Gamora | Peter
The thing about Gamora was that she couldn't really do anything with her outfits or hair that Peter wouldn't like. She'd been stupid hot in a bright yellow prison uniform, she was breathtaking in her normal leathers and short sleeves.
And right now? She was practically radiant. Peter didn't have enough words to describe it, because he was just staring up at her like maybe she'd hung the moon. All of the moons, really. There were a frickin' billion of them after all. "Hot," he said, all blurty and without much restraint because that was how Quill did; just said things that came to mind without filtering them at all. Even this new Gamora, unused to Peter in general, had to be aware of it by now.
But he gestured to the spot beside him on the blanket, an offer even though technically he'd already asked. "No," he admitted. "This is new." They'd all watched dumb shit, space shows and the galatic news and whatever else on the ship, but that was with everyone, never just Gamora and him and never under a sky full of stars.