Ficlet: Eleutherios (Steve/Diana)
Title: Eleutherios
Characters/Pairings: Steve Trevor/Wonder Woman
Rating: R
Warnings: None needed
Summary: Steve goes dancing with Diana and learns what it means to love a goddess.
Word count: 790
Notes: for
bradygirl_12 on her birthday!
Here? Steve Trevor stared in puzzlement at the neon sign swinging above him. This was where Diana had told him to come and meet him this evening, but...
"Shall I take you dancing sometime, Princess?" He kissed her hand politely, and she smiled, covering her mouth with her free hand.
"Certainly. I know just the place."
Steve had expected a ballroom or perhaps a jazz lounge, someplace elegant and refined. Not--
As he opened the door a blast of throbbing techno music hit him, dark and heavy. He entered cautiously, as if he were assessing the place for possible threats.
On the dance floor, a wave of humanity palpitated to the overwhelmingly loud music that Steve could feel in his bones and gut. Spangled lights danced and played across nearly-bare bodies, and Steve found himself both fascinated and horrified as he searched for his princess. Diana must not have known what kind of place this was--he'd find her and they'd get out of here and laugh about it later--
He had been staring at her for a few seconds before he truly realized it was her. She was dressed in the tiniest of black dresses, starred with silvery beads--he had to admit it covered more of her than her costume, and yet somehow she looked more bare in it, her long legs pale and strong underneath the froth of black lace across her thighs, her arms lifted high above her head, the manacles glittering under the fitful light.
Her head was thrown back, long dark hair cascading wildly about her shoulders, her eyes closed as she danced as if drinking in the music like wine. She danced with no self-consciousness at all, her body molding itself to the music as if it were a lover, unaware of the people staring at her. She stamped and whirled in no dance Steve had ever seen--it was something primal, primitive, beyond grace and beauty and into something more raw, more true, more sensual. Steve saw her catch her breath, saw her teeth bite into her full red lower lip, and felt desire and awe and something like terror surge through him.
And then she opened her eyes.
She opened her eyes and met his unerringly through the crowd, and Steve knew his shock and lust were showing on his face from the way knowing laughter creased her eyes. She dropped her arms and made her way through the surging mass of people as if they were mist to be parted with a motion, her hips swaying with the music as if it were all still part of the dance, and when her arms closed around his neck and her hipbone brushed across his groin, he knew it was. He felt dizzy with wanting her, with wanting to drop to his knees before her--to kiss the dark, damp curls he knew were under the dress or to worship, he wasn't sure which. Perhaps it was both. She leaned in close and he felt her breath hot in his ear.
"Dance with me."
"There's no room on the floor," he said inanely, and she threw back her head and laughed. Steve leaned forward and kissed the strong white column of her throat as if in a daze, and they were already dancing together, he realized, their bodies in sync, their hearts in sync. She led him through the music, its beat insistent and demanding, her eyes laughing and wild, and he lost himself in it and in her.
: : :
Later, much later, alone together (but the dance continues; perhaps it will never end, Steve thinks), he lies under her, gasping with desire and delight. "I didn't know you could dance like that," he manages.
She smiles and bends over him. "Men," she says affectionately. "You say 'princess' and think of pretty dolls and silk dresses," she murmurs, as her hands do things to him that make thinking difficult. "But I have led the Wild Dance across the mountains, I have worshipped the God of Ecstasy Himself, and tonight we share His mysteries together." Her dark hair brushes across his chest. "Have you never heard of the Maenads, Steve Trevor?"
He has, and for an instant fear brushes his heart as he remembers tales of dismemberment and sacrifice. But even that shiver is just part of the ecstasy, and as she moves against him and around him he knows that death itself would be part of the dance with her, that he will gladly give her his life and his death and his heart for this, for her, forever.
The dance carries him out of himself and into her, and they are one together, one in the dance, the dance, the dance.
Characters/Pairings: Steve Trevor/Wonder Woman
Rating: R
Warnings: None needed
Summary: Steve goes dancing with Diana and learns what it means to love a goddess.
Word count: 790
Notes: for
bradygirl_12 on her birthday!
Here? Steve Trevor stared in puzzlement at the neon sign swinging above him. This was where Diana had told him to come and meet him this evening, but...
"Shall I take you dancing sometime, Princess?" He kissed her hand politely, and she smiled, covering her mouth with her free hand.
"Certainly. I know just the place."
Steve had expected a ballroom or perhaps a jazz lounge, someplace elegant and refined. Not--
As he opened the door a blast of throbbing techno music hit him, dark and heavy. He entered cautiously, as if he were assessing the place for possible threats.
On the dance floor, a wave of humanity palpitated to the overwhelmingly loud music that Steve could feel in his bones and gut. Spangled lights danced and played across nearly-bare bodies, and Steve found himself both fascinated and horrified as he searched for his princess. Diana must not have known what kind of place this was--he'd find her and they'd get out of here and laugh about it later--
He had been staring at her for a few seconds before he truly realized it was her. She was dressed in the tiniest of black dresses, starred with silvery beads--he had to admit it covered more of her than her costume, and yet somehow she looked more bare in it, her long legs pale and strong underneath the froth of black lace across her thighs, her arms lifted high above her head, the manacles glittering under the fitful light.
Her head was thrown back, long dark hair cascading wildly about her shoulders, her eyes closed as she danced as if drinking in the music like wine. She danced with no self-consciousness at all, her body molding itself to the music as if it were a lover, unaware of the people staring at her. She stamped and whirled in no dance Steve had ever seen--it was something primal, primitive, beyond grace and beauty and into something more raw, more true, more sensual. Steve saw her catch her breath, saw her teeth bite into her full red lower lip, and felt desire and awe and something like terror surge through him.
And then she opened her eyes.
She opened her eyes and met his unerringly through the crowd, and Steve knew his shock and lust were showing on his face from the way knowing laughter creased her eyes. She dropped her arms and made her way through the surging mass of people as if they were mist to be parted with a motion, her hips swaying with the music as if it were all still part of the dance, and when her arms closed around his neck and her hipbone brushed across his groin, he knew it was. He felt dizzy with wanting her, with wanting to drop to his knees before her--to kiss the dark, damp curls he knew were under the dress or to worship, he wasn't sure which. Perhaps it was both. She leaned in close and he felt her breath hot in his ear.
"Dance with me."
"There's no room on the floor," he said inanely, and she threw back her head and laughed. Steve leaned forward and kissed the strong white column of her throat as if in a daze, and they were already dancing together, he realized, their bodies in sync, their hearts in sync. She led him through the music, its beat insistent and demanding, her eyes laughing and wild, and he lost himself in it and in her.
: : :
Later, much later, alone together (but the dance continues; perhaps it will never end, Steve thinks), he lies under her, gasping with desire and delight. "I didn't know you could dance like that," he manages.
She smiles and bends over him. "Men," she says affectionately. "You say 'princess' and think of pretty dolls and silk dresses," she murmurs, as her hands do things to him that make thinking difficult. "But I have led the Wild Dance across the mountains, I have worshipped the God of Ecstasy Himself, and tonight we share His mysteries together." Her dark hair brushes across his chest. "Have you never heard of the Maenads, Steve Trevor?"
He has, and for an instant fear brushes his heart as he remembers tales of dismemberment and sacrifice. But even that shiver is just part of the ecstasy, and as she moves against him and around him he knows that death itself would be part of the dance with her, that he will gladly give her his life and his death and his heart for this, for her, forever.
The dance carries him out of himself and into her, and they are one together, one in the dance, the dance, the dance.