Chapter Text
Some girls did yoga to deal with stress. Some ran track or played video games or went clubbing on the weekends.
Gwen Stacy masturbated.
She'd been doing it since middle school, and she knew it was healthier than some of her classmates' coping mechanisms. But in the wake of her father's death, Gwen felt so low she couldn't bring herself to do it. Everything hurt, from her head to her stomach to her bones, and she could barely stand to be in her own skin.
Gradually it got better, and the pain was enough motivation to force her body to feel something nice. She waited until late at night, then slipped a cautious hand under the waistband of her underwear.
It embarrassed her to think of boys she'd have to look in the face later, but he was the first thing that danced through her mind when her finger rubbed across her clit. She gasped at the throb of pleasure. Even the memory of him made heat run beneath her skin and tingle in her stomach. Gwen decided that it wasn't the night to fight with biology, and began working her fingers faster.
It was less awkward to think of real memories, so she imagined Peter sitting at the end of her bed. He was a bloody mess that night, but his shirt was off and she could see the tight muscles in his arms. They were firm when she touched them, but the warm skin gave under her fingers. She remembered him making a noise when she gripped there, a soft whine that melted out against her open mouth.
Peter was a needy kisser. Gwen was pretty sure she was his first, and he reacted to every touch with whimpers and shudders. There was a certain look he got, his mouth falling open and eyes fixed on her from under heavy eyelids, that made Gwen wet every time. Her thighs fell open as she pictured the way he kept leaning into her, whining in frustration whenever she pulled away. If she had a mean streak, she could keep pulling away and work him up until he was crazy with need. But if she didn't have a mean streak, she wouldn't have flushed hot at the idea. She bit her hand to stifle a moan.
At the end of the day, she didn't want to tease him. She wanted the soft look in his eyes when he wrapped himself around her. She wanted the way he nearly purred when she rubbed the back of his neck. She wanted the way his heartbeat felt under her hand, fast and steady but so vulnerable. She wanted him loose and heavy and relaxed in her bed, all his thoughts on the way she touched him. She wanted to make him feel so good he couldn't speak, couldn't hold himself up, couldn't do anything except make desperate noises and lean into her touch.
Gwen came hard, gushing all over her hand. She lay in the dark with her eyes wide open, breathing hard and trying to make sense of the images in her head. Everything was buried under an aching desire to protect. She resolved to talk to him in the morning about it, but if she was being honest, protecting Peter had always been her main objective.