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Gamora does her best to avoid focusing on her body.
She has learned long ago to perceive it as a mere tool. It might keep her anchored in the physical world, but it serves no other purpose. She takes care of it like she would one of her swords, maybe a little less, in a mechanical and pragmatic way which speaks volumes about her relationship with it. After all, that is what it was meant to be: a weapon, the deadliest in the galaxy, to be released upon enemies and reduce them to quivering weaklings, or, more often than not, worse. Nowadays, as her enemies tend to be cosmic menaces, she must begrudgingly admit that it gives her a definite advantage in battle, yet she mostly feels disdain for her physical form.
Detachment is a necessary survival mechanism. Thanos and his minions took her body apart bit by bit through years of surgeries, endlessly tinkering with her nerves, transforming her into something else, something lethal and inhuman, until what had long ago felt like part of her was turned against her will.
So she has turned against it. She has made a habit of enduring hunger, sleepiness, tiredness and aching, she pushes her limits further and further. Her body might be weak, but not her mind. She never backs down from a fight, because wounds can be inflicted to her flesh, not to her, never taking the time to properly rest and recover, because fatigue can strike her muscles, not her. Even when in agony, she struggles to prove that her self-control is stronger, never shying away from the pain. Indeed, she has learned to relish it, to be grateful for the way it grounds her in the moment, allowing her to focus on the battle instead of unpleasant matters such as what atrocities Thanos had requested of her or, now that she fights alongside the Guardians, whether her teammates are going to make it out alive and unharmed.
She has understood that this is all her body can be, a war machine offering a negative sensation after the other, honed and shattered by decades of battles, exhausted, hurting, broken.
But she is not her body, she is not, she is not.
Peter’s warm hands slip over hers, and Gamora realizes her fists are clenched, nails digging deep into her palms, as she was trying to restrain her thoughts the only way she knows how. She lets out a breath and relaxes ever so slightly as their fingers intertwine. Opening her eyes, she finds Peter’s gaze searching for hers, a slight crease in his brow betraying his concern.
“I’m fine,” she replies hoarsely to his wordless question.
He sees right through her, she is sure of it, but does not challenge her lie. Instead, he rests his forehead on hers and gently cups her face, leaning in to softly kiss her. The tightness in Gamora’s chest seems to melt. Her arms rise to embrace him, she pulls Peter closer and deepens the kiss. His hands slide into her hair, angling her head so that, as his mouth leaves hers, it has easy access to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make her sigh. He seems to stop for a moment to breathe her in, nuzzling the crook where her neck and shoulder meet, then allowing his fingers to skim down her sides, coming to rest on her waist. His lips travel further down, grazing her collarbone and dipping below.
It is impossible to detach herself from her body in such a moment, when her skin tingles from Peter’s warm breath and her chest heaves under his soft kisses, when his fingers lazily trace swirling patterns on her hips and she can feel all of him, incredibly close yet still too far.
As he dotes on her, Gamora feels something deep within her shift, a small epiphany momentarily blinding her. What should have been obvious, yet has evaded her for decades, now appears crystal clear, as she understands, she feels that her body is not a deadly weapon, nor a worthless vessel, nor a pitiful ruin.
She might not be her body, but her body is hers, hers to feel with and right now, for once, she wants to feel it all. Her uneven breath, her quickened heartbeat, Peter’s gentle caresses and sweet kisses. For the first time since she can remember, having a physical form is no longer an afterthought, but something Gamora can genuinely enjoy. She can not believe her luck at being able to feel his devotion the way she does, at being showered with his unbridled affection. Her body seems to finally come alive under Peter’s touch: her heart is fluttering in her chest, her skin blazing and sensitive, as she longs for him more than anything.
It is like he has unlocked a secret way to reach her soul. Every sensation he elicits from her goes beyond desire, as the emotions that accompany their passion speak of acceptance, of belonging, of love.
Gamora sighs serenely, basking in the crystalized perfection of the moment. Peter raises his head to look at her and the whole universe sparkles in his eyes, shining brighter than any star, and all Gamora wishes is to kiss him. Their lips meet again, ardent, impatient, yearning for each other, and she cannot help but smile against his mouth. She is home.