Work Text:
It always started the same way.
Diana would see her at some environmental summit or convention meant to give scientists and politicians access to one another. She’d stare from across the room, boldly, because Wonder Woman did everything boldly, whether she was in armor or a filmy formal dress. Poison Ivy would stare back in the same way, a maddening smirk on those full lips, and she would gaze just as boldly, because Poison Ivy’s fearlessness and confidence—some might say arrogance—were easily a match for Diana’s own. That smirk drove Diana wild—the smile of a woman who knew she was desired by everyone who saw her and accepted it as her due. There was no false humility, no demureness. It made Diana want to find a reason to throw the occasional supervillain in jail, but she knew it would be futile because Ivy was smart enough to cover her bases.
Legally there was nothing Diana could do.
Eventually she’d work her way over to Ivy, who always seemed dressed to draw maximum attention. She was rarely subtle about her body. This time it might be a curve hugging single shoulder mermaid gown in stunning green satin, cut low to expose a mouthwatering expanse of décolletage—and Ivy had plenty to show, enough to give Powergirl a serious run for her money—with her fiery red curls in an elaborate updo, artful tresses framing her heart-shaped face, and her slim neck exposed and showing off an emerald choker Diana was almost certain had been stolen by Catwoman a few weeks ago. The next it would be lairs of diaphanous silk with a long train, ostensibly showing very little skin but displaying a silhouette of her flawless curves anytime a light shown through it. It was always a tease, a lure, an open flower inviting visiting bees to look, maybe even to touch, but only on the blossom’s terms. That was Ivy.
Tonight it was a tight green bodice that made her cleavage look amazing. She’d added a small clover shaped beauty mark on the slope of her left breast that was difficult to look away from, and the skirt was slit high up her leg, enough that one could catch just a glimpse of the lacy top of her stockings and imagine the garter belt just hidden by the gown. She didn’t need much in the way of makeup—her skin was eerily flawless—but she’d darkened her plump lips and they shown in the dim lights of the hotel ballroom as she flashed Diana a more conservative version of her challenging smirk. She’d added some sparkly green eyeshadow that brought out the jade of her eyes and she arched one delicate brow as Diana approached. Diana had never been able to resist a challenge.
“Ivy.” She kept her voice carefully free of inflection. Flat.
“Princess.” There was just a hint of amusement in her tone. Her voice was almost as deep as Diana’s own, only more soft and husky, with just a hint of a natural breathiness, than Diana’s strong, booming one. It was a bedroom voice--meant for whispering filthy things in a partner’s ear, not carrying to troops over the roar of battle.
This wasn’t Diana’s strong point—the witty banter portion of the game--but Diana played anyway. She’d seen firsthand Ivy and Selina going after each other with insults and flirtation and had been a bit lost.
“I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised to see you.” Diana studied the other woman, hoping for any sign of subtle, social weakness. In response, Ivy kept her eyes locked on Diana’s as she took a sip of champagne from a priceless crystal flute. “I’m not the only Leaguer here tonight. Arthur is about somewhere.”
Ivy seemed to find that amusing. “Oh, I’m not doing anything naughty here, Diana. I wanted to see what the ambassadors think of the new Clean Sea resolution worming its way through the United Nations. I knew Themyscira and Atlantis would both send representatives.” She took another sip. “I’ve no designs on Aquaman, I respect Queen Mera too much to interfere with their monogamy.”
It was true enough, the stunning Queen of Atlantis was one of Ivy’s few friends. Diana found it strange that they spent time together and didn’t entirely believe it until Lois, over drinks with Clark and Bruce, had mentioned in passing that Ivy and Mera had taken in a Metropolis showing of Wicked one evening and been mobbed by paparazzi. Apparently two stunning, famous redheads could cause quite a stir.
“But you knew I’d be here.” It was a statement, but still hinted at a question.
For just a moment, she saw a flicker of…something…in Ivy’s eyes. She stepped closer, and suddenly Diana was aware they were beginning to draw a crowd—a glamourous known metahuman supervillain like Poison Ivy and Wonder Woman, Princess of the Amazons, Justice Leaguer, tended to do that. Ivy leaned in, voice dropping low enough that Diana had to struggle to make it out. “I didn’t say I don’t have designs on you, Ambassador.” She walked away, trading her nearly empty glass for a fresh one as she did, and Diana returned to her conversation with the representative of South Kaznia and the tedium that entailed. Something had changed however, and now she knew the next few hours would be torture.
She tightly gripped the room keycard Ivy had slipped her.
***
“I thought I’d never get away from that Kaznian Ambassador.” Diana closed the door behind her with a soft click. Ivy’s room was softly lit with scented candles and smelled faintly of pine. Ivy was a planner, and there were already two bottles of champagne chilling in a bucket, a tray of chocolates on the bedside table, and the bed was turned down, showing black satin sheets. Ivy was wearing a silk kimono belted tightly around her slim waist and she handed Diana a chilled, sparkling glass.
“Oh, he was odious. I can only assume they sent him because Princess Audrey is extremely pregnant. Have you seen the pictures? She’s so tiny with her belly it looks like she’s preparing to reproduce via mitosis.” She laughed and tapped her own glass to Diana’s.
“She’s a friend. Be nice.” Diana smiled despite herself, her heart hammering in her chest, knowing what was coming. She couldn’t skip ahead, she had to play the game…
“When am I ever ‘nice?’” taunted Ivy as she took a drink.
“You can be nice when you want to be.” Diana smirked at Ivy, trying to copy the other woman’s classic seductive expression, and Ivy flashed a grin back. She gently placed her glass aside and grabbed Diana’s hand, tugging her to the bed.
This was part of the ritual, and Diana let herself be pushed down to the edge of the bed while Ivy playfully began removing Diana’s strappy sandals—a traditional piece of her Themysciran Ambassador uniform. She took her time, letting her fingers trail lightly over Diana’s skin, leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. First one, then the other thumped to the ground, and then the smaller woman was gracefully slipping around behind her to undo the catches of Diana’s gown in the back. Diana took a deep breath. Slowly, Ivy removed the pins from her hair, pulling long tresses of Diana’s mane through her slim fingers. It felt good to be relieved of the pressure of the tight, formal hairdo. Ivy’s fingers were soft, and she lightly caressed Diana’s shoulders once finished. When she cupped Diana’s hair and brushed it aside, Diana knew it was time.
Ivy was a generous lover—a fact many were surprised by. As usual—as part of the ritual—she started by kissing Diana’s neck and shoulders, slender hands slipping along Diana’s arms. She moved close, enough for Diana to feel the firmness of her breasts against her back. Her lips were soft and her breath hot on Diana’s skin. Ivy was patient and took her time, nuzzling and touching with a teasing lightness. She was stunning in her confidence, in her control, and the first night always seemed to belong to her as Diana tried desperately to wrap her head around being involved in such a forbidden tryst.
What would her fellow leaguers think?
At some point, unable to take the light caresses, she’d turn and try to capture Ivy’s mouth with hers. Sometimes, Ivy would playfully dodge and force her to wait. Sometimes she’d meet her halfway, hungrily kissing back. Kissing Ivy was…an experience. It wasn’t like kissing a man—Steve or Bruce or even Clark. Ivy’s lips were full and soft and yet she still tended to control a kiss and her kisses were perfect, as though she had a PhD in kissing as well as Botany and Climate Science. The perfect amount of wet, and heat, and tongue, her kisses felt like she was holding nothing back, giving everything to the intimacy as she molded her curvy body to Diana’s without shame or hesitation, moaning softly into her mouth. As soon as their lips met, the whole world fell away for Diana and narrowed down to a precise point where her whole experience was the sweet smell of Roses from Ivy’s luxurious hair and the taste of honey on her tongue. Unlike anyone else Diana had ever met, Ivy made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She didn’t have to be Wonder Woman the superhero or Princess of the Amazons. She could just be Diana.
Eventually she found herself on her back, Ivy playfully taking off her dress with her teeth as she stretched out and let the chilly air kiss her now bare skin. Sometimes they’d play with bondage: Ivy using soft vines to gently hold her in place while she took her time teasing Diana—ice cubes on her lithely muscled belly or hot wax on the slopes of her breasts—but it had been too long, and both women were hungry for each other, so when Ivy kissed her way up Diana’s body she pulled the beautiful redhead close and growled at her, “No games tonight.”
“No, not tonight,” Ivy agreed. “I need you too badly for games.” It came out as a whisper, and then they were kissing and Ivy’s hands were exploring, and Diana was lost in sensation—hot breath on her neck, Ivy’s soft moans in her ears, the sweet smell of her hair, the delicious feeling of slim fingers sliding inside, stretching and filling her up. Ivy was nose to nose with her when she came, lips almost, but not quite, touching. Diana’s entire field of vision was the other woman’s eyes—so green they were like the lushness of a rainforest just after a storm. They were warm and hungry and Diana just knew no one else ever saw that expression in Poison Ivy’s eyes. It was a secret thing that only they shared. Ivy’s whispered, “Cum for me, Diana,” was too much, and she writhed and moaned and spasmed with the other woman’s eager, merciless fingers buried deep inside her.
The next morning meant sleeping late in a tangle of arms and legs and mussed hair. Warm, drowsy kisses preceded another round of slow, almost lazy, lovemaking. She’d slip her fingers inside, where Ivy was wet and tight, and Ivy would squirm under her attention and then, afterwards, she’d suck Diana’s fingers clean, her eyes twinkling at the naughtiness of her own, sweet taste. Diana would order them room service—breakfast in bed—where the redhead would sit in her lap and playfully feed her bits of fruit—strawberries and cream.
Sometime after noon they’d get out into the city, where eventually they’d find an out of the way café and spend the rest of the day sipping tea and coffee and sharing sweets. Ivy had a way of tearing a pastry apart using just the tips of her forefinger and thumb and daintily eating it one bite at a time. It drove Diana wild.
They’d separate long enough to get ready for the second evening of the summit and it was torture for Diana, because she knew that underneath the deep green velvet Ivy wore that evening she was naked. She was naked and eager for Diana.
Still Diana kept up appearances. Their one social encounter was snarky. Diana was witty and used a few taunts but all she really wanted to say to Poison Ivy was, “I’m going to fuck you tonight.” As a rule, Diana didn’t curse, but no other word fit what she wanted.
She shredded the gown right off of Ivy’s body when they got back to the room, pulling it down to Ivy’s hips and pinning her arms with the material. “Mine.” She growled when Ivy began to tease, and then they were on the bed and her whole body was buzzing as Ivy moaned, back arching and legs capturing her, pulling her in like a homing beacon where Diana would worship her sex like the mystery cults of old, luxuriating in the taste and the sensuality of wet on wet.
When Ivy came, every flower within a hundred yards gloriously bloomed.
The dreariness of the summit was swept away with Ivy’s breathless voice in her ear, encouraging her to “Fuck me, Diana. More…please…” and other things so filthy that Diana would have blushed furiously if anyone else had heard. When it was done, when they lay together in sweaty bliss, naked skin on skin, and Ivy purred in her ear, “Yourssss,” she had trouble swallowing over the lump in her throat.
The final day was the hardest. Diana would wake to find Ivy’s luggage piled up, ready to be taken down, and Ivy already dressed. They didn’t say much, they never did. Both knew it wasn’t goodbye—there would be other summits, other meetings—but it hurt.
There were three words they could never say to each other. Others would never understand. It was important to so many that Diana was a symbol—of goodness, of peace, of hope. Ivy would never be accepted in her world. When Ivy kissed her one last time and laughed as she rubbed lipstick off of Diana’s face with pad of her thumb, Diana’s heart hurt and she could feel tears threatening.
“Someday, Princess.” Ivy said simply.
“Someday,” agreed Diana.