aubergines | ( #002 ) FAKE MARRIED AU

Nope, I think I'm good.

[ Peter's a damn good actor when he wants to be; he's subtle and believable, and he's careful about his body language. He's the type of person that just looks honest and open -- something that most of his companions would find completely ridiculous.

As they're approaching, though, Peter sighs a little, nudges Rogers playfully with his shoulder. ]

Remember our first date? [ His smile softens, as does his voice, and his head tilts a little. His expression screams wistful. ] I asked you to dance. When I leaned in to kiss you, I got nervous and accidentally stepped on your toes.

[ This act, of course, is entirely for her benefit. They're not within earshot of their gracious hosts just yet, though they're getting close. It's as much to reinforce their "relationship" as it is to tell her, "I'm taking this seriously. Don't worry about me." ]

[ the way his expression softens, the tone his voice takes — it's the first glance steph gets at his acting when he's being serious about it, or as serious as peter quill ever will be about anything.

he's a better actor than she is, that's for sure. (but then, steph's always been more of a soldier than a spy. she's not great at undercover, but there's nothing to be done for it now.)

she lets self-deprecation colour her tone. ] Which was unfortunate, seeing how you're the better dancer of the two of us in the first place.

[ why did he have to pick dancing? is there a biography of her somewhere that mentions the conversations she used to have with peggy carter, how she'd been waiting for the right dance partner —

maybe it was just a lucky guess. ]

[ Lucky guess entirely. Peter's always loved dancing, after all. ]

Hey, I was nervous. Can you blame me? I was on a date with the Captain America. [ But then his grin widens, charming and confident, just barely toeing the line of cocky. ]

I'm a much better kisser than a dancer, anyway, sweetie.

[ it makes sense for him to mention. doesn't mean he didn't still hit a nerve, but despite what everyone says, despite how bad she is at undercover: she is getting better at lying and, more importantly, at masking her emotions. so she smiles and doesn't even protest the sweetie. ]

So you keep telling me. [ they can be the kind of couple that gives each other shit, right? ]

[ Oh, so casually, ] Do you need another demonstration? I mean, at this point it's been, like, ten times since we left the car.

We're not stopping again until we get there, Peter. [ her firm tone belies the blush rising over her cheekbones. ]

[ And he's definitely noticing that, and for a second, he thinks, Score. Quickly on the heels of that, though, he kind of feels a twinge of guilt for embarrassing her. Especially if that means she'll be likely to avoid him after this is all said and done. ]

Right. [ And it's said in an undertone. ] Let 'em see how cute we are before they blow up the Solar System. Got it.

[ it's not embarrassment — okay, no, it is. at least partly, it is: the thought of pulling over the car to kiss him, to make out with him bend over the gear shift or to get out or to climb into the backseat — it's enough to make her cheeks heat up, partly in embarrassment and partly with somehing else.

but she forces her mind away from those mental images. (she's always had a vivid imagination, an artist's blessing and curse both.) ]

That's the plan.

[ a beat. ] We're almost there, anyway.

Not getting cold feet, are you, babe?

[ Why, no, he's not having too much fun with this, even if the fate of the planet hinges on their not screwing this up. What makes you think that? ]

One day, you'll run out of pet names.

[ is said almost idly, with an air of resigned amusement that should make it seem like an old argument, like the kind of thing she protests but doesn't really mind. ]

Not on your life, cupcake. [ All the same, he flashes her an encouraging wink; he’s glad she’s getting into it, at least, and he slips his hand into hers, fingers interlocking.

They reach the boarding ramp of the aliens’ ship, guarded by two tall, bulky, and presumably male officers. They’re still roughly human in appearance, though their facial features are far more angular and sharp, with large, black eyes the and narrow, pointed noses.

(Looks like you’re dealin’ with Bilosians, Peter had helpfully identified, when they had been desperate enough to call on the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy; it wasn’t too long after the queen had landed and made her intentions to blow up the planet known. They’re, like, these militant hippie dudes? Which, I know, makes about as much sense as Papa Smurf with a machine gun and a survival knife, but there you go. They’re all about twoo wuv and music and the arts and shit, but they also really, really hate what a lot of species do to their planets, so they blow ‘em up. Start from scratch. They’re usually nice about sending a warning, though.

When asked how soon they could be planetside to help, Peter had muted the audio on the Guardians’ end, though he neglected to cut the video feed as well, so what followed was an animated but silent conversation between the team members. There was a lot of shaking of heads and accusatory pointing and a whole lot of hand waving. And presumably, if one could read lips, Peter may have said, “Guys, you’re making us look really bad in front of Captain America.” And while it may have been harder to read the lips of a talking raccoon, one could make out Rocket clasping his hands together and possibly saying, “Ooooh, the Captaaaaaaiiiin.” No lip reading was necessary to see that Peter most definitely flicked him on the forehead, though.

Eventually they agreed to arrive within forty-eight hours, and all of the Guardians had presumed they would be shooting things. None of them, Peter least of all, expected to get roped into a con job.)

As it is, the guards cast the couple wary glances, and Peter puts on his biggest, most charming, most rakish smile. ]

Hey there. Mr. and Mrs. Star-Lord, here to see the queen.

[ … Perhaps it was too soon to say he was taking this seriously, after all. ]

Edited 2014-11-11 00:00 (UTC)

I'm looking forward to that day. [ is she talking over him a little bit? maybe she is, voice raising just slightly even though she can't help but hear his cupcake.

he's worse than bucky when it comes to giving pet names to dames, she thinks, and manages to keep most of the bitterness and loss that'd usually be accompanying the thought at bay.

she doesn't try to untangle her fingers from his, though, and so they hold hands all the way to the alien ship and all the way to the ramp, and they're still holding hands when he introduces them to the guards and steph promptly gives in to her first instinct because she can't be playing in love with him if she's stiff and unresponsive: so she stomps on his foot, visibly and not too hard. ]

Steph Rogers and Peter Quill, actually. [ a beat. ] But we would like to see your queen.

[ Even if it's not hard, he still lets out a high-pitched, Hey! and sucks in a breath between his teeth.

As the guards are talking among themselves, low and concerned and above all suspicious (though it seems they're more concerned about the human thing than the couple thing), Peter grimaces at her. ]

I coulda sworn you nearly broke my foot, there.

[ the situation is dire and one diplomatic misstep might well mean the end of humanity — and yet, when his voice changes pitch over that hey!, steph can't help but let out a snort, dangerously close to actual laughter. ]

Can't handle the heat, Quill?

( #002 ) FAKE MARRIED AU

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shit this got long i'm sorry :c

never apologise for that asldfkj

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