Quill knew enough about hiding inopportune erections to know all too well what the younger Peter was doing. He loved it, personally. Though he had to begrudgingly admit his unconventional heroics were more praiseworthy, the compliments like these, even non-verbally and non-intentionally made, about his sexual magnetism were the ones that really got him going, that really made him feel good. Another part of his psyche that made him perhaps a non-ideal pick for a Guardian of the Galaxy and all of the obligations and responsibilities that came with it, but whatever. The way he saw it, if he was still kicking ass and saving lives and wasn’t hurting anyone, it didn’t matter what harmless foibles he had in his personal life.

He wasn’t expecting the warnings, though. Quill nodded along with them at first, wanting to give Parker every chance to say his piece, every possible opportunity to back out or change his mind, all the time he needed to mull over the repercussions of getting fucked senseless by the Star Lord. And even Peter Quill himself had to admit that, yeah, while all feedback about the sex itself was positive, sometimes he was trouble.

And there was quite a long list of people who’d be liable to attack Quill for fucking Spider-Man. He couldn’t help but be turned on by the risk, by the taboo. Basic human psychology, right? The forbidden fruit and all that. He laughed as he went over the list one more time in his head. “Oh, dude, you don’t even know the half of it. I’ve had whole governments after me before because of who I’ve slept with.” Granted, they were usually the extraterrestrial equivalent of county governments that had placed vendettas against him, but still. “Bring on the danger, bring on the secrecy, I love that shit!”

His tone became more…not serious, but more muted, more sincere, suffused with a trace of introspection and contemplation. “I really want to too.” Quill stood up, and took a couple of steps forward. There was a pretty big tent in his pants. The fabric confines surrounding his manhood seemed to only serve to magnify every twitch of anticipation, every tremor of unmet need. Time to boost Spider-Man’s ego. “This, my friend, is what happens when I think about fucking you.”

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sassyreads
Written by sassyreads
Just sassing it up one day at a time.