Gamora had a blade to Angela's chest.
The room was dark. Some weak light was drifting in through the gaps between the curtains. Angela was sprawled on her back across the mattress, the bedsheets twisted and tangled beneath her. In the distance, there could be heard the pulsing and rumbling of the ship's engines.
Gamora was looming over her, a black shape in the gloom. She held a dagger in her hand – it gleamed, slightly, in the dim light. She was dangling her weapon over Angela's heart, the tip of the blade gently passing across the surface of her skin.
Angela wasn't worried. Lady Gamora knew how to handle knives. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Tonight was the first time that Gamora and Angela had been together for four weeks. Gamora and Angela had something of a long-distance relationship, it was accurate to say. Gamora was a Guardian of the Galaxy, and the galaxy always, always needed protecting. Her place was by her comrades' sides. Her place was wherever evil rose to threaten the universe.
Angela, meanwhile, was a bounty hunter, and her missions and contracts brought her all across the stars. It was lonely work, often. Sometimes, Angela and Gamora did not see one another for weeks on end.
They didn't let it bother them. They were both tough women. If we had to see each other everyday, we'd probably get sick of one another, they sometimes joked.
“You need a new tattoo,” Gamora said, suddenly.
Angela quirked an eyebrow at this. She raised her head off the pillows, and looked up at Gamora. “A new tattoo?” she said.
“Mmmm.”
Not an altogether unusual suggestion. Angela already had blood-red markings around her eyes, which, in the culture of Heven, signified her status as a hunter.
“What sort of tattoo do you think I should get?” Angela asked.
Gamora did not respond, for a few moments. She simply traced the tip of the dagger across Angela's flesh. Angela's heart gently thumped and thudded, just beneath the skin.
“My name,” Gamora said, then. “My name, in thick letters, all across your chest. G-A-M-O-R-A.”
Angela tried to visualize this...and the mental image caused her to frown. “Ummmm...would that not be a little...tacky, Lady Gamora?”
Gamora gave a shrug. “I don't care if it's tacky,” she said. “It will keep you from forgetting about me.”
Angela peered up at Gamora. Gamora's face was shrouded in dark, strands of green hair falling over her.
The tip of the dagger hovered over Angela's heart.
“Do you worry that I'll forget about you, Lady Gamora?” Angela asked.
Gamora simply grunted. There was a clatter as the knife struck the floor, and then Gamora lay her head on Angela's chest, and nothing more was said.
Thanks for reading. This might become a series, we'll see.