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The maintenance conduits were abuzz with a thrum that carried throughout the entire station, a cacophony to sharp Vorta hearing, nothing like the muted soundscapes of the engine room of Weyoun’s warship. The blue glow emanating from the access panels and spilling out from the scattered light fixtures bathed Damar in their color, and he looked as if his entire body were blushing an angry blue as he spoke. “It will be a simple repair, even by your reckoning, I’m sure.” Damar glowered, his expression highlighted by the engineer’s eyepiece he had set into one of his orbital ridges like a gem in a piece of jewelry.
“The form you submitted claimed this task required my ‘unique expertise,’ but Damar, any of your engineers could have attended to this!” Weyoun snapped, unable to hold himself back. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand, but I have important meetings with the Bajoran Council in order to discuss—”
“I was getting to that!” Damar punctuated the statement with a hiss. He gestured above his head—he and Weyoun were sitting at a crossroads of conduits, one continuing horizontally and the other leading upward. “The Federation’s head engineer sabotaged the environmental controls. Normally I could repair the damage easily, but it’s freezing up there, and I can’t fit through the conduit with a temperature-controlled hazard suit on. You don’t want me brumating on the job, do you?”
“Of course not, I completely understand your concerns.” Weyoun put on his service smile. “I’ve heard that Cardassians can become so lustful after coming out of brumation, and you always lose all capacity for rational thought when you feel that way.”
Damar’s face went even bluer. “How did you know about what happens if we brumate?!”
Weyoun crossed his legs, getting comfortable against the metal panelling. “Don’t underestimate the Dominion’s intelligence network. It would be… unwise of you.” But he was forgetting the task at hand. Unbefitting of a diplomat. “Well, I suppose the cold is why you asked me to wear these thermal gloves?” He exclaimed, slowly putting them on, flaunting his hands before Damar, wiggling his fingers as the gloves softly snapped into place.
Unsurprisingly, Damar looked away, his heart audibly racing. “Yes, that’s right.” But he quickly collected himself and turned back to him. “Meanwhile, your wrinkly pink skin would burn up if you crawled too far in that direction.” He cocked his head in the direction that led farther down the conduit they were currently sitting in. “And before you ask what makes this so urgent, by my calculations, these temperature fluctuations are going to start tearing the station apart if we let this go too long.”
Weyoun’s expression was kept in place, and all he did was feel the texture of his gloves against the metal, but he was masking surprise. He had indeed been about to sneer and ask why he was brought here, but no matter, he could challenge Damar in a different manner. “It certainly does sound dangerous, but tell me… why did you consult me? Of course I understand that one of your Cardassian engineers would face a similar issue with the cold, but you could have asked for a Vorta specialized in engineering to assist you. I would have approved the request immediately!” He kept his eyes big and beseeching. “Ah, I know!” he said, and clapped his hands together, as if an epiphany had dawned on him. “You trust me! How nice.”
“That’s right, I trust you to be able to climb up there given your roots, and to be bothered by this enough to get it done. Considering how much you whine and complain about the station being a wreck, I know it irritates you.” Damar handed Weyoun a few soldering tools, then an eyepiece that matched the one he was wearing. “That’s all you’ll need, the visor doubles as a communicator and we’ll have to keep each other updated. If one of us finishes too early, the temperature imbalance could get worse and cause further damage.”
As Weyoun felt confusion sinking in regarding how similar those statements sounded to open compliments, he put on the eyepiece. It was rather jagged, but the places in which it dug into his skin actually felt invigorating. He blinked, and through that eye he could see Damar in sharp focus for the first time—though Weyoun had worn his navigational visor around the Cardassian before, those visors focused on space, not on immediate surroundings—and though Weyoun had no sense of aesthetics, he found his gaze lingering on every ridge, every spot, the sight of everything all at once completely overwhelming.
He turned around and began clambering up the conduit. “You do often finish too early, Damar!” he exclaimed, as a matter of course.
A simple, “Fuck you!” followed by the sound of Damar crawling deeper down the other conduit, toward the heat.
“You’ve already fucked me, that’s how I’m aware.” Weyoun pulled himself up to a ledge and his face was blasted with frigid air. He half-expected to be buffeted by snowflakes. Though his vision was weak and his eyes were dry in the cold, he could detect the sounds of sparks in the distance that had to be from a broken circuit board, and he tracked the noise. Soon, he discovered the source. A hastily-smashed panel was letting off the sparks and a nearby vent was blasting icy bursts that made Weyoun’s ears sting and sent hairs flying from his bun.
The blue, flickering light above and from the sparks, and the thought of his own hair bun, caused him to blink and see Damar’s messy bun, in sharp focus, behind his eyelids. Weyoun hoped the heat rushing to his face was simply due to the cold, but it seemed a good idea to distract himself regardless. He contacted Damar. “I’ve arrived at the place that needs repairs. You certainly would have collapsed by now.”
“It took you long enough!” Damar said, then chuckled. The chuckling sounded affable and not derisive in the slightest, and Weyoun felt himself grow warmer. “Go ahead and start, I’ve been waiting and will go slowly to give you enough time for even you to—”
“You know, Damar,” Weyoun said, turning on his soldering iron and getting to work, “I was quite surprised to see you wearing your hair up today. How wonderful for you to fully embrace your Cardassian femininity.”
“S-Shut up, it’s practical. I don’t want my hair getting stuck in any machinery.” The flustered, slightly squeaky tones to Damar’s voice were soothing.
“Practicality, another mark of the feminine. Very impressive!” Weyoun grinned. “It’s very interesting to consider… the two of us old girls working together to solve an engineering issue—it sounds like a scenario that would lead to one of your ex-wife’s trysts.”
Weyoun expected to be met with rage, a demand that he leave Damar’s family and the topic of gender out of the Cardassian courtship rituals they used for stress relief. But instead, Damar chuckled again and said, “It does, doesn’t it? But Niala prefers biology. Don’t listen to her if she ever tells you she didn’t need my help during the engineering and physics exams. And you know, Niala once roomed with another biologist, Saneel, and the things they got up to… I think even you would be shocked, you little pervert…”
Horror crept into Weyoun’s mind, his momentary joy snuffed out like the flow of sparks he had just put a stop to. Solving a problem together, trust, family being acceptable to discuss—could this be a date? But, if it was, why should that be a concern? He and Damar engaged in Cardassian romantic rituals constantly. Going on a date together was nothing more serious than one of their usual fiery arguments.
“Get back to the repairs, you jackal.”
“I-I have been working on them, this entire time!” Fortunately, Vorta were well-versed in compartmentalizing stress, and he had indeed been working the entire time—even if the realization of that fact after being brought back from his fear was quite jarring. “I would proceed far more quickly if you would put an end to this prattling.”
The rest of the repair job proceeded smoothly as he completed the circuitry and replaced the paneling. He used the fixed controls to shut off the flow of cold air, and without the roar from the vent he could hear the hum of the station once again. Damar completed his work simultaneously. At least the urgent task had been resolved without incident. At the thought of how the two of them fell in-time, something welled up in Weyoun’s chest. He wondered if it was a similar sensation to a gathering of telekinetic energy.
Weyoun shook his head ruefully, tucked the hairs which had been blown into his face back to their proper places, and made his way back toward the exit. This time, he challenged himself by descending head-first. Once he heard Damar scuffling against paneling, waiting for him, Weyoun swung his head down and took in the sight of Damar’s gasping face in sharp focus, getting to see the blush spreading across his scales as fine detail, not as a blur.
“I don’t understand what has surprised you, Damar. You were expecting me, weren’t you?” Weyoun grinned.
Damar grimaced. “I’m just surprised by how hideous your bright magenta face looks, all blistered from the cold like that.”
Weyoun looked askance but said nothing. Damar did not need to know the coloration had nothing to do with temperature.
Thanks to Damar’s efforts, the station was nearly fit for the Founder to visit. Steam was no longer spilling into the hallways, lights had been restored, and Bajorans were returning. Shops along the Promenade were reopening, and Weyoun took this opportunity to explore and enjoy the exciting new surroundings. It was a rarity for him to remain in one place for such a long period of time—the unprecedented war with the Federation had uprooted many of his old routines, and helped him settle into new ones. He had even been able to move his most prized objects from his collection on-board his own warship into his new quarters here. These days, he was feeling more like the Weyoun progenitor than ever before—but in a way he was even more untethered during this transitional period than he had been when his line was first brought into existence. Back then he had been under ceaseless supervision by the Founders, his growth monitored for emergent traits, but presently, the Founder Leader still had not visited Deep Space Nine and Odo kept avoiding Weyoun. Of course, the anchor that was the Founders’ love was a constant, but it was still a change.
As he listened to the renewed bustle of shopkeepers setting out their wares, creating interesting blurs in his periphery, he found his thoughts wandering to what Damar might have made of the first Weyoun, how he had been so overwhelmed by sensory information in that early period he had sat himself down and rubbed smooth stones, or listened for the movements of animals in the soil by pressing his ears against the ground. Before he could stop himself, he imagined the sound of Damar chuckling, a sound Weyoun would know anywhere. And then the daydream continued with Damar having an uncharacteristic smile and not appearing beaten-down, but his actual age, and joining Weyoun to inspect the soil by his side.
It had been an arduous day of diplomatic meetings and obviously it was time for Weyoun to return to his quarters and clear his mind. Perhaps studying his collection would help ease the strange pressure that was bearing down on his abdomen. It felt as if his body were anticipating a storm. He turned into one of the dimly-lit hallways and began following the path to his quarters he had memorized.
Before he could reach them, he found Damar, hunched over an access panel, fiddling with tools that made an array of interesting clinks as he worked. As Weyoun moved to pass him in the hallway, he said a perfunctory, “Hello, Damar,” only for Damar to pause in his duties and stop him.
“How could you even tell it was me?” he asked.
Weyoun froze to the spot. How had he been able to tell? There were many Cardassian engineers on-board who wore the same uniform and had the same regulation hairstyle as Damar—not that those details had even been visible to Weyoun when he had first realized it was him. And Damar had not spoken, so it had not been his voice that Weyoun had recognized. Weyoun spun around and smiled. “I-It must have been your characteristic drunken breathing patterns I was picking up on!”
“If you say so, Weyoun.” Was Damar turning blue, or was it simply the color of the hall’s light caressing his face?
A low whirring emanated from deep within the wiring like the growl of a wild animal. Was the machinery overheating? No, Sisko’s counter-insurgency program…
“Damar, get out of the way! Now!” Weyoun snapped, and he rushed forward and pushed Damar away from the panel, not waiting for him to react.
Electricity arced through the hall, illuminating it like a bomb blast with a noise like paper being torn to shreds. Weyoun collapsed and his eyes fell shut, the moment replaying in his mind. The crackling brought memories of being at an outdoor diplomatic summit on a planet with a terribly powerful electromagnetic field that led to continuous storms. Weyoun had been struck by lightning multiple times on that mission, becoming familiar with the sound of lightning alone, without any thunderclaps to disguise the true noises of plasma. That iteration had been left alive, but with branching magenta lesions across his arms and thighs. The Founder would have been disgusted by this feathering had she discovered it. They resembled the dark lesions a Vorta in death throes would be left with on their neck after the activation of their termination implant.
“Weyoun, I shut off the power, it’s safe now—you saved me… I…” Damar’s voice was coming from directly above Weyoun, like light from a guiding star in the sky.
Weyoun opened his eyes. Damar was so close that his features were all distinct. Weyoun sat up and Damar reeled back, but then reached out to hold the leathery shoulders of Weyoun’s suit jacket in order to steady him as Weyoun rose the rest of the way. He took a deep breath before speaking, settling his racing thoughts—he had gone quiet, ready to let himself die, and it was startling to still be in this body. “I suppose I did.” He nodded, hoping his comment came across as arrogance and not confusion. “I expect you to be more careful in the future, Damar!”
“All right. Whatever you say.” The look on Damar’s face was difficult to parse—he seemed to be trying to suppress a smile.
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” Weyoun put his arms behind his back, ready to turn away, reach his quarters at last, and forget this incident. “Preventing diplomatic crises may be a highlight of my job, but I won’t always be around to account for your ignorance.”
“Of course! Preventing a diplomatic incident! That’s exactly what happened here,” Damar said, sarcastically. He was typing on his personal PADD, probably alerting the rest of the staff to the lingering dangers, and did not even look Weyoun in the eye.
Weyoun’s brow furrowed. “It is.”
Damar made a skeptical hum as he tucked away his PADD and tools into his utility belt.
“Of course it must be surprising given how you’ve long been nothing more than Gul Dukat’s beleaguered adjutant,” Weyoun explained, “but had I let you die just now, it would have caused a ripple of distrust among your people, which would have been very unfortunate. Whereas my death would have been temporary, and preventing any unease would have been worth the resources required to activate a new clone.”
“What? Are you serious?”
Weyoun squinted at him. “I’m always serious.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I can’t believe you’re still trying to play pretend,” Damar said, his head slightly bowed, “even after you showed me you could recognize me from far away despite your pitiful eyesight.” Damar moved in close and looked down at him. “This is embarrassing for you. You sound like Sakal pitching the idea that he should get a later bedtime.”
How disrespectful, to compare him to a child. Weyoun stared up at him with an expression imbued with sorrowful innocence. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean. I meant everything I said…” he trailed off, then continued in a firm tone, “perhaps my reasoning was simply too complicated for someone like you to comprehend.”
“Oh, of course! The complicated reasoning of ‘No, you!’” Damar exclaimed, with his eyes wide as he imitated Weyoun’s voice, making a mockery of him. “Act your age.”
“Do not compare me to a child!” Weyoun thrust his finger at Damar, repeatedly. “That is not something such a good friend would do, and I expect you to keep that in mind if you don’t wish to jeopardize this alliance!” He glared at him, as if it could bore through Damar’s scales, then began striding away. “Have a good night,” he added, lightly.
His arm was caught and pulled back, roughly, halting his steps. “If you’re not going to admit we’re close, then I’m not holding back,” Damar said like a snarl, his breath in Weyoun’s ear causing a tingling, crawling sensation. It felt like being swarmed by small insects.
Weyoun sighed, and did not grace Damar with his gaze. “We are close, Damar—as I said, we’re friends. Now, please, let me retire for the night.”
“That’s right, we’re friends, but we’re not like the ‘friends’ you’re used to having.” Damar swung Weyoun—as if using his body as a weapon—and led him to the cold wall. He pinned him against it and the impact made a resounding thump.
Weyoun rolled his eyes. “Well then, if we agree that we are friends, surely we have no reason to argue!” and yet, he raised his voice in warning. He simply could not resist when it came to Damar. This realization made him go limp against the wall and drop his eyes to the floor for a moment before he made himself tilt his chin back up in defiance.
Damar silently regarded him with an unimpressed look.
“If you wish for me to use a different term for you, then by all means, say so,” Weyoun muttered. “but I suspect I shouldn’t have hopes that high… you probably attempted this toothless display of Cardassian aggression to no purpose.” He attempted to callously flick one of Damar’s arms out of the way, but it stayed put. What a pity.
“We’re much more than friends, you bastard.” Damar did move one of his arms, then, and gently rested the palm of his hand against Weyoun’s warm cheek. “We’re duty-torn partners.” The term had appeared often in classical Cardassian works Weyoun had pored over in his studies—it referred to lovers who were romantically involved, and who could be the fixture of a truly immaculate family, but whose obligations kept them at a distance.
Weyoun’s eyes darted every which way, and he suppressed the urge to choke. The sensation of microscales against his skin was distracting. “We are work colleagues… that does make us partners as well,” he said, in a flat tone.
Damar pulled away, leaving Weyoun with only the memory of the pressure of his touch, and dropped his arms to his sides. He was silently challenging Weyoun to stay put, and Weyoun resented the implication that were he to simply leave, it would be cowardice. Damar continued, “I know you know that we aren’t using the same term when we say that. If you aren’t going to own what I mean by partners, don’t embarrass yourself further by pretending you’re an idiot.”
The hallway seemed to swim now, with Damar the only fixed point amidst the sea of colors and sounds. All Weyoun could smell was their intermingling breaths. But as he began to be lost in it, his mind was being wrenched back as if by a chain as his thoughts were snapped back into place by the purest of love that held him fast to the Founders. The love that had caused and borne witness to his unmaking, only to recreate him again and again. Damar was unfamiliar with so many links in the long, long chain… not that it mattered, when Weyoun’s existence was like a fractal. Weyoun cocked his head to the side. “Are you aware of how romantic relationships function under Dominion supervision? It seems relevant, given that the Union is merely one minute facet of the Dominion,” he said. “If we were to be partners, as you put it, I would constantly be at your call and do everything you say. Given your sentimentality, I doubt you would enjoy such an arrangement.”
Damar swallowed hard, but stayed put. “You’re not doing everything I say now, Weyoun.”
“Because we are not officially romantically involved.”
With a tilt of his head in the opposite direction of Weyoun’s, Damar said, “But we are,” as if it were the most obvious fact. “You saved my life! We argue like we’re established! If you’re so well-versed in Cardassian culture, you have to know that!”
Weyoun scoffed. "You’ve never asked to bear my young during one of our little debates. Nor did you ever ask to be my marriage mate!”
“First of all, don’t use either of those stilted phrases again.” Damar cringed. “That line about bearing young doesn’t sound like that in Cardassian. Second, I essentially already did both. I’ve been talking openly about my family with you and you’ve obviously noticed, given how petrified you become every time I do it.”
Many things ran through Weyoun’s mind. Memories of how not long ago, before this alliance, he had been devising the slow death of the Cardassian people at the Founder’s behest, plans to infect every Cardassian with a disease that would slowly kill their next generation so families could watch their future die. Predictions of Damar becoming cemented as another doomed object in Weyoun’s collection. A retort about how he should be petrified, about how they should all be petrified, was on the tip of Weyoun’s tongue. But then there was still Damar, gazing at him with unabashed love, ready to embrace him, and Weyoun took a step forward and exhaled slowly. He put his hand against Damar’s cheek this time, then slid his fingers down until they slotted into the pit organs as if they were made to caress them.
“Perhaps I simply need to be… convinced,” Weyoun whispered.
Damar pulled Weyoun against his chest, holding him firmly. Weyoun’s guilt and fear receded like a tide. “And I think you need to admit you already have been.”
“Why don’t we find out if you can earn it?” Weyoun smiled, knowing Damar enjoyed the sight of the creases around his eyes that were accentuated when he did. “Accompany me to my quarters.”
With a low sound and a flicker of his tongue, Damar scented the air between them, then smiled and blushed in satisfaction. The two of them walked over together, arm-in-arm.
Once they reached Weyoun’s quarters he increased the temperature to that sweet spot, the place in which Damar would be fully at ease after stripping his uniform—as long as his and Weyoun’s bodies were in constant close contact. Damar was eying the collection of items in one corner of the floor, and Weyoun hoped they could study them together later, in the afterglow. “I’ve always been the bold one and you the coward when it comes to the courtship rituals of your people,” Weyoun said, fixing Damar with a glare. “I’m the one who first suggested our sexual arrangement, who first began our debates…”
“And the first to run and hide like a scared little regnar as soon as you started engaging in true courtship.” Damar scented the air again, probably savoring Weyoun’s sweat as the temperature rose. “I’m never letting you live that admission down, Weyoun. I’ll laugh at you no matter how many times you’re cloned.”
“I don’t recall admitting to anything.” Weyoun removed his suit jacket, as Damar removed his uniform. “Perhaps I only ran off like a regnar because you were embarrassing yourself by being such a clingy little wompat.”
“You know you like it.” Damar grinned and hissed, close enough for Weyoun to see him drop his eyes down to Weyoun’s chest hair.
They soon fell into bed while kissing deeply. Weyoun licked Damar’s teeth in order to explore their textures while Damar enjoyed feeling the beginnings of Weyoun’s mustache against the faint ridges crowning his lips. As soon as Damar removed his underwear Weyoun found that the heads of his cock were already poking out, spreading him open invitingly. Weyoun straddled him, then lay down, wanting Damar to stay warm—and Damar smiled as Weyoun’s chest hair tickled his central spoon. But before they could move on to frottage, Weyoun had another idea. He turned around, enjoying feeling the rises and falls of Damar’s scaly body beneath him as he did so, until he was facing Damar’s cock.
Damar chuckled and playfully slapped Weyoun’s ass. Weyoun hummed in response—the light sting was exciting, though it would have felt even better if he had been using a buttplug. Something to include another time. “Surprised, Damar?” Weyoun asked. “I know you’ve been wanting to try this.”
“Not surprised, eager!” Damar exclaimed. “Didn’t you know a pink handprint means appreciation?” He kneaded Weyoun’s buttocks, adding more delightful pressure.
In lieu of a verbal response, Weyoun ducked down and kissed Damar’s inner thighs, using the large scales on his knees as supports, as Damar ran his tongue over everything but Weyoun’s stiffening cock. Without warning, Weyoun sucked the heads of Damar’s cock and Damar arched back as he moaned and everted into his mouth.
Gingerly, Weyoun pressed one finger to the base of the two heads of Damar’s cock, where they joined at the shaft, teasing them a bit farther apart to allow Weyoun’s tongue access to the delicate place where they split off from each other. He slowly dragged and swirled his tongue against the seam, drawing inspiration from one of Damar’s favorite oral sex techniques. Weyoun used his other hand to jerk Damar off while reveling in the flexibility and texture of the many blushing spicules. Soon, Weyoun’s own cock was feeling the vibrations of pleased rumblings as Damar squirmed beneath him. Pre-cum beaded up from both heads and began filling Weyoun’s mouth. Just as Damar was getting close to his peak, Weyoun had to swallow and pause for air—as if the timing had been devised by Damar himself. Whether it was intentional or not, Weyoun felt himself blushing not from the attention to his cock, but due to the burgeoning realization that he wanted their time together to last. Fortunately, Damar had to take a moment to breathe as well, and the comparably cool air of the room mixed with the play of Damar’s breath was a wonderfully erotic sensation that set Weyoun’s nerves alight.
Weyoun gasped as he felt a firm stripe licked across his perineum, then his surprise bubbled up to become a giggle as Damar’s tongue flickered across it again and again, tickling the sensitive skin. The laughter rippled through both of them as Damar took the time to adjust his hold on Weyoun’s legs.
“Are you so eager to hear me laugh, Damar?” Weyoun asked.
“Sure.” Damar’s lips brushed against Weyoun’s hair, making the grin palpable. “But I’m also eager to hear you make these noises.”
Before Weyoun could ask what that meant, Damar’s tongue swiftly coiled around his cock, drawing out searing pleasure from all around, like voltage in a conductor wrapped in loops of wire. The forked tips of Damar’s tongue flicked against the head of the cock and Weyoun was nearly pushed over the edge, but gathered his thoughts to plot his retaliation. Despite gently thrusting as Damar’s tongue stroked his entire shaft, Weyoun managed to focus on taking more of Damar’s cock into his mouth and hummed as he sucked on it, stimulating the spicules. But he knew that would fall short of what he needed to do. He could sense Damar’s confidence—with his bilateral cock, Damar was used to two orgasms before reaching his refractory period. He could come out of one side while holding back the other.
Knowing this, it was time for bold action. As Weyoun sucked Damar off he removed one hand from the cock and reached past it. He plunged a finger inside Damar and his lover jolted, thrusting up into Weyoun’s mouth. Weyoun would have grinned, were his mouth less busy. He slid in a second finger and Damar started to close his legs, but Weyoun was already stroking him from the inside with a beckoning motion and Damar’s cock was dripping so much now that Weyoun had to keep swallowing and swallowing.
Damar shifted and reached down, running his fingers past Weyoun’s to touch himself, and this was surprising enough to make Weyoun pause momentarily. But soon he realized what Damar was doing when he grabbed one of Weyoun’s buttocks with one hand and then—with a finger now wet from his own personal moisture—pushed into his hole. Damar found the prostate immediately and Weyoun moaned around his cock, and it was no time at all before both of them were coming in each other’s mouths.
Weyoun had not fallen asleep after their climax. He and Damar had accompanied each other to the shower per their routine, but for the first time, Weyoun had taken in the sight of the many-colored bath products that formed a rainbow on the bathroom wall, a mix of Weyoun’s, which he made use of in order to follow his hygiene regimen, and Damar’s soaks, which bolstered his immune system and kept his scales strong. Under the stream of warm water—the CMO who had occupied these quarters had kept a water-based shower installed—Weyoun allowed himself to absorb what it meant that their narratives of their lives were blending together, while Damar ran his claws gently through Weyoun’s hair, stroking his scalp.
By the time Weyoun would have normally been considering his options, meticulously thinking through the benefits and detriments inherent to either letting Damar stay over or bidding him farewell, the two of them were already curled-up in bed together. The ambient temperature was still lower than Damar preferred, so with a single roll he pulled the blankets around him and swaddled himself like a pupa in a cocoon. Weyoun clambered atop him for the second time that evening, enjoying the rises and falls of the landscape Damar’s body made nestled like this. Being elevated gifted Weyoun with a sense of security—perhaps because primitive Vorta used to nest high in leaves and the hollows of trees.
Listening to Damar’s normally shallow and anxious breaths and pounding heartbeat slow to a relaxed rhythm, paired with how soothing it was to stroke Damar’s scales through the blanket as if polishing them, let Weyoun drift into a restful sleep. But as soon as this fact sunk into his body, he jolted awake again with a looming sense of dread. It fell upon him, like a punishment for not keeping to his usual brief and restless, stress-dream laden slumbers. The built-in sense of diplomatic timing was on high alert, and Weyoun racked his brain to remember if he was missing an important conference. He could not think of anything—he reminded himself that he would never have slept with Damar if he were at risk of shirking his duties—but the fear did not abate.
Weyoun tilted his head to gauge the depth of Damar’s rest. He sounded utterly at peace. Sighing as quietly as possible, Weyoun gently began climbing down from the perch that was Damar and prepared to leave the bed—only for Damar to reach out with uncharacteristic swiftness and pull him back in.
“Damar?!” Weyoun exclaimed.
“Don’t think I can’t hear your big, paranoid brain crackling with anxiety,” Damar murmured.
Weyoun attempted to parse these words—how had Damar known? Did he not know, and this was simply part of his Cardassian imagination? Or a flight of imaginative fancy unique to him? Was referring to Weyoun’s brain as “big” also a backhanded compliment? What had Damar perceived in Weyoun to consider him “paranoid”—but Weyoun then blushed, humiliated, as he realized he was only proving Damar’s point.
However, Damar did not seem vindictive. “Don’t overthink it, Weyoun,” he said, pressing his forehead into Weyoun’s back.
“I… simply wished to get the cup-and-ball toy from my collection,” Weyoun said.
Damar pulled him closer. “Not letting you go yet, Weyoun. You’re warm.”
Weyoun huffed. “I thought you always enjoyed balls going into—” he cut himself off with a yelp he could not contain as Damar lightly nipped at him.
Weyoun rolled over to give Damar a loving glare. Damar put an arm over him and nuzzled closer, keeping his neck ridges warm. Settling in, Weyoun gently rocked back and forth, as if he were holding on to a flexible branch swaying in a breeze, and Damar moved with him as they both drifted into a deep sleep and all their worries dispelled.