitivity and...general behavioral disinhibition. Which is probably why you haven’t been able to shut up.”
“You could’ve stopped me before I basically told you all the ways she crushed my fragile male ego.”
“Don’t take it personally, Stark. Gamora’s...Gamora,” said Peter. “She’s not called the deadliest woman in the galaxy for nothing. Groot really likes you, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It’s not that! I was just...out of practice?” said Tony defensively. He leaned forward on the counter, resting his chin on one hand, looking forlornly at the rest of his drink. “I was caught off-guard...?” Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t been fucked like that since, well, Rumiko, and that was a line of reminiscing that he was just gonna cut off right there. “Yeah, fuck.”
Peter raised an eyebrow at his words. “Out of practice, huh?”
Tony sighed, downed the rest of his drink, and flagged down the bartender for another round.
*
Was this a terrible idea? It was probably a terrible idea, Tony thought, as Peter pressed him up against the hallways of their ship. They’d probably make it to Peter’s quarters faster if Tony stopped doing his best impression of asphyxiating in deep space and discovering that Peter’s mouth was the only available supply of oxygen, but by the way Peter moaned enthusiastically around his tongue, Tony thought he was hardly the only one at fault.
“Quill, I thought you said this was gonna affect me like a Xanax,” Tony said, breathless and needy in the aftermath of the kiss. “This does not feel like a Xanax.”
Peter’s brow furrowed, his (bitten-red, kiss-swollen) lips curling in a frown. “A, I don't know what that is and B, I said it was going to affect your body chemistry differently—I didn’t expect anything like this though.”
“Well, this is definitely your fault,” Tony replied, and absolutely did not whimper as Peter adjusted his grip on his waist. His hand was warm against Tony’s hip, where his shirt had ridden up to bare skin. Heightened sensitivity and general behavioral disinhibition, alright, check and check.
Tony twisted his hands in Peter’s hair, and brought his mouth down in a kiss before he could answer. His mouth was still just as warm, and just as very much a bad idea as it was a moment ago, but Tony had gone through three more glasses of that violet drink before he and Peter thought that maybe they should go back to the ship. And tonsil hockey with an honest-to-god prince of the galaxy definitely did not feel like a bad idea.
“I didn’t know it would affect you this much,” said Peter, breaking the kiss again and sounding equal parts aroused and apologetic, similarly intoxicated from whatever the orange thing was that he'd been drinking to match Tony. “U’dqart can act as a low-grade aphrodisiac in some species, but I thought since it affects me just fine—”
“Well, we can’t all be half-Spartax, Quill. Come on, I just, this would flush it out of my system faster, right?” Tony’s voice was just this side of desperate, and he had barely enough self-awareness left to be embarrassed, but falling just short of wanting to stop. He couldn’t help but think about how the fucking alien sex cocktail was uncomfortably close to being drunk, but nothing like being drunk at the same time. He was also thinking that he had never been more turned on in his life and could Peter please, please just fuck him.
He must’ve said some portion of those last few thoughts aloud, because Peter grit his teeth and schooled his face into some determined expression, before grabbing Tony’s wrist and dragging him down the hallway until they were in front of his door. He punched the access codes to his room, and the doors opened with a swishing noise. Before Tony could gather up his wits, he was already sitting on the bed with a lapful of Spartax prince, his mouth taken in a fierce kiss, before he was pushed onto his back.
(Blond and blue-eyed and manhandly was just Tony’s type, thanks, Universe.)
Tony pulled his shirt over his head and threw it wherever. Peter’s fingers were large and almost blisteringly warm on his skin, their hands bumping together as they both tried to undress the other. It was mostly dark in the room, with just a few sources of light: starlight from the port windows, faint LEDs lining the floor, the chronometer by the bedside table blinking 2600 hours local time, the arc reactor on his chest. But even in the half-dark, there was a feverish red cast to Peter’s skin, a blush that went all the way down his neck and torso, and Tony chased it with his mouth, tracing Peter’s jaw and throat and the jut of his clavicle with his teeth.
Someone, and Tony really couldn’t remember which of the two of them it was, had already taken off Tony’s trousers. Tony was partial to the idea that it might’ve been him, because that was such a good plan, especially since it led to such great follow-ups like Peter stroking him through his underwear while Tony groaned into his mouth.
The next few moments passed in a dull blur of discarded clothing and sweat-slick skin, and at some point Peter had reached for his bedside table and found a bottle of slick. Tony was sitting upright with his back against the headboard, his legs pulled up and spread apart, while Peter knelt between his knees. He set his hands on Tony’s thighs, rough with calluses from guns and combat, wedging them just the slightest bit farther apart.
“Quill, I—mmpphh—you’re wearing too many clothes—“ said Tony, his words interrupted by kisses. There was the tell-tale pop of the bottle cap being opened, almost inaudible amongst their panting breaths.
“I don’t have any condoms,” Peter said, and yeah, conversation was difficult when their mouths were on each other by the end (or even middle) of each sentence, so it took Tony a couple of moments to answer.
“Are you clean?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, me too, we’re good.” Tony kissed Peter again, felt his hands move down the inside of his thighs, tried to keep his breathing even as best he could.
One slick finger pushed inside him, followed by another without much preamble. Tony made a small, keening noise, trying to muffle the worst of it against Peter’s neck, but the deep, languid kisses were a pretty good substitute for that. Peter’s tongue explored his mouth, hot and wet and curling down his throat. Tony bit his bottom lip and sucked.
It was with only a bit of manhandling that Peter turned Tony around and set him on his knees, his hands braced on the headboard. Behind him, he felt newly slick fingers against his ass, probing his hole before pushing inside. A steadying hand was splayed at the base of spine, kneading the small of his back. Tony rocked against the hand inside him, impaling himself deeper on those fingers, so thoroughly fucked—
“Prince Star-Lord,” said Tony shakily, imbuing as much venom as he could in the title, “could you stop being a fucking tease, your highness.”
The only response Peter gave was a small chuckle and a vicious curl of his fingers that nearly caused Tony’s legs to give out. Peter’s fingers were large inside him, felt amazing inside him, but there was the alien sex juice to consider and Tony was not going to last long at the pace Peter had set up. Tony tightened his grip on the headboard, trying to reach for some semblance of control, but between the finger-fucking and the sensation of Peter’s mouth on the back of his neck, he wasn’t sure if he had any left.
“I’m ready, come on,” said Tony, breathless and completely shameless at this point. “Hurry up and fuck me.”
“There's an Earth saying: patience is a virtue,” said Peter.
“I hope you fall into a black hole and die.”
There was the barest hint of a grin on Peter’s face, Tony could feel it on his skin, but then Peter shifted his hand and pushed deeper into him. Peter spread his fingers apart, before drawing back and pressing hard on his prostate, small, circular motions that drove Tony out of his fucking mind. Peter’s erection rubbed against the back of his thigh, reminding Tony just what was out of his reach.
“Ah, alright, congratulations, Quill, you found my prostate, now can you fuck me?” Tony thought he deserved some sort of trophy for even managing that much.
“We’re testing your stamina.” And yep, that was definitely Peter smiling against Tony’s neck. He drew his hand back, almost withdrawing completely, before Tony felt more slick and a third finger against his hole. His fingers stretched him apart carefully, meticulously, pushing past the knuckle against the ring of muscle, until his fingertips had found his prostate again. He moaned as the fingers withdrew, and then the inward thrust this time was much faster, less gentle, tenacious and merciless and Tony thought he could come from this. Shit, that was the plan, wasn’t it? Next-in-line to the Royal Crown of the Spartax Empire or not, Tony was going to absolutely murder Peter fucking Quill.
Instead of more death threats, though, Tony couldn’t manage anything more coherent than “Fuck, Quill, I’m gonna—”
“Shh, Tony, you’re doing so well,” Peter murmured, his breath warm against his ear, calm and reassuring as though he didn’t have three fingers (three fingers) up Tony’s ass and was wringing every possible strand of pleasure he could from it. The vague smile was belied by the glint of intense concentration in his eye, in the dip of his brow and squared shoulders, as though it was his sacred duty to drive Tony crazy with each press of his fingertips. He continued to fuck Tony relentlessly with his fingers, thrusting and scissoring, and this was definitely way enough prep, Tony had been ready years ago, but Peter wouldn’t let up and Tony couldn’t stop rocking his hips, he was already so fucking close—
A large, warm hand gripped the head of his cock, thumbing the precome beading at the slit, and stroked him in rhythm with the fingers inside him. Peter’s mouth was on his back, trailing down the knobs of his spine, and his hands were fucking him outside and in, his pace unyielding. Tony turned his head to side, biting at his shoulder as he came with a shout, spilling into Peter’s hand.
It was only a few, breathless moments before Tony realised his hands had fallen from the headboard to curl and twist in the sheets, and that Peter had withdrawn his fingers from inside him. Also, he was still hard, but that was the effects of the U’dqart, because he could definitely feel some parts of his brain leaking out of his ear, every sensation intensified by several magnitudes, his nerves bristling at each brush against his skin.
Peter wound an arm around his torso, his fingers splaying across the arc reactor, pulling Tony upright so that his back was flush against Peter’s chest, the back of his legs on top of his thighs. With his other hand, Peter guided the head of his cock against Tony’s hole, and it slipped in with the barest resistance, even as Tony moaned brokenly and pitched forward at the thrust, god, he just came.
“Fuck, Quill,” panted Tony. He gripped Peter’s hand where it was spread on his chest and struggled to breathe, to alleviate his surely oxygen-deprived brain, but Peter had paused his movement, his hips suddenly still.
“I—sorry, are you okay?” Peter said, a note of worry in his voice. His arm was still pressing Tony flush against him, his cock hard inside Tony.
He could feel the sweat beading on his brow, trickling down his neck, along his carotid. “Yeah, I’m fine, St—just I feel like a live wire, everything feels too good and I can’t—“
Peter took his cock in hand and stroked slowly, in contrast to his earlier pace, and the painstakingly careful touch was almost a hundred times worse. Tony made a whining noise in his throat, falling back on Peter, almost sitting the whole bulk of his weight on his lap. Peter thrust up, and with each forward movement of his hips, Tony moaned, loud and entirely broken. His noises drowned out the slap of skin on skin, and at some point, Tony had thrown an arm back to tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair, pulling and tugging. Peter’s cock was a hot, hard brand inside him, and Tony swore he wasn’t usually this noisy, wasn’t usually this vocal with a variable litany of “fuck” and “Quill” and “godgodfuckfuckfuck” hissed under his breath. The others could probably hear them from decks away.
“You feel so good, Tony,” murmured Peter against his ear, his breath moist and warm. “You’re doing so good.”
Then Peter’s tongue was curling around the shell of his ear, nipping lightly with his teeth. Tony thought he could be forgiven for being less than eloquent in his response as Peter relentlessly pounded into him, thrusting against that bundle of nerves repeatedly, and fuck, maybe it was a space thing. Something about the zero grav that fucked with these people’s libidos? He was too old for this, multiple orgasms were shaving years off his life, and Tony could already feel his impending orgasm curling warm in his stomach, in every strain of over-sensitive muscle.
“Quill, I don’t think I can—” Tony gasped out, “Peter—“
“Come on, Tony,” said Peter, through gritted teeth, his voice rough and husky. “Just a little more.”
The fingers that had been steadily stroking his cock had moved to press against his lips, and Tony took three of them into his mouth. He sucked the remnants of his own spend from Peter’s fingers, teeth grazing a callused knuckle, tongue curling around his fingertips, his moans were stifled. Tony just pulled harder on Peter’s hair, eliciting a groan out of him.
“You feel so good, Tony, you’re doing so well—“
Tony came first, for the second time that night, and he muffled his shout on Peter’s fingers, pleasure coursing through his spine so intense as to be almost painful. He felt Peter continue to fuck him through his orgasm, withdrawing his fingers from Tony’s mouth, laying Tony forward on his elbows while he gripped his hips bruisingly tight, thrusting, practically moving Tony on his cock. Each thrust was bright white behind Tony’s eyes, endorphins and the last of the U’dqart singing in his blood, and he moaned against the sheets as he was utterly wrung dry. Peter’s thrusts became more stilted, more irregular, short movements of his hips until he shuddered to a stop, spilling deep and impossibly hot inside him.
It felt like an eternity before Tony regained the functional use of his limbs, and even then he felt like 93% of his body was made of gelatin. There was come trickling down his legs. Peter was collapsed beside him, and it was small consolation to see that he was as out of it as Tony was.
“That,” Tony said.
“Yeah,” Peter replied.
Tony groaned, and turned to lie on his back. He was going to feel all of that come morning, unless he gathered up the courage to ask Rocket whether they had some medical device that could magically science away the pain.
“We do, actually,” said Peter. His eyes reflected the faint, blue-white light of the RT as he stared at Tony. Then he moved his hand down and thrust two fingers back in Tony’s hole.
“Christ, Quill, can you—”
“I’m checking for injuries, Stark,” said Peter evenly, his touch more clinical this time around before he withdrew and wiped his fingers on the bedspread. Then he cleaned the both of them best he could with the mostly ruined sheets. “I hope I wasn’t too rough with you.”
“No, it was fine. How did you...?”
“You were still speaking aloud.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll ask Rocket for you, if you want.”
“Thanks.”
“The U’dqart’s probably mostly out of your system, and you can sleep the rest of it off.”
“Okay.”
“...I could go again in probably a couple of hours, if you need to. Kidding,” Peter added when Tony’s eyes bugged out at him, his expression mildly panicked.
“You’d better be. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk again.” As the last of the adrenaline died down, he felt himself crashing, exhaustion settling bone-deep into his body.
“I’ll be good by morning though.”
Tony grabbed a pillow and smacked Peter’s face with it. Peter took the pillow and smiled dorkily at him.
“You’re not allowed near my ass for like, at least a week.”
Tony curled up on his side against Peter’s broad-shouldered frame. A strong arm wrapped around his torso, and he could feel Peter’s even breaths against the nape of his neck. Light years away, a comet flew past their window in a streak of burning blue. With the last tendrils of wakefulness, Tony supposed he could put sleeping through the team roster on his before-coming-back-to-earth bucket list, but decided he could probably pass on the tree and the talking raccoon.