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“How’s that feel, love?”
Gwen’s answers are mostly moans and “yes, please”. They are laying in bed in Hobie’s small apartment (cozy, Gwen would always call it), and they’re almost naked but not quite. It’s not Gwen’s first time being almost-naked around a boy, but there is a world of difference between this and what she’s experienced before.
Because she’s different than she was before. Because she ran away from home. Because Hobie’s more or less the only person she has to talk to. Because... because.
“Feels good,” she murmurs finally.
“Good,” Hobie says quietly, his deep voice reverberating through Gwen's body.
Sometimes being super-sensitive has its upsides. He touches her so tenderly and moves so slowly, feeling every inch of her skin, taking in the feel of her body. His breath on the skin of her shoulder feels electric, and her whole body is curled as if between the two polar points of his hand and his lips. Gwen doesn’t know whether it’s her newfound self-assertiveness, the estrogen exploring its way through her body, or simply the heavy weight of her decision to be here, but she’s drinking in his touch with an almost feral desperation—twitching and moaning and guiding his hands when she has somewhere she wants his hands to go.
And Hobie is biting his lip and trying not to smile too wide, because it’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
She twitches and moans and grinds against him, pressing her body into his. He touches her stomach, and she grabs his hand and guides it to her chest, where her sensitive breast buds are protected flimsily by a sports bra that she has not mustered the courage to remove.
He shifts his weight to hold her, and throws one leg over her legs in bed. She freezes instinctively before relaxing, and Hobie takes a moment before continuing. It’s been like this between them—awkward but in a lovely way, a really necessary way. That’s what it feels like to Hobie, as he’s exploring Gwen’s chest with her.
Actually, Gwen is pretty self-conscious about her flat-chestedness, but Hobie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he barely seems to notice. He is too busy enjoying the feel of her.
“Your skin is so soft,” he breathes as he fingers the strap of her bra.
“You think so?” Gwen’s voice is fluttery, which makes Hobie giggle quietly.
He’s breathing on her neck as he holds her, and she lets out little pleased moans as she exhales. It’s almost like they are dancing, changing positions every minute or half minute.
He touches her thighs through her leggings and she stiffens immediately.
Hobie pulls back apologetically. Gwen moans slightly in protest, and takes his hand in hers. Slowly, she bevels her body toward his, and places his hand on the center of her thigh.
She’s breathing hard, and Hobie is too.
“You can take my pants off,” she says softly.
He reaches around her and slides them off her, and she lifts her legs and wiggles to escape them, and suddenly she feels very very naked, even though she’s still wearing a bra and...
... and boxers. She flushes immediately, a rich red blush. She’s wearing a boy’s underwear. Shit shit shit.
Well, it’s not like she’s had time or money to invest in girl underwear. Much less, you know, girl clothes in general. As strange as it sounds, Gwen’s Spider-Woman costume is more or less her only safe outfit that fits her in a way she likes while also presenting the kind of femininity she feels comfortable with.
And now she’s in bed with a boy and she’s wearing stupid boy underwear and her face is bright red.
He meets her fearful eyes with a grim expression she was not expecting.
“Gwen,” Hobie says quietly, and she flinches, and her stomach drops, and so does his.
“S-sorry,” Gwen blurts out. “I—”
“Gwen,” Hobie repeats. His scratchy voice is barely more than a whisper. “It’s okay.”
He has retreated slightly, not retracting his warmth, but signaling to her that no further advancements are intended. She looks at him and says nothing.
“Sorry,” Gwen says again, and winces at herself.
This time Hobie says nothing, and simply rests his head on the pillow next to hers.
“I’m nervous,” she mouths, sound barely escaping from her lips.
“I know,” says Hobie. He matches her tone. He’s so good at that, it still surprises her after all the time they’ve spent together. Hobie is loud and brash and unafraid and Gwen loves that about him, but in private he’s such a sensitive person, and sometimes Gwen thinks maybe she’s not ready for that.
“It’s not you,” she breathes. “I’ve just. Never been with someone like this.”
Hobie nods slowly. His eyes are closed, and Gwen closes hers as well. Immediately she feels a wave of exhaustion pass through her body, as if the only thing holding it back was her fixation on his touch.
Now she’s snoring, and Hobie finally lets the tension release from his body as well. Gwen’s body finds its rhythm in his arms, and he’s following suit, drifting away slowly.
Before he falls asleep, he gets up one last time, picking up his empty water glass to refill it before returning. He sees himself in the mirror of his flat’s small bathroom, and he is surprised to see a smile on his face. It crept up on him, but he likes this. He likes knowing Gwen is in the next room, waiting for him to return and pull her into his arms.
He likes being with her. He likes when they do things together. But he likes it especially when they do nothing together.
When he returns, Gwen has awoken and is looking at him with a vague anxiety in her eyes.
“Hobie?” Gwen asks quietly.
“Yes, love?”
She studies his face. “Is this okay?”
He smiles at her faintly. He's a little absent—half asleep, really. He is worn out. They both are, which is why it’s become his sacred duty to help her relax, to protect her time to unwind.
He says, “Of course it’s okay, darling.”
“I mean... you give me so much attention. You give me so much,” she says. “And I just... want... you to feel the same way.”
What can he say to this? A relationship doesn’t have to be all-the-way mutual, he reasons. Sometimes it’s like this. But maybe, he thinks, maybe she’ll feel courageous enough to touch him soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.
Maybe not. Maybe he’ll let her stay over for some months, a year.
Maybe he’d do that for her. Maybe he wants to.
Even at twilight, with the lights off, as the two of them unwind in the last moments before sleep, Hobie’s mind bounces around like this, a million miles a second. He’s a Spider-Man, after all, just like she’s a Spider-Woman. He has anxiety, too. It just shows up in different ways.
Maybe they’ll talk that out in the next few days. Maybe.
But for now. For now, he simply says, “This is perfect.”
His hands travel in search of the place they were before he’d gotten up.
Gwen shifts to align herself with him like before. Her body is so small and curvy compared to his, which, when she thinks about it, sends excited thrills down her spine. Hobie is so tall and skinny and awkward and perfect. She loves how his body feels against hers. She loves how he uses it to touch her. She loves his body. She loves all the things they have in common and she loves all the things that are different.
Shit, Gwen thinks. I love him.