Chapter Text
The first time Steve Trevor dances with Diana Prince, it’s on the streets of a tiny Belgian town in the middle of a war. The last few years of his life have been filled with carnage and loss and decisions he’s not proud of. But when he pulls her close, her hand warm in his, her smile wide and breathtakingly beautiful as she gazes up at the snow, he thinks that at some point in all the mess he must have done something right.
Later, when she kisses him in her room at the inn, he realizes he was wrong. There is nothing he could have possibly done to deserve someone like her.
“Bourbon, neat,” Steve tells the bartender.
He leans against the bar and glances out across the room that’s filled with sparkling ball gowns, tailored tuxedos, and a whole lot of art. It doesn’t take long to find Diana. She’s talking animatedly with an older couple, the champagne flute in her hand glinting as she gestures toward a tall statue. He hasn’t seen her take a sip of it yet. He suspects that she only carries it around so that no one will hand her a drink she doesn’t want. He’s done the same thing while on a mission.
It’s a bit surreal to be here with her. He’s been living in the twenty-first century for two months now, and it isn’t the first time he’s been to the Louvre while she’s working. He’s visited a few times during the workday to take her to lunch, and she gave him a tour once after hours. But tonight is the first time he’s been to a fundraising gala with her. He’s her date, technically, but she’s also working—which means she must charm very, very wealthy people like the elderly couple she’s currently talking to, and though she seems not to mind when he’s by her side as she makes her rounds, she also doesn’t seem to mind when he stands back and lets her go it alone.
Of the two options, he figured out within the first fifteen minutes that he prefers to stand back rather than tag along. It’s not a matter of interest; he likes to hear her talk about her work. It’s not a matter of confidence either; he knows he’s charming, and he knows that between the two of them, they could probably convince every person in the room to sign over half their fortune to the museum. The real reason is simple—it’s the perfect opportunity for him to admire her without her teasing him for doing so.
He knows he’s not the only one. He’s a spy, and he knows how to read a room. He’s lost count of how many people he’s caught watching her in awe. It doesn’t bother him. They can look all they want. He’s the one who gets to take her home.
“Did you see Mademoiselle Prince?” a voice says somewhere to Steve’s left. He swings his head around and spots a man in a black tux talking to another man and a woman.
“Everyone’s seen Mademoiselle Prince,” the woman scoffs. “That dress is stunning.”
“I don’t think it’s the dress everyone’s looking at,” the man chuckles.
“Which one is she?” the second man asks.
“The one in the blue. With the dark hair.”
Steve glances at Diana. Her dress is a dark sapphire, with a plunging neckline in the front. Her hair is gathered into a knot on the back of her head, and there are a pair of long, sparkling diamond earrings hanging from her ears. When she turns to gesture at another statue, her earrings swinging with the movement, Steve’s treated to a view of the nonexistent back of her dress.
One of the men sucks in a breath. “God, she’s…” he starts. He does not finish.
“The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” the other man supplies.
“Yeah,” the first man sighs.
Steve smirks. The bartender sets a glass of bourbon in front of him, and Steve nods his thanks and takes a sip as he continues to eavesdrop.
The woman laughs. “I forgot you’re new, Louis. You’ve never seen Mademoiselle Prince before?”
“I’d remember if I had,” Louis says reverently. “What’s her deal?”
“I don’t think she’s into interns, if that’s what you’re asking,” the woman answers.
“I heard Prince Harry asked her out when he came here with his brother and Kate for a tour,” the first man says.
“She dated Prince Harry?” Louis asks, his eyes wide.
“No,” the man answers, grinning. “She turned him down.”
“Shit,” Louis mutters.
“How do you know that?” the woman asks suspiciously.
“I dated one of her interns for a few weeks,” the man answers. “I heard she turned down Jean-Paul Croix too.”
“The millionaire?” Louis chokes.
“Billionaire,” the other man corrects smugly.
“Looks like she’s about to be asked out by another one,” the woman notes.
Steve glances over at Diana and sees that Bruce has appeared at her side. The Batman smiles thinly at the elderly couple, and after a moment they wander away. Diana turns toward Bruce, and his lips smooth into a sincere smile. Two months ago, Steve would’ve watched the interaction with jealousy. Now, he feels no such thing.
“That’s Bruce Wayne,” the first man says. “Looks like they know each other already.”
“He’s so hot,” the woman says wistfully. “If she wasn’t so damn nice I’d hate her.”
Bruce holds out his hand. Diana smiles, puts her hand in his, and lets him lead her to the dance floor.
“Looks like he’s having better luck than Croix,” Louis says enviously.
“Nah,” the first man says. “I hear she’s got a boyfriend.”
The woman and Louis round on the first man with wide eyes, and Steve smirks into his bourbon.
“How do you know that?” the woman demands.
“Dated another one of her interns,” the man says with a shrug. “Apparently the boyfriend stops by to take her out to lunch sometimes. Sent her a massive bouquet of flowers once too.”
“Have you seen him? Is he hot?”
“Nope, never seen him. But I assume if Mademoiselle Prince is dating him then he must be good looking.”
“Or rich,” Louis sighs.
“Or good in bed,” the woman adds.
“Probably all three,” the man laughs.
Steve suddenly has an unbearable urge to dance with Diana. He downs the rest of his bourbon and heads for the dance floor. Bruce spots him over Diana’s shoulder when he’s still a few yards away. The Batman lowers his arms and steps back from Diana.
“Good to see you, Steve,” Bruce says, another sincere smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Likewise,” Steve says.
Diana turns, and the moment her eyes fall on him they light up. His heart thumps in his chest. “Steve,” she greets softly.
“May I cut in?” he asks, smiling.
“Perfect timing,” Bruce says. “I was planning to head out anyway.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Diana’s cheek. “See you two next week.”
“Good night, Bruce,” Diana says, brushing a hand over his chest.
Bruce reaches out to shake Steve’s hand, and then he disappears into the crowd. Diana steps closer to Steve, and he runs his hand lightly across the bare skin of her back before wrapping his arm around her waist.
“Where have you been?” she murmurs in his ear, her hand brushing over the nape of his neck as they start to sway.
“Over at the bar,” he answers. “Eavesdropping.”
She laughs. “Hear anything good?”
“A couple of your colleagues talking about you.”
“Oh?” she says. Most people would want to know what was said, and whether it was complimentary. Steve knows Diana doesn’t care. He tells her anyway.
“Lots of talk about you being the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.”
“Well that’s kind of them,” she says.
“They also said Prince Harry asked you out once.”
“Did they now,” she laughs.
He waits, but she says nothing else. “Well, did he?” Steve asks.
Diana leans back to look him in the eye. She smirks at him, and he immediately knows the answer is yes.
“He may have mentioned something about having dinner together sometime,” she says vaguely.
“And you said no?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Dating British royalty isn’t really conducive with keeping a low profile.”
He laughs. She smiles, apparently pleased by his amusement. He leans closer to her. “They’re right, you know.”
“About?”
“How beautiful you are. There’s not a single person in this room who can keep their eyes off you.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, a soft smile tugging the corners of her mouth upward. “But I’m only looking at you.”
His heart thumps in his chest again. He glances down at her mouth because he’d really like to kiss her. He’s better about PDA than he was when he first got to this century, but he still occasionally gets embarrassed. He’s not sure what the protocol is for work events.
“Might as well give them all something new to talk about,” she murmurs as if she has read his mind.
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
“I think I just heard all their hearts shatter in unison,” he whispers afterward.
She laughs.
Steve is hanging up a few of Diana’s blouses in the closet when he finds it. He pulls it out, looks it over, and immediately imagines taking it off of her.
“Why have I never seen this?” he asks, stepping out into the living room with the hanger still in his hand.
On the far side of the apartment, Diana looks up from the stove. Her eyes travel over the dress that’s hanging from the hanger, and then shift to his face. The corner of her mouth lifts upward into a smirk.
“It’s a summer dress,” she answers with a shrug.
“It’s June now. That’s summer.”
She smiles. “Yes.”
He glances at the dress, and then back at her. “So you could wear it.”
“I could.”
She lowers her gaze back down to the stove. He watches her flip the burners off, and then turn away from him to pull two plates from the cupboard. When she turns back around with the plates in hand, he is still staring at her. She rolls her eyes a little.
“Are you going to stand there all night with that dress in your hand and that look on your face?”
“What look?”
“You know exactly what look.”
He grins. “You like my looks.”
She sighs, but there is no annoyance in it. Only affectionate exasperation. “What do you want, Steve? You want me to put it on right now while we eat dinner?”
“Oh you’re going to eat dinner in it, that’s for sure,” he says. “Friday night. Me and you. Nicest place in town. I’ll make reservations and everything.”
“Fine,” she says, laughing. “Now can you please go hang that back up so we can eat dinner?”
Friday night comes, and Diana looks even better in the dress than Steve imagined she would. They eat dinner at a restaurant with white tablecloths and candles and a wine list. They don’t typically eat at places like this—they prefer neighborhood cafes and unassuming bistros and the various take-out places that surround their apartment. But he’s been meaning to take her out somewhere nice, and if she’s going to wear a dress like that, then they should definitely be eating at a place like this.
It’s a gorgeous night. When they leave the restaurant he takes her hand and asks if she wants to go for a walk before they head home. She smiles and murmurs her assent. They’re in a part of the city that he hasn’t been to yet, and he’s fascinated by how busy it is. The restaurants and bars seem to be overflowing, and crowds of young people are wandering the sidewalks.
When they come across a long line of people standing outside a building with thunderously loud music, Steve frowns. There aren’t too many modern things he doesn’t know any more, but he has no idea what this is.
“What’s that?” he asks Diana, nodding in the direction of the building.
“It’s a club,” she answers.
“A club?” he repeats. She nods. “What do people do there?”
She shrugs. “Dance and drink, mostly.”
He looks over at her. “What kind of dancing?”
She smiles. “Not the kind you’re used to.”
Must be modern, he thinks. Barry mentioned twerking once, and when Steve asked him what that was, Barry had shown him a YouTube video. Steve wonders if that’s what Diana means. He figures he might as well ask.
“Like twerking?”
Diana whips her head around so fast that he thinks she’d have whiplash if she were human. “What did you just say?” she asks.
“Twerking,” he repeats. “Did I say it wrong?
“No,” she says. She is grinning at him. “How do you know about that?”
“Barry showed me a YouTube video.”
“Of course he did,” she says, laughing.
Steve glances back toward the club. The line of people waiting to get in has gotten even longer. The music is very, very loud. He wonders what kind of dancing requires such a heavy bass beat.
Diana leans her body into his. “Would you like to go in?”
“Oh no, that’s okay,” he tells her. But he kind of does.
Diana, naturally, sees right through his lie. “Come on,” she murmurs, tugging on his hand.
He follows her across the street and toward the building. He heads for the back of the line but Diana pulls him in the opposite direction, straight for the door and the burly man who seems to be guarding it.
“Uh, Diana?” Steve says. “Isn’t this the line to get in?”
“Yes.”
Quite a few people in line have caught sight of Diana and her dress. Most of them are admiring her, but a few of them—particularly the two women at the very front of the line, which Diana is currently breezing right past—seem rather annoyed.
“Don’t we have to stand in line?” Steve hisses at Diana.
“No,” she says simply. And then she stops in front of the angry-looking guard and smiles. It’s one of her stunner smiles—the kind that makes Steve want to recite sonnets while he worships every inch of her body. The security guard seems to feel the same way. The grumpy look dissolves right off his face, and after a brief conversation and a charming-as-hell laugh from Diana, he steps aside and gestures for them to go in.
“That was impressive,” Steve tells her after they step through the door and into a dimly lit vestibule.
“Thank you,” she murmurs with a smile. They’re greeted by a blond woman in a sparkly dress. She’s flanked by two very tall, very stern looking men. Steve follows Diana’s lead and holds out his ID. The blond rattles off an entry fee, and Steve pulls out his wallet and hands her some bills. She stamps his hand, and he stares down at the ink on his skin and wonders why he needs it.
“Come on,” Diana murmurs, weaving her fingers through his. She leads him toward another set of doors. She squeezes his hand and glances at him just before she pushes one open. “Stay close,” she says. “It’ll be crowded.”
And then suddenly they’re in the middle of a sea of people. It’s dark, and there are lights flashing so rapidly and brightly that Steve wonders if anyone has ever had a seizure while here. The music is practically deafening, and he’s pretty sure his ears are going to be ringing for days after this.
Diana is holding his hand tightly and she seems to know where she’s going, so he just follows her blindly through the crowd. She finally stops at a bar. Steve comes up next to her, hovering close, and glances down the length of the bar. There are three bartenders behind the counter, and dozens of people waving to get their attention. It’s going to take forever to get a drink.
Unless you’re Diana, apparently.
Steve watches as his girlfriend leans against the bar and looks expectantly at a bartender. The man’s eyes settle on her, widen a little, and then he immediately heads in her direction. He leans toward her over the bar, and Diana leans across it too and says something in his ear. The bartender pours two drinks and sets them on the bar. Diana pays him but doesn’t wait for change—she takes the two cups in her hands, turns toward Steve, and holds one out with a smile. As Steve takes it from her, he catches a glimpse of the bartender’s envious glance at him. He tries not to grin.
Diana leads him to a staircase next. It’s so dark and there are so many people that he has to concentrate on making sure he doesn’t miss a step and fall flat on his face. When they get to the top, Steve squeezes Diana’s hand. She turns her head toward him.
“How do people even hear each other in here?” he says in her ear. He feels like he’s shouting.
She smiles at him over her shoulder but does not answer. She leads him forward a few more yards, and then there is finally an opening in the crowd. Diana stops at a railing that’s about waist height, and Steve stops next to her. His eyes get caught on the curve of her hips in the dress, and he doesn’t pretend he’s not looking. He reaches out and smoothes his free hand over her waist. She leans toward him.
“People don’t come here to talk,” she says. He lifts his gaze to her eyes. She smiles and points out over the railing. “They come here to dance.”
He follows the direction of her finger and sees a massive crowd of people down on the floor below. He gapes at them. Diana said they were dancing, but it’s not like any kind of dancing Steve has ever seen. His eyes settle on one couple in particular, a broad shouldered man and a petite brunette woman. The man is standing behind the woman, his body pressed tightly against hers, and they are grinding against each other.
Steve glances at a different part of the floor and sees another couple doing the same thing, except they’re facing each other. He watches as the man’s hands dart down to grab the woman’s ass and then suddenly they’re kissing, and Steve is pretty sure the woman’s tongue is about halfway down the man’s throat, and good lord they’re in public.
He glances away in embarrassment, but everywhere he looks couples are bumping and rubbing against each other in time with the ear-splitting bass beat. Steve can feel his face burning.
Diana presses her body against his. “You look very scandalized,” she says in his ear. He can hear the amusement in her voice. Her fingers caress the back of his neck.
He wants to look at her, but he can’t take his eyes off the dancers. “What are they doing? ” he says in a strangled voice, watching a woman’s hips snap back hard and fast against a man’s crotch.
“They’re dancing.”
“That is not dancing, Diana, that is sex with clothes on.”
She laughs, throaty and rich in his ear, and it suddenly occurs to him that this might not be her first time here. He turns to her.
“Have you been here before?”
There is a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Yes,” she answers.
“With who?”
She lifts a shoulder. “A man who thought I might like it.”
Steve glances at the dance floor and tries not to imagine Diana dancing like that with some other guy. “Did you?”
“This place is a little loud for my taste,” she says. “But he was nice, and I do like to dance.”
“You like to dance like that?” he sputters.
She smiles but does not answer his question. She fiddles with the top button of his shirt, her eyes sparkling with a dare. “Would you like to dance with me?”
“I can’t dance like that.”
“Of course you can. It’s just sex with clothes on, and we both know you’re very good at sex.”
Desire tightens in his groin. “Good lord, Diana,” he mutters, glancing down at the floor.
“Drink your bourbon, Steve,” she commands, caressing the back of his hand that’s holding his drink.
He swallows the drink obediently. She downs hers too, and then leans forward and puts her mouth by his ear.
“Now take me down there to dance.”
He closes his eyes and tries not to shiver at the feel of her breath on his skin. He’s certain he’ll look like an idiot if he takes her down to the dance floor. But when she uses that voice while wearing that dress, he has no choice but to do as she says.
He leads her down to the first floor. The bass is pounding in his ears, lights are flashing in his eyes, and there are people pushing into him from all directions. He’s seen almost every single person they’ve passed look Diana up and down with desire in their eyes. But when he turns around to face her, she’s only looking at him.
Her hands on his body are insistent but gentle. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. The movements of her body are liquid and familiar, and before long he stops caring about anything else. It’s hard to care about what’s happening around him when Diana is flush against him, moving her hips in ways that really shouldn’t be permitted in public, and once he gets over the shock of it he finds that she’s right—he can do it, and he actually does it quite well.
They don’t stay long—just a few songs, and then she puts her mouth by his ear and says take me home. In the back of a cab, she tells the driver their address and then gives Steve one of those looks—the one where she’s asking him to kiss her without saying a word—and so he presses his lips against hers, cab driver audience be damned.
He kisses her again in the elevator, and then again outside their front door. When she finally gets the key in the lock and swings the door open they stumble over the threshold rather than break their kiss. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks her backward and straight into the dining table. Her hands are already on his belt, and he’s already grasping at the hem of her dress.
It’s not how he expected the night to end. He knew they’d end up doing this, of course, but he’d assumed it would be in their bed. He imagined that he would peel the dress off her body slowly and reverently. He planned to take his time and take care of her first.
That’s not what ends up happening.
What happens instead occurs on top of their dining table instead of in their bed. It is quick and hard and unbearably, breathlessly good. It’s both of them still clothed, her dress gathered up around her waist, her nails raking across his shoulders as their harsh breathing shatters the dark silence of the apartment. It’s a forgotten mug of tea nearly tumbling off the table and onto the floor when he fumbles for something to hang onto, something to give him leverage when she whispers don’t stop in his ear.
And then she throws her head back and gasps, her body arching off the table, and it’s probably one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. It sends him immediately over the edge too, and he buries his face in the curve of her neck just before his mind goes gloriously, blissfully blank.
When he comes back to himself, her hands are tracing patterns across his back. He lifts his head from off her chest and looks at her. She smiles at him, her dark eyes soft and affectionate.
“You like this table,” she murmurs.
“I...what?” he says. He’s still feeling a little hazy.
“The table,” she repeats, her fingers combing through his hair. “We have sex on this table at least once a month.”
He frowns. “We do?”
“February, the morning after we got back from Gotham after Barry brought you back,” she says matter of factly. “Before I went to work.”
“You had those leather boots on,” he says, remembering. “The ones that zip up to your knees.”
“March, that time I came home for lunch when you had a cold.”
“You made soup,” he answers. “From scratch. Best soup I ever had. I was just showing my appreciation.”
“April,” she continues, grinning. “After we got caught in the rain at the park.”
“You were soaked through and dripping,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave puddles all the way through the apartment.”
“May, when you got back from your trip to Rio with Clark. When you buzzed your hair.”
“I hadn’t seen you in a week,” he points out. “I missed you and this was the closest surface.”
“And tonight,” she finishes. “June.”
“Mm, tonight,” he says, leaning forward to brush his lips over hers. “Tonight was good.”
“Tonight was very good,” she agrees. “Because you like this table.”
He shakes his head. “I like you. On any surface.” He sucks lightly on her bottom lip. “Or when you levitate. That’s hot as hell.”
“And the club?” she murmurs into his mouth. “Did you like the club?”
“I still don’t think it’s dancing,” he says, pulling back a little.
“But?” she whispers, caressing his cheek.
He thinks of her body pressed against his in the dark, the rhythm of her hips matching the music.
“But I didn’t hate it,” he whispers back.
Diana is reading in bed when she hears a commotion outside her hotel door. She cocks her head and listens.
“Dude, stop. No wandering,” Barry’s voice says. “Stand right there. No, right there. Good. Now, where the heck is your card key?”
There’s a faint rapping on the door. “Diana?” Steve’s voice says hopefully.
Diana grins and climbs out of bed.
“I told you, she’s with Lois at the bachelorette party,” Diana hears Barry say as she crosses the room. “We’re not going to bother her.”
“But, I...hey. That painting is really ugly.”
“Dude, I said no wandering. Stay there. As soon as I can find your card key, we’re putting you to bed.”
“But I like being in bed with Diana,” Steve says sadly. “She’s a good cuddler.”
“Yeah, TMI man,” Barry says.
Diana swings the door open. Barry looks up at her in surprise, his hand buried in Steve’s front pocket. “This is not what it looks like,” he says, pulling his hand free. “I was just looking for his card key.”
“Diana,” Steve says happily. He tilts toward her, his arms outstretched, and she folds him into a hug. He leans against her heavily, buries his face in her neck, and sighs contentedly. “I missed your smell.”
Diana grins at Barry over Steve’s shoulder and runs her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “I take it you guys had some alcohol at the bachelor party?”
“That feels so good I might die,” Steve mutters into her neck.
Barry looks sheepish. “Yeah,” he answers. “Arthur got behind the bar and mixed us all some drinks, and let’s just say Bruce and Steve are a little worse for the wear.”
Steve straightens. “I am fine. But Bruce is a mess.” He squints at Diana. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Barry says to Diana. “Sorry if we woke you.”
“I was up,” Diana assures him.
“Oh no,” Steve says sadly. “Did I ruin it?” He rounds on Barry and sticks his finger in the speedster’s face. “Did you make her leave the lady party to take care of me?”
“No, Steve,” Diana says, smoothing her hands over her boyfriend’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I was already here.”
Steve frowns at her over his shoulder. “But s’early.”
“It’s two in the morning,” she tells him.
“Two,” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowing. “Two in the...oh. Well. That’s late. But also early. Late early, early late.” He squints at Barry. “You have a very nice jaw.”
Diana presses her lips together so she won’t laugh. Barry grins at her. “Your boy’s an affectionate drunk,” he tells her.
“Excuse me, I am always affa—affecsha—whatever, you know what I mean,” Steve slurs, waving his hand. “I do PDA and shit all the time now. Diana likes it. She likes to be kissed in public.”
“TMI,” Barry says again.
Steve tilts toward the speedster and lowers his voice. “In private, she likes—”
“Hush,” Diana cuts him off, wrapping her hands around his biceps and pulling him back toward her. “Barry doesn’t need to know that. Let’s go to bed, love.”
“That’s her nickname for me,” Steve says, grinning at Barry. “I’m her love. Cause she loves me.”
“That’s great, man,” Barry says, smirking. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Clark said be there at 2:00 pm sharp. Should give you time to sleep it off.”
“Sleep is for losers,” Steve scoffs. “Imma go love on my girl.” Steve grins at Diana. “That’s you. You’re my girl.”
“I would hope so,” she laughs. She smiles at Barry. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Here’s his phone.” Barry holds out a cell phone. “I took it cause he kept trying to text you and I figured you were with Lois.”
“Sext,” Steve says. “It’s called sexting. I’m very good at it. One time—”
“Steve,” Diana interrupts, brushing her fingers over his lips. “Barry doesn’t need to know that, either.”
“I’m going to leave before he says something I don’t want to hear,” Barry says. He winks at Diana. “Night, Di.” He disappears with a gust of air.
“Shit, that’s cool,” Steve sighs, staring down the hallway. “I wish I could run fast. All I can do is shoot stuff.”
“You are an excellent shot,” Diana assures him. “The best of anyone in the League.”
“But nobody else shoots stuff,” Steve pouts, swaying a little. “So that’s like saying I’m the best at being born in a different century.”
“You are,” Diana tells him, kissing him lightly on his cheek. “Now come on. Let’s get you into bed.”
Steve lets her usher him into the room. She closes and locks the door behind her, and then leads him to the bed.
“S’nice room,” Steve announces, glancing around.
“Sit,” Diana tells him, guiding him onto the bed. He plops down, bouncing a little on the mattress. Diana kneels in front of him and starts to untie his shoes.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, reaching out to tug gently on a strand of her hair.
She smiles up at him. “I don’t mind. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”
“If you were drunk I would take care of you so good,” he promises, still twirling her hair around his fingers. He tilts his head, and for a second he looks almost sober. “Have you ever been drunk?”
“No.”
“You’re really missing out. Feels kind of like floating.”
“I actually can float,” she says with a smirk, pulling his shoe off.
He suddenly shoots up off the bed, and if she wasn’t a goddess with remarkable reflexes, she’s pretty sure he would’ve kneed her right in the face.
“Steve,” she chastises.
“Di,” he says, his eyes wide with excitement. “I almost forgot. Look what I learned.” He goes still all of a sudden, and his nose scrunches adorably.
“Steve?” she asks, staring up at him.
“I just called you Di.”
“So?”
“So Barry calls you Di. And Clark. And Arthur. And Vic.”
“Okay?”
“But you don’t have sex with them.”
She grins. “No, I do not.”
Steve scratches his chin and looks thoughtful. “You did have sex with Bruce for a while. What did he call you when you guys did it?”
“Steve,” Diana says, a little appalled.
He waves his hand. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I just don’t want to call you what they call you. I should call you something different.” His face brightens. “I do! I call you angel.” He frowns again. “Is it weird to call you angel when you’re a goddess?”
Diana gets to her feet. “No. I like it.”
He grins goofily, wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her close. “I like you. ”
“I like you too,” she says, smiling. “But we need to take your other shoe off and get you into bed. So I need you to sit down and sit still, okay?”
Steve stares down at his feet. “Why did I only take one shoe off?”
“Because you remembered that you wanted to show me something you learned.”
“Ohmygodyes,” he says in an excited rush. “Watch!” He pushes her away from him, sets his feet, and then starts to wiggle his hips. He hops forward, wiggles them again, and then hops backward and does another wiggle.
Diana presses her hand over her mouth and tries very, very hard not to laugh. “What are you doing?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even.
“Dancing!” he exclaims. He glances up, sees her amusement, and frowns. “Okay, so maybe it looks weird without music. It has its own song. Can you play it?”
“What’s it called?”
“Wibble!”
Diana blinks at him. “Wibble?”
“Wibble,” he repeats.
She shakes her head. “That’s not a word, love.”
“It is a word,” he insists. “Wibble.” He frowns. “Wabble?” He frowns deeper, and then his face breaks out into a massive grin. “WOBBLE!” he shouts.
“Oh, Steve,” Diana sighs. She puts her hands on either side of his face and grins at him. She’s never actually seen him drunk before—only tipsy—and she can barely stand how adorable he is. “Did the guys teach you how to do the wobble?”
“Yes!” he answers. “Vic said I’m the wobble master.” He starts to hop and wiggle his hips. “Wobble baby, wobble baby, wobble baby, wobble,” he sings as he shimmies in the middle of their hotel room. He does some more of the steps, grinning the whole time, and then suddenly he sways and stumbles.
Diana catches him before he tumbles to the floor. “My hero,” he says, grinning up at her. He brushes his hand over her cheek. “My beautiful hero,” he murmurs, his voice softer.
She presses her lips to his brow. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in bed before you hurt yourself.”
She manages to get him to stand still long enough to take his other shoe off, and his socks, but the moment she finishes unbuttoning his shirt and slips it off his shoulders, he grins.
“Oh look,” he says, his voice practically a purr. “I have no shirt on.” He flexes his abs. “Oh. Look at that. Abs.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You like my abs.”
She can’t resist the urge to tease him. “I have never said that.”
“Didn’t have to,” he says confidently. “You touch ‘em all the time. You like ‘em. Admit it.”
She traces the pads of her fingers along the indentations of his muscles. “I do,” she confesses. She reaches for his belt and begins to unbuckle it.
“Are you going to steal my virtue?” he says, his voice lifting hopefully.
“No,” she says with a quiet laugh. “Not when you’re drunk.”
“Consent,” he says sagely, nodding his head. “Consent is important.”
“Yes.”
“Well I give you my consent,” he declares, holding his arms out wide. “You may do with me what you please.”
She finishes with his belt and unbuttons then unzips his pants. “You can’t give consent when you are drunk, Steve.”
“What if I sign something while I’m sober that says, like, dear Diana when I am drunk you can still have your wicked way with me love Steve.”
“No,” she laughs. She curls her fingers into his waistband, and pulls his jeans down. He holds onto her shoulder as he steps out of them. She straightens.
“So no sexy time,” he says, pouting a little.
“Not tonight,” she answers.
“But only cause I’m drunk as a skunk,” he mutters, waving his index finger in her face. “Not because you don’t want me.”
She smiles and pushes his hair back from his forehead. “I always want you, Steve.”
“I am pretty dreamy,” he tells her. “Also, the sex is really great. Super great.” He snorts. “Super sex. Cause you’re a superhero. Get it?”
“Yes,” she laughs. “Now let’s go. Get in bed.” She ushers him toward the bed.
“You’re getting in too, right?” he says over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
He climbs beneath the sheets, and she turns the bedside light off and then follows. He holds his arm out, and she curls herself into the side of his body. He buries his face in the crown of her hair and inhales.
“You smell good,” he whispers. “Barry says you smell like flowers.”
“You talk about how I smell with Barry?” she asks, tracing a pattern over his chest.
“Mhmm,” he hums sleepily. “We talk about you all the time. They’re all crazy about you. Love you tons. Not like I love you, though. I love you like...like…”
He trails off. For a long moment, the only sound is his deep, steady breathing. She thinks he’s fallen asleep, so she’s startled when he tightens his arm around her and whispers, “I love you like Clark loves Lois.”
Diana thinks of that day in front of the Superman monument, the day they’d brought Clark back from the dead. He had fought them until Lois appeared. He had no idea who he was until Lois told him. He had believed her instantly and unquestioningly. She was his anchor. His beacon of hope.
“I love you like that too,” she whispers.
Sometimes when Diana has nightmares, she does not scream. She just wakes with a start, her chest heaving, her breath caught in her throat.
Tonight is one of those nights. Steve does not wake when she bolts upright. She looks over at him, her eyes trailing over his body. His chest is rising and falling. He’s alive, despite what her dreams have told her. Tomorrow, they will leave for a vacation in the Alps. In a week, he will be immortal. If the spell works, she will get to keep him forever.
If it works.
Diana gets out of bed. She pulls on one of Steve’s sweatshirts and then she opens the French doors, steps out onto the terrace, and closes the doors behind her.
It is cold. It’s snowing. She lifts her face to the night sky, closes her eyes, and feels the snowflakes melt on her skin.
She hears the terrace doors open and close behind her. A few seconds later, Steve’s arms wrap tightly around her from behind. She turns her head to the side. “It’s cold,” she whispers.
He presses a kiss to her temple. “Then you’ll have to hold me close.”
She turns in his arms. She’s glad to see that he’s wearing pants and a heavy sweatshirt, but it’s cold enough that he must still feel the chill down to his bones. She pulls him closer. He pushes her hair back from her face, and then reaches down and curls his hand around one of hers. He lifts their hands, curves his other arm around her waist, and starts to sway with her.
“Always dancing,” she murmurs, smiling.
“Always,” he says into her hairline.
She caresses the back of his neck. “We started in Veld and we never stopped.”
He leans back to look her in the eye. “That’s when I knew I loved you,” he whispers.
“Me too,” she whispers back. She leans forward and brushes her lips lightly over his. “I’ll never stop,” she promises.
He presses his forehead to hers. “Neither will I.”