Quill couldn’t resist a hearty chuckle as the normally adroit and effortlessly athletic Spider-Man stumbled and floundered under the influence of alcohol. The kid – no, not a kid any more, as he was making so insistently clear with a justified vexation that Quill could fully empathise with – was clearly not used to coordinating his lithe and limber form and his agile frame under the influence of something as strong as Asgardian mead. That shit was designed for gods, after all. And sure, Peter Parker was some superpowered badass with enhanced metabolism and heightened senses and all that, but if Quill was a betting man (which he was), he would bet that once those things were stripped away, the younger Peter would be a bit of a lightweight.
“That’s good,” Quill replied to Parker’s grammatically atrocious insistence that he was okay. He chuckled again as Parker’s foot clumsily bumped up against his own. In Quill’s intoxicated state, that little bump sent a ticklish tingle coursing up his veins, mixing with the crisp high-altitude to make him shiver. It was an exaggerated and animated reaction, and Quill was in no mood to tone it down or act more low-key. “That’s good, dude,” he repeated, his capacity for vocalising intelligent and insightful thoughts – never exactly his strong suit, because while he was a bit of a cunning whiz in some areas Quill sucked at communicating that – diminished by the more terrestrial alcohol that had become Quill’s drink of choice tonight.
And then came the venting. Star Lord was a little bit taken aback at first. Not that he wasn’t happy to be ranted at, or that he didn’t thrive when given the limelight of being someone’s proverbial shoulder to cry on. Hell, he loved it. Made him feel all important and emotionally intelligent and appreciated for stuff beyond just his sheer badassery and dashing good looks and galaxy-saving vocation. Quill loved being appreciated for those reasons, but come on, sometimes it was nice to be appreciated for something else.
But he barely knew Parker. He was new to all this stuff, new to all the dynamics and relationships and petty squabbling that defined the lives of Earth’s guardians (which, hey, made him feel right at home considering what the Guardians were like).
But that was it, really. That novelty was exactly what made Peter Quill the right person to vent to. Now, putting aside the obvious thought that, hey, the only people who wanted to have heart to heart chats with him were people who barely knew him, that made a lot of sense actually. They still viewed him as a kid. Still viewed him as the prodigy, as the ingenue, as the one that needed to be sorta protected and mollycoddled and all that. Quill could sympathise with that. A lot.
But despite his sympathy, despite his internal commitment to just listen until the kid was down venting, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud at what Thor had said to him. “Fucking hell, dude, Thor’s something else.” Thor was a horny fucker, Quill knew that straight away. Took one to know one, maybe, but still. “Did he tell you to go ‘propagate your species’ too? Because, man, he says that to everyone.” Quill blinked. “Fuck, imagine Thor as a dad. That’s fucking hilarious.” He paused to take a sip, but regretted that pause – his mind immediately pondered the rather frightening prospect that he himself might have accidentally knocked up a Kree or even an A’askvarian. Not that he thought that was likely, but as the first human to bone half the species in the galaxy, there was always the chance.
“But yeah, don’t worry about Thor,” Quill mumbled, deciding not to add that he too had already long cashed in his V card. “Different circumstances when you’re the son of a Viking god-king or whatever he is.” The same was true in Quill’s case, too – unlike in New York, when in space his cock was some exotic and mythical new thing that was sure to catch the eye of deviants and kinksters.
But it was clear that the younger Peter – inhibitions and bashfulness thrown aside by alcohol – had a lot of anxiety about the whole being a virgin thing. There was a sort of responsibility, a sort of duty, for him to make the kid feel better. “Nothing wrong with not sleeping around just yet, you know. I mean, you’re a good looking guy, you’ll get some action eventually.” He took another sip. Couldn’t get over how cute and damn twinky Peter was, now that he thought about it. “I’m liking the party a lot, thanks for having me,” he replied to Parker’s question, giving himself time to think.
“If it’s any comfort, I would.”