Okay just hear me out, Peter Quill Lance and Gamora keith
I hear you and I love it.
"Hey come on! We had a deal!" Lance kicked at the metal shutter but he already knew it was useless. The buyer he'd stolen this orb for had just backed out, slammed the door in his face and everything. Lance groaned in frustration, kicking at a pebble on the ground. He turned away from the storefront with a scowl and found himself being scrutinized by striking violet eyes.
"What happened?"
Lance froze. The violet eyes belonged to a dark haired man with pretty lavender skin. The man's question went right over Lance's head, transfixed as he was by the leather-clad, toned body leaning against the wall. It wasn't until the guy raised an elegant eyebrow that Lance got back in the game.
"Oh, uh." He pointed at the shutter. "This guy made a deal with me, and now he's backed out."
"How disgraceful," his audience commented, now turned fully toward Lance.
"Right?" Lance exclaimed, shining under the undivided attention of a gorgeous purple alien. "What happened to the honor in the galaxy?" He shook his head gravely. "My name's Lance, by the way."
The man gave a small smile, and stepped closer. Lance felt his heartbeat running way ahead of him.
"You're an honorable man, Lance."
"I- well, I wouldn't say- I mean people have said that about me but I—" Lance was still floundering, still wondering how one single person could be this sexy just standing there, when said person reached into Lance's pocket and then bolted.
It took Lance a second, but he cursed under his breath the moment he realized it. The guy had grabbed the orb. He should've known better than to let himself get distracted. Seriously should've known better given his past experiences. Plus with how he was dressed like an assassin, again, Lance really should've known.
In the split second it took Lance to start giving chase, the assassin had a solid head start. Lance followed until he had a clear line of sight and pulled out his gun. The thief's leather-clad legs were a blur as he ran, but they didn't call Lance sharpshooter for nothing. He took aim and fired. A bola of pure blue energy tangled in the guy's legs, and he fell to the ground with a crash, nearby marketgoers scattering with startled screams at the sudden end to the sudden chase.
Trying and failing to keep his grin from looking too smug, Lance sauntered up to where the thief now sat on the ground trying to break the bindings.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen," he murmured as he bent down to retrieve the orb. That thing better be worth all this trouble.
In hindsight, it was for the best that he'd gotten his gloating in early, because the next moment, cops descended from who knows where, arrested them both, and confiscated the orb to boot. And that wasn't even the worst of it.
The arresting officer turned to his partner and announced in amusement, "We've been trying to arrest this guy for a while, you know. He even has a code name; calls himself Sharpshot."
"It's not— I don't call myself…" Lance sighed. One day it would catch on. He knew it would. "It's an outlaw name. They call me 'Sharpshooter' not Sharpshot; that's just dumb."
"Yeah okay, sharpshit."
Oh boy. This was all that damn assassin's fault. Lance took comfort in the fact that he was getting arrested too. From what he could overhear from the officers, the guy was a henchman to a major galactic criminal. Figures. Lance shot him a dirty look as he was led past, wishing he didn't care as much as he did when he was ignored.