Me & Gwen Stacy

thirteen

-thirteen-

Peter POV

"Gwen, you know I read somewhere that the Italian language has the most ways to say I love you."

Night fell on our shoulders and the air buzzed with the activity of the city, the blinking lights, the sounds of cars that were all little dots below us. Blurs of light, slivers of sound. She was staring up at the full moon and I was staring at her, and the moon was staring down at the both of us as we sat on her roof next to eachother. But after these words she turned to me, eyes sparkling more silver than blue in the moonlight and filled to the brim with mirth.

"Wow, has Aunt May cancelled your Science Daily subscription? You-- Peter Parker, reading about love," she batted her eyelashes at me making googly eyes, jeering at me.

"I guess I couldn't say the same for you then," I said crossing my arms in fictitious indignation.

"No you couldn't, I'm sorry to say it Peter but Aunt May doesn't have control over my magazine subscriptions."

I narrowed my eyes at her and leaned to my right, where she sat bundled up in her favrite blue sweater, "You think you're clever, Miss Stacey?"

"Well yeah, it's kind of part of my charm," a smirk played on her lips as she shrugged and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, "That's why you're so into me,"

At this I scooted away from her on the blanket we had layed out, "Into you? I'm sorry-- who said I was into you? Who are you? Do I even know you?"

She was looking at me like she did sometimes-- not just looking at me, but-- I don't know-- gazing. Usually Gwen's eyes were all business. She saw the world through the lens of a true scientist. She observed, she questioned, she calculated, and most of the time she looked at me the same way: with a certain professional curiosity. But every once in a while, her eyes would soften, and she would regard me through her eyelashes with a look that was some concoction of amusement, and a certain kind of reverence, and tenderness. That's what she was doing now.

She was giving me that look through eyes that crinkled with laughter.

"Do you know who I am?" I continued. How I loved to make her laugh, "I am Spiderman."

I shot a web at her hand and pulled her to me so that she was sitting with her back to me between my legs. I exclaimed, "Spiderman I tell you!" and began tickling her.

Fun fact about Gwen: once you got past her studious uptight exterior she just a huge ball of adorableness and fun. And one of her adorably fun qualities was her insane ticklishness, something I liked to use to my advantage sometimes-- like now.

"Peter!" she squealed as I tickled her-- Gwen never squealed, "Oh my God stop!"

She was wriggling and gasping with giggles, "Peter!"

She stilled, head now on my thigh hair spread around her face like a halo, "I hate you," she said. But I knew she didn't because she was still looking at me in that way that suggested she loved me as much as she loved singing the Periodic Table song (which was a lot, cause she was dork).

"No you don't."

She sighed, "No... I don't," then a moment later, "You know I'm ticklish."

"It is common knowledge," I nodded down at her.

She was quiet for a while as she held my hand examining the way our hands fit togther. After a few minutes: "Tell me about those different ways to say I love you."