Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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240. Peter Quill 4

~Redbone’s ‘Come And Get Your Love’ blared through the ship, courtesy of the new sound system (and iPod) you had convinced Peter to allow you to install. The song was a little too ‘old school’ for you, but you liked it anyway.
You were dancing with Peter Quill. It had started out as silly fun after a drink or two – you’d started metres away from each other, and then ended up dancing together.
You weren’t exactly dancing in what your mother would have called a ‘civilised’ manner, either. In fact, you were pretty sure she would disown you if she could see you. You were practically grinding your butt against his crotch, his hands wandering.
He turned you around, passing it off as a little spin. You looped your arms around his neck, continuing to sway to the music.
If you were reading this situation right, you were pretty certain that the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.
“You have a very nice face,” you informed Peter.
“Thanks,” he replied, “but I think it would look nicer between your thighs.”
You choked.
“Y-you… what?”
“You heard me.” he smirked.
“Real smooth, Quill.” You rolled your eyes, “is that how you normally get a girl into bed?”
“Well… sometimes. Though, to be honest, I have absolutely no intention of making it to my bed.” He winked at you.
Oh, lord. You knew where this was going to go, and the idea excited you. After weeks of subtle flirtation and dirty remarks, you were finally going to cave in.
“The floor doesn’t exactly look comfortable, though,” you say, playing coy.
“I really wasn’t thinking about the floor,” Peter informs you, and before you can form a decent reply, he has you against the wall. As your back hits the wall, the song ends, changing to one of your more ‘modern’ songs.
“Gotcha.” Peter says in a low voice before his mouth meets yours. The kiss is passionate – deep, hungry, and sensual. His tongue dances with yours, seeking dominance.
One of his hands pins your wrists above your head, the other roams your body, finally gripping your waist.
His lips leave yours; he leaves a trail of kisses and little bites down your neck, nipping at your collarbone. He releases your wrists and unbuttons your blouse.
You gasp as he leaves tiny lovebites on your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples. You arch your back into him, sighing his name.
His mouth returns to yours as he yanks your panties down, leaving your skirt on.
The kiss becomes sloppy and uncoordinated as he unbuttons his pants and pulls out his cock. You reach down to touch him, entirely unsurprised that he’s just as big as he’s claimed to be.
How the hell is that going to fit inside me? You wonder briefly.
That thought vanishes when his fingers slowly begin to work their magic on your clit, then inside you. You begin to tremble as he works you closer and closer to your climax.
Just as you get close, though, he removes his fingers.
You let out a little whine of disappointment, which is replaced with a drawn out moan as he slides into you slowly, so as not to hurt you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.
He starts out slow at first, gentle, shallow thrusts that still manage to be unbearably sensual and pleasurable, especially when combined with the little kisses he plants up your neck.
“Oh, god, Peter…” you whimper, “that feels so good…”
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs in your ear.
“I want you to fuck me…” you say.
“How?”
“Harder…”
“I can’t hear you…” he teases.
“Harder, Peter… fuck me harder!” You moan, and he complies, thrusting deeper and harder.
Your nails rake up his back, under his shirt, and the room is filled with your little moans and gasps, almost loud enough to hear over the music.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Peter groans in your ear as you reach your climax.
You moan his name as you reach your high, trembling as you ride it out.
He continues to pound into you until you feel his whole body tense, feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Cum for me, Peter,” you whisper into his ear, stroking his sweat-slicked hair and kissing his neck.
He does; it’s a beautiful sight. He groans and curses and you’re filled with the warmth of his release.
“Fuck.” He groans as he carries you to the couch.
You both collapse onto it, still tangled in each other’s arms.
“Well,” he says after he’s caught his breath, “I suppose now’s a good time as any to ask if you wanted to go get some dinner later?”
“Like a date?”
“Exactly like a date.”
You smile.
“I’d love to.”
 

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