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It was driving him crazy.

He knew that Scott was getting him back for yesterday, when he’d decided to pretend to flirt with Stephen Strange, who blew him off quite spectacularly most of last night’s memorial party—the one The avengers held on their own, not the official one—just to get a rise out of him, but it actually ended up making Scott kind of upset and insecure.

They made up for hours once the party was over, though. Quill smirked, finished his glass. Set it down, made his rounds. Yeah, he’d been pretty happy by the time the night ended.

Now, though, he was about 90% sure that Scott hadn’t forgiven him after all.

Usually, today was the day of the actual memorial, followed by another, more public party in the evening.. It marked exactly three years since they defeated Thanos in upstate New York, three years since they brought back half the world into existence again. It was also honoring the memory of fallen Avengers--Natasha Romanoff, Vision, Tony Stark, even Loki was being honored every year. To this day, the moment of silence in the memorial always ended with everyone taking a knee.

Almost everyone who fought against Thanos was at the new Avengers compound, and it made it easy for people to lose people in the crowd.

It was impossible for Quill to lose Scott in the crowd, though. He always looked, well, like a dad. Not that it wasn’t hot on him, because it was, but the sleek, all-black look complete with a suit jacket and a teeny gold hoop in one ear was vastly different from his normal jeans or khaki shorts and some tee shirt under a plaid button up, and Quill thought he was frankly mouthwatering.

Apparently, so did half the goddamn party.

He was leaning on the bar and getting more than a little pissed as he watched his boyfriend make rounds again, laughing it up with Thor of all people, or letting Strange lean into his ear to say something, or hugging the actual king of Wakanda—literally, what king on earth let anyone hug him? Christ.

A press woman held up a recorder, but he leaned in to say something in her ear. She giggled and batted her eyelashes as she asked about quoting him on it. Another reporter’s fingers lingered on Scott’s arm until Quill began to fantasize about snapping them off one by one.

Scott eventually made his way back to the bar, although it took three times as long because at least two people bought him drinks, which he accepted . When he grinned happily at Quill, he lost it.

He growled. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Scott seemed taken aback at first, but then his expression turned a little bit smug, like he knew he succeeded in making him jealous.. “Saying hello to our friends. We haven’t seen them in a long time and I need to make a good impression—I used to be a thief, you know, and then I was on house arrest…”

“Excuses,” Quill snapped. His fingers wrapped around Scott’s arm, his grip tight. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Scott was silent, but his gaze sharpened with defiance and a little bit of smugness.

Quill pulled him toward the door and to the elevator without saying another word, and Scott was torn between rubbing in his small victory and worry over how Quill was going to punish him this time.

They reached Scott’s room and Quill jerked him inside, a vein starting to fill in his forehead. “Strip,” he snapped.

Scott rushed to obey, his hands trembling faintly. When he was naked, he stood in front of Quill, waiting. He had to concentrate to breathe evenly.

Quill took him in from head to toe, a faint blue haze overtaking the natural light brown of his irises. “You already know how fucking gorgeous you are, don’t you?” he muttered, his fingers tracing lower, over his stomach and trailing the v of his hips, ghosting teasing kisses and nips along his neck. He reached up again and traced circles around one nipple, casually flicking it from time to time while his other hand wandered back to cup one firm, smooth ass cheek.

Scott barely suppressed a whimper, but it wasn’t enough. Quill’s stare was positively taking him apart, his irises and even the whites of his eyes glowing blue, now. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “You don’t get to spend all fucking night throwing yourself and anything with a heartbeat and then whine about me teasing you .” He leaned in close, the heat of his breaths making Scott bite his lip hard. “The only thing I want to hear out of you is my fucking name .”

Scott nodded, his automatic answer of “Yes, Quill” stuck in his throat. His poor dick leaked, a little. He moved his hand, desperate to touch back, to peel Quill out of his clothes and worship him until he was happy, but also wanting Quill to just hurry up and take him. 

Quill’s hand struck out like a snake, grabbed his wrist, whirled him until he was face down on the bed, his feet stumbling on the floor, his ass presented for Quill, whose other hand came down on his ass cheek with a resounding smack, and again, and a few times more, alternating ass cheeks until Scott’s eyes watered and Quill was pleased with the shade of red that bloomed under his hands.

Scott couldn’t help his sharp cries in response, but he remembered the rule for the night, so when he cried out, he said, “Q-Quill--fuck, fuck--”

Another smack landed on his other cheek. “You’ve got some nerve.” His voice was changing. It was… lower. Godly . Scott’s hips wriggled as he tried to ignore the instinct to grind into the mattress to soothe his aching cock.

“You’re mine,” Quill declared. Scott felt more than he heard the rustle of pants and a belt, the thunk of dress shoes hitting the ground. “Mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to do whatever the fuck I want. You’d do well to remember who you belong to.”

Scott felt his face heat up, and he couldn’t help himself. He said, “You’re mine too,” he muttered. “You were throwing yourself at Strange and I--”

Quill pulled him until he was sitting up and facing him again. “I know, Scotty,” he whispered. “I know why you did it. You did it because you were still mad at me for last night.” His fingers ghosted over his cheek, up into his hair, down his neck. 


“I’m yours too, Scotty.” Then he smirked. “You’re still gonna get it.”

Scott leaned into him, breathed his scent, like leather and sweat and cologne and whatever outer space smells like. “Okay.”

Quill’s fingers in his hair tightened. “Okay what?”

“Okay, Space Pirate.”

“Hmm.” Quill’s smirk widened. “What do you think I should do with that sass mouth of yours?”

“Make it yours too, Quill,” Scott answered coyly.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Scott nodded. “Yes please, Quill,” he answered.

Quill nodded. He reached over and pulled his boxers off the floor, folded them into a tiny ball. “Open.”

Scott frowned, but opened his mouth anyway. That wasn’t what he had in mind. He’d wanted to taste his lover’s cock, wanted his mouth to be used, claimed.

Quill yanked him back by his hair, pulling until Scott is on his back and he’s hovering over, too close and so, so far at the same time. “Brat,” he said into the other man’s ear. “You think you can throw yourself at anybody just to get my attention and then tell me how I should punish you? Your mouth is already mine just like the rest of you.”

Scott growled his frustration, now muffled by the cloth in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Quill muttered. “Hold still. If you’re good, I’ll take that out for you, baby.”

Scott nodded. 

Quill licked and nipped his way to a nipple and laved it, sucking and licking, moaning obscenities about his taste and how good he felt, and how prettily Scott’s nipples perked up for him. Scott stayed stubbornly still, his fingers twisting into his sheets. He gave in to the urge to scream and moan, knowing that it was muffled by Quill’s boxer briefs still in his mouth (they were soaked with spit now).

He knew he was alright when Quill arched an eyebrow, but didn’t protest to the sound, choosing instead to deliver a tiny bite that made Scott yelp his name around the gag, his back arching and his legs inching wider. He was frustrated with himself for moving, and Quill caught on and rubbed his thigh a little bit, helping him catch his breath again.

When he did, he realized that Quill was also grinding against him slowly, rolling his hips until Scott’s eyes were rolling back in his head. He tried to say that Quill was driving him to insanity, that he wasn’t going to be able to keep himself from coming, but Quill was speaking in his ear again, his voice low and rumbling, godly again. “No,” he hissed. “You come when I let you or not at all.”

Please, he whimpered. He pleaded for mercy or punishment or something, anything, he didn’t even know anymore, just please, please, please--

“Turn over, Scotty.”

Oh, God. Quill’s voice was… Scott didn’t know how he was still sane, or if he was still sane. He decided to figure that out later and do what he was told. He turned on his stomach, and with some effort, pulled his knees under him so that he could kneel, spreading himself as wide as he could manage. He gripped the bars of the headboard and waited.

Quill’s hands on his ass were appreciative, and Scott felt warm happiness loosen his muscles. The flesh of his ass cheeks was still sensitive from the spanking Quill had delivered, and his skin tingled until his spine shuddered against his will. He 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” Quill told him, and Scott felt warm again. Quill’s soft praises in that deep, otherworldly voice always undid him, and this time it wasn’t any different. “You’re so sexy, showing yourself to me. Your ass is perfect. Your cock is dripping for me. This is how you’re supposed to be, baby. I’m so happy you’re all mine.”

Scott wanted to yell, “make me yours then!” at the top of his lungs, but he wiggled his ass a little instead. He was rewarded with a light slap and a finger trailing down his crack, warm and wet. He groaned. “Quill,” he whined, the word too muffled.

Quill’s fingers lubed him carefully and breached him teasingly, fully intending to drive him right to the edge again. He pushed in first one finger, then two, smirking when Scott’s hips started to move. Soon, he was fucking himself on Quill’s fingers, moaning through his gag for all the world like a porn star.

Quill pulled his fingers away and Scott whined. Quill probably heard the weak “come back” that made it around the gag and smirked.

“Me? You sure? Not someone else?” Quill asked. His finger dipped inside, just a little bit, and then retreated. “Are you mine, Scotty?”

Scott nodded frantically, his ass chasing after Quill’s fingers.

“None of those other would fuck you like I do, would they?”

Scott shook his head, and thankfully, Quill’s fingers returned to stroking into his hole, teasing his prostate and pressing against all of his walls

“You remember how this feels the next time you think about letting anyone touch you,” Quill said. “You remember that it’s my name you’re crying through your gag when you start giggling with reporters or flirting with anyone that isn’t me.”

“I won’t,” Scott whimpered, “I won’t do it again.”

Mercifully, Quill reached over and pulled the gag away. “What was that?” 

Scott gasped as his jaw readjusted. “I’m yours,” he mumbled. “I won’t do it again, I won’t.”

“Good.” And then Quill was inside of him, all the way to the hilt, one swift thrust that shredded him apart in the best way.

Scott wheezed.

The pirate’s hips pulled back slowly, but snapped forward again, setting a pace so hard that Scott’s head periodically bumped into one of the bars of the headboard.

Quill wasn’t a mean lover, even though he was being a possessive asshole (Scott had earned this, but still). The second he noticed that Scott’s head was too close to the top of the bed, he pulled him down and onto his back again, opting to push the smaller man’s legs almost over his own head, grateful he was flexible.

The new position made stars blink and dance across Scott’s vision. Every thrust of Quill’s hips pushed the breath out of his lungs in a grunt. Quill pushed his legs wide apart so that he could lean down, draping his body over his, taking Scott’s lips in a bruising, filthy kiss, the kind that was all tongue and teeth and groans, mashed together.

Despite how sore Scott was going to be in the morning, he found himself not wanting this to end. In the moment, in the weightless, breathless second before his body crashed into orgasm with brutal force, he felt completely secure, completely claimed.

Completely his.

And once they both came down and Quill pulled him tight against his body and secured both his arms and a leg around him, Scott felt completely loved.