FIC: Oasis (Steve/Diana, Heroes of the Squared Circle)
Title: Oasis
Pairing/Characters: Steve Trevor/Diana Prince
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: While serving in Afghanistan, Steve Trevor gets dragged to a wrestling benefit show--and finds something more than entertainment.
Word Count: 1500
Notes: For bradygirl_12's birthday--I hope it's everything you desire! Set in the universe of "Heroes of the Squared Circle," in which DCU characters are professional wrestlers.
Fireworks went off with a thunderous bang, and Steve Trevor hid his flinch as colored lights sparkled everywhere. The Afghanistan sun beat down mercilessly through the dusty air, and he wondered again why he'd let his buddies drag him to this ridiculous "Salute to Our Soldiers" event.
Anything to break the tedium, he supposed. And a random professional wrestling show was a more enjoyable break than a random RPG attack.
The crowd--more than eight thousand soldiers in military drab--cheered madly as the first wrestlers strutted through the smoke and sparks to enter the ring, their well-chiseled, bare torsos glistening with oil and sweat. They postured and gesticulated, a parody of machismo as imagined in a fever-dream, and Steve tried to keep from rolling his eyes as his friends cheered and yelled.
"Anybody here from Kansas?" called one of the wrestlers, and a chorus of raucous joy met him.
He probably isn't even from Kansas, thought Steve, then felt a twinge of guilt. What did he care where some musclebound entertainer was really from if it made his fellow soldiers happy? And there was no doubt they were lapping it up, as "Country Clark" leaned over the ropes to sign an autograph, a huge grin on his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life--was he really that good an actor or could he actually be glad to be here?
An elbow dug into his ribs. "Lighten up a little, Trevor," yelled Johnny Cloud. "This is supposed to be fun, you know! And the best is yet to come…" He winked and turned his attention back to the ring, where a kid with red hair and a bow tie was announcing that it was time for a battle royal with the divas of the DCW.
Some kind of insistent techno music started thumping, and about twenty young women in clothing that was either tight or skimpy (or both) ran out to the ring. Apparently a battle royale was a match where the last wrestler to get thrown out of the ring was the winner, but in this case it largely seemed to be an excuse to let the audience see all their favorite divas at once. With the ring so crowded, the wrestling itself was mostly desultory, with the women taking a lot of time to blow kisses and smile to the crowd in either wholesome or sultry ways. It wasn't all posing and preening, though: as the ring cleared (the soldiers groaning sympathy as their favorites were eliminated) the remaining wrestlers were more able to show off some more physical moves. The focus was generally more flexibility than strength, litheness rather than power.
With one glaring exception.
Steve found his eyes drawn again and again to one figure among the crowd of glittering wrestlers: a woman with her dark hair unbound, swirling around her shoulders as she moved. She was wearing a short blue skirt, spangled with stars, and a red sleeveless top (how did it stay up?) with a golden eagle unfurled across it. It was a ridiculous cheesecake outfit, better-suited for lolling across the hood of a Mustang than throwing someone through the air.
But the long, clean muscles of her arms and legs were anything but ridiculous, and her fierce small smile as she tossed her competitors out of the ring was of private joy, meant for no one but herself.
Steve found he couldn't take his eyes off her.
By the end of the match she had been personally responsible for eliminating twelve of her competitors. Her skin was gleaming with sweat and her eyes were like blue steel, and when a redhead in a green leotard and a blond woman in patchwork leather gave each other collusive winks and sneaked up behind her, Steve found himself on his feet yelling: "Look out, Angel!"
She shot him a laughing look, pushing damp hair back from her face, and Steve felt a flush of startled embarrassment and arousal throb through him. Then the two villainesses seized her from behind and, with a titanic effort, hurled her from the ring.
She landed on her feet in front of Steve, all grace and power, coiled to leap back into the ring--but it was too late, her feet had touched the desert sand and she was banished from the ring, doomed to walk the earth of mere mortals once more. Steve felt righteous indignation choke him--it wasn't fair!--and blinked to realize she had turned and was looking right at him.
"Thank you for your warning, soldier," she said. Her voice was like warm honey, with a hint of a European accent that he couldn't place.
Without thinking, he stuck out his hand. "You fought with honor," he said.
She took it and shook it gravely. "Yours is the honorable fight," she said, and then behind her the leather-clad woman was dumped onto the sand and the woman with ivy leaves in her hair was celebrating to the cheers of the crowd. Music struck up once more, and she nodded to him once, then turned and left.
Johnny was punching his shoulder. "Jesus, man, you shook her hand? You loser! You could have tried for at least a kiss!" Steve stared at him. "And her name isn't 'Angel,' you idiot. It's Wonder Woman. Diana Prince."
"Tell me more," said Steve as the crowd broke up. "I want to know all about her."
: : :
A group of wrestlers came by the mess hall later to sign autographs and mingle with the soldiers, and Steve felt his heart leap to see Diana among them. She was immediately surrounded by admirers--not as many as Poison Ivy or Green Lantern, but enough to be discouraging--asking her questions. She smiled enigmatically when someone asked if she was a real princess, sipped politely from a cup of ginger ale someone gave her, and rolled her eyes, laughing, when asked if it was true she was dating Billionaire Brucie.
"How much can you bench press?" Steve blurted out into a pause in the conversation.
People turned to stare at him, but Diana smiled in delight. "I can press about 200 pounds," she said.
"How do you train? Do you mostly focus on your upper body?"
Diana absent-mindedly handed her ginger ale to someone to free her hands. "Yes, I've been doing hypertrophy-specific training with a focus on the deltoids and triceps lately."
"Do you try to avoid zig-zagging your weights?"
She shook her head, glorious dark hair shifting in a gleaming mass. "As long as you keep progressively loading weights, I've found it isn't a problem."
The conversation unfolded from there, until Steve looked around and found that everyone else had drifted off. "Oh dear," Diana murmured. "I'm really not supposed to focus my attentions too much on any one person." A smile curved her mouth. "It's too bad everyone else finds me so boring."
"Idiots," said Steve, and she threw back her head in a bubbling laugh, then leaned forward to take his arm.
"Let's find somewhere quiet to talk," she said.
They walked around the base aimlessly, arm in arm, and Diana talked about growing up on a tiny island in the Aegean Sea--Greek, that was the sun-warmed accent in her voice--being raised by a single mother, dreaming of the larger world she could see on her flickering black and white television. Steve found himself talking about his childhood in Boston, long summers on the ocean, gazing east at the sky and the sea, longing for wings. Talking about the terror and boredom of Afghanistan, the pain of comrades lost, the uncertainty of the future.
And then for a while they said nothing at all, but looked at each other under the stars.
"Would it be all right if I kissed you?" Steve heard himself say, and she laughed softly and leaned forward and put her mouth on his, cool and sweet and strong.
"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth, and he couldn't help laughing at her thanking him>. "I mean it," she said more fiercely. "I love my job, but sometimes it's good to be reminded that there's a larger world."
"You've been an oasis in the desert for me," he said, breathing in the scent of her hair. "An island in a sea of sand. Thank you."
One evening beneath the desert sky was enough, he thought to himself. Enough to last him through the long dry days ahead.
: : :
When his doorbell rang six months later, he didn't recognize her for a moment: a woman in a crisp white dress, hair pulled back into a ponytail, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
Then she smiled and he caught his breath as if caught in a sudden rainstorm, cool on parched skin.
"I gave up waiting for you to come find me," said Diana Prince. "May I come in?"
And then she stepped forward and took him in her arms.
Pairing/Characters: Steve Trevor/Diana Prince
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: While serving in Afghanistan, Steve Trevor gets dragged to a wrestling benefit show--and finds something more than entertainment.
Word Count: 1500
Notes: For bradygirl_12's birthday--I hope it's everything you desire! Set in the universe of "Heroes of the Squared Circle," in which DCU characters are professional wrestlers.
Fireworks went off with a thunderous bang, and Steve Trevor hid his flinch as colored lights sparkled everywhere. The Afghanistan sun beat down mercilessly through the dusty air, and he wondered again why he'd let his buddies drag him to this ridiculous "Salute to Our Soldiers" event.
Anything to break the tedium, he supposed. And a random professional wrestling show was a more enjoyable break than a random RPG attack.
The crowd--more than eight thousand soldiers in military drab--cheered madly as the first wrestlers strutted through the smoke and sparks to enter the ring, their well-chiseled, bare torsos glistening with oil and sweat. They postured and gesticulated, a parody of machismo as imagined in a fever-dream, and Steve tried to keep from rolling his eyes as his friends cheered and yelled.
"Anybody here from Kansas?" called one of the wrestlers, and a chorus of raucous joy met him.
He probably isn't even from Kansas, thought Steve, then felt a twinge of guilt. What did he care where some musclebound entertainer was really from if it made his fellow soldiers happy? And there was no doubt they were lapping it up, as "Country Clark" leaned over the ropes to sign an autograph, a huge grin on his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life--was he really that good an actor or could he actually be glad to be here?
An elbow dug into his ribs. "Lighten up a little, Trevor," yelled Johnny Cloud. "This is supposed to be fun, you know! And the best is yet to come…" He winked and turned his attention back to the ring, where a kid with red hair and a bow tie was announcing that it was time for a battle royal with the divas of the DCW.
Some kind of insistent techno music started thumping, and about twenty young women in clothing that was either tight or skimpy (or both) ran out to the ring. Apparently a battle royale was a match where the last wrestler to get thrown out of the ring was the winner, but in this case it largely seemed to be an excuse to let the audience see all their favorite divas at once. With the ring so crowded, the wrestling itself was mostly desultory, with the women taking a lot of time to blow kisses and smile to the crowd in either wholesome or sultry ways. It wasn't all posing and preening, though: as the ring cleared (the soldiers groaning sympathy as their favorites were eliminated) the remaining wrestlers were more able to show off some more physical moves. The focus was generally more flexibility than strength, litheness rather than power.
With one glaring exception.
Steve found his eyes drawn again and again to one figure among the crowd of glittering wrestlers: a woman with her dark hair unbound, swirling around her shoulders as she moved. She was wearing a short blue skirt, spangled with stars, and a red sleeveless top (how did it stay up?) with a golden eagle unfurled across it. It was a ridiculous cheesecake outfit, better-suited for lolling across the hood of a Mustang than throwing someone through the air.
But the long, clean muscles of her arms and legs were anything but ridiculous, and her fierce small smile as she tossed her competitors out of the ring was of private joy, meant for no one but herself.
Steve found he couldn't take his eyes off her.
By the end of the match she had been personally responsible for eliminating twelve of her competitors. Her skin was gleaming with sweat and her eyes were like blue steel, and when a redhead in a green leotard and a blond woman in patchwork leather gave each other collusive winks and sneaked up behind her, Steve found himself on his feet yelling: "Look out, Angel!"
She shot him a laughing look, pushing damp hair back from her face, and Steve felt a flush of startled embarrassment and arousal throb through him. Then the two villainesses seized her from behind and, with a titanic effort, hurled her from the ring.
She landed on her feet in front of Steve, all grace and power, coiled to leap back into the ring--but it was too late, her feet had touched the desert sand and she was banished from the ring, doomed to walk the earth of mere mortals once more. Steve felt righteous indignation choke him--it wasn't fair!--and blinked to realize she had turned and was looking right at him.
"Thank you for your warning, soldier," she said. Her voice was like warm honey, with a hint of a European accent that he couldn't place.
Without thinking, he stuck out his hand. "You fought with honor," he said.
She took it and shook it gravely. "Yours is the honorable fight," she said, and then behind her the leather-clad woman was dumped onto the sand and the woman with ivy leaves in her hair was celebrating to the cheers of the crowd. Music struck up once more, and she nodded to him once, then turned and left.
Johnny was punching his shoulder. "Jesus, man, you shook her hand? You loser! You could have tried for at least a kiss!" Steve stared at him. "And her name isn't 'Angel,' you idiot. It's Wonder Woman. Diana Prince."
"Tell me more," said Steve as the crowd broke up. "I want to know all about her."
: : :
A group of wrestlers came by the mess hall later to sign autographs and mingle with the soldiers, and Steve felt his heart leap to see Diana among them. She was immediately surrounded by admirers--not as many as Poison Ivy or Green Lantern, but enough to be discouraging--asking her questions. She smiled enigmatically when someone asked if she was a real princess, sipped politely from a cup of ginger ale someone gave her, and rolled her eyes, laughing, when asked if it was true she was dating Billionaire Brucie.
"How much can you bench press?" Steve blurted out into a pause in the conversation.
People turned to stare at him, but Diana smiled in delight. "I can press about 200 pounds," she said.
"How do you train? Do you mostly focus on your upper body?"
Diana absent-mindedly handed her ginger ale to someone to free her hands. "Yes, I've been doing hypertrophy-specific training with a focus on the deltoids and triceps lately."
"Do you try to avoid zig-zagging your weights?"
She shook her head, glorious dark hair shifting in a gleaming mass. "As long as you keep progressively loading weights, I've found it isn't a problem."
The conversation unfolded from there, until Steve looked around and found that everyone else had drifted off. "Oh dear," Diana murmured. "I'm really not supposed to focus my attentions too much on any one person." A smile curved her mouth. "It's too bad everyone else finds me so boring."
"Idiots," said Steve, and she threw back her head in a bubbling laugh, then leaned forward to take his arm.
"Let's find somewhere quiet to talk," she said.
They walked around the base aimlessly, arm in arm, and Diana talked about growing up on a tiny island in the Aegean Sea--Greek, that was the sun-warmed accent in her voice--being raised by a single mother, dreaming of the larger world she could see on her flickering black and white television. Steve found himself talking about his childhood in Boston, long summers on the ocean, gazing east at the sky and the sea, longing for wings. Talking about the terror and boredom of Afghanistan, the pain of comrades lost, the uncertainty of the future.
And then for a while they said nothing at all, but looked at each other under the stars.
"Would it be all right if I kissed you?" Steve heard himself say, and she laughed softly and leaned forward and put her mouth on his, cool and sweet and strong.
"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth, and he couldn't help laughing at her thanking him>. "I mean it," she said more fiercely. "I love my job, but sometimes it's good to be reminded that there's a larger world."
"You've been an oasis in the desert for me," he said, breathing in the scent of her hair. "An island in a sea of sand. Thank you."
One evening beneath the desert sky was enough, he thought to himself. Enough to last him through the long dry days ahead.
: : :
When his doorbell rang six months later, he didn't recognize her for a moment: a woman in a crisp white dress, hair pulled back into a ponytail, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
Then she smiled and he caught his breath as if caught in a sudden rainstorm, cool on parched skin.
"I gave up waiting for you to come find me," said Diana Prince. "May I come in?"
And then she stepped forward and took him in her arms.