Chapter Text
Dukat does it again. This time Liana looks almost eager and Damar wonders if at some point Dukat will cut her out of it and just put Damar on his knees and fuck his mouth while Liana watches, make him swallow all of Dukat’s come instead of just what he happens to lick out of Liana incidentally. He’s not sure if he would prefer that or not. And this time when Weyoun appears in the hallway, Damar turns and walks away, because he doesn’t trust himself, not when his entire body is on fire and he can imagine vividly what it would be like to fist his hand in Weyoun’s hair, expose his neck and bite until it bruised—
Dukat does it again, and again. Then, one of these times, when Damar had a great deal of kanar before coming over and has had a substantial amount of spring wine in Dukat’s quarters—Weyoun walks into the room just as Dukat is undressing Liana. Damar, already paralyzed in his chair, sees the curiosity in Weyoun’s eyes; sees the infinitesimal hesitation in Dukat’s before he says, “Weyoun! I wasn’t expecting you.” He has also had a substantial amount of alcohol, and Damar wonders if he would be so unconcerned if he were sober. Weyoun, he can only imagine, is sober. He’s never seen the man drunk.
“Oh, please don’t let me interrupt,” Weyoun says. Liana is staring at him, and Weyoun gives her a little wave. “Damar always tells me that you’re busy when I want to visit. I was curious what all the fuss was about.”
“Do the Vorta have locks on their doors?” Damar snaps. This is already excruciatingly uncomfortable when it’s only the three of them.
“We don’t have doors,” Weyoun says, which Damar should have known would be the response. “Vorta have nothing to hide.”
Dukat has been whispering quietly with Liana, who is nodding. “You’re welcome to sit,” he says, and Damar feels that like an electric shock. “Unless your gods would frown on it.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Weyoun says. Damar realizes, with another sudden shock, that Weyoun is lying. Dukat smirks and turns back to Liana. Weyoun drags a chair up next to Damar—too close—and sprawls in it. Damar sneaks a look at him, then looks away as soon as Weyoun catches him. “Is this a common Cardassian practice?” Weyoun asks. “My understanding was that Bajorans are quite private about such things.”
Damar fixes his gaze back on Weyoun. Maybe looking at him will help prevent the inevitable erection that comes from watching Dukat’s lean body and the way Liana reacts. “Not—not common.” He clears his throat. “Not unheard-of.”
“Obviously not unheard-of.” Weyoun is tart. “As we are sitting here. It does provide quite an insight—”
Damar doesn’t know what’s worse, Weyoun talking or Weyoun not talking in this situation. Weyoun, it seems is content to prattle on, until Dukat’s voice cuts through his noise. “Damar, come here.”
Damar obeys, as he always does, but this time Dukat is still hard, and when he says “On your knees,” Damar drops almost automatically and reaches for Dukat’s cock.
“Oh,” Weyoun says softly, as Damar slowly takes Dukat into his mouth. “Oh,” again, as Damar sucks, working the length of Dukat’s cock, and “oh” when Dukat gets impatient and grips the back of his head and fucks his mouth with long, methodical strokes, the head of his cock bumping the back of Damar’s throat over and over. The knowledge that Weyoun is watching should embarrass him, but somehow it makes everything better, makes Damar grip Dukat’s thighs and urge him deeper, as if Weyoun will somehow approve—
Dukat comes down his throat and Damar swallows and swallows until Dukat releases him. When Dukat kicks them both out, Weyoun stands in the hallway with Damar and says, “I want to try that.”
Damar’s entire body is throbbing with want and he doesn’t answer in words, only allows Weyoun to follow him back to his quarters. He expects Weyoun to push him down onto his knees again there, but instead Weyoun says, “Is it necessary to be on the floor? The bed seems like it would be more comfortable.”
“A—yes. More comfortable.” He can barely think with how badly he wants Weyoun to touch him. Somehow Damar sheds his armor, his clothes, has only a faint impression of Weyoun doing the same before they’re both on the bed. Weyoun kneels between his legs there, staring at his cock, and Damar feels like he’s going to catch fire, his heartbeat pounding in his head. Weyoun squeezes the head of his cock experimentally and Damar makes a noise and hates himself for saying “Please—”
“I want to make sure I know what to do,” Weyoun chides, and then he forms his hand into a loose circle and strokes it slowly up and down Damar’s cock.
“Please—” he says again, and he barely recognizes his own voice.
Weyoun stops moving his hand. “Promise me you’ll stop asking Dukat permission before you follow my instructions.”
“This is—is that what this is all about?” His body doesn’t care, even as he cringes at how easy he’s made it for Weyoun. “Making me—obedient?”
Weyoun places an open-mouthed kiss on the underside of the head of his cock, tongue flicking out just a little. “Will it?”
“No,” Damar says, because he refuses, he refuses to give up that tiny rebellion that is all that’s left to him.
Weyoun shrugs, a strange shaping of his shoulders. “I didn’t think so.” Then he slides Damar’s cock into his mouth slowly, pausing to suck thoughtfully as he takes each new inch as though it might taste different. His tongue flickers and curls and it drags noises out of Damar that he never thought he would make, incoherent syllables, as he allows himself only the slightest touch to Weyoun’s strange soft hair. He tries to stay still, tries not to thrust up into Weyoun’s mouth because—because he wants Weyoun to enjoy it and he doesn’t want to scare him away (what is wrong with him?)
Weyoun only takes half of his cock, doesn’t even put a hand on him, but his tongue is so clever and his mouth is so hot that Damar comes quickly anyway—just barely manages to push Weyoun off before he does. The world goes white around him for a moment. When he can see again, Weyoun is dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach and tasting it, and Damar says something that could be “fuck” if he could shape his mouth enough to talk. Weyoun wrinkles his nose a little, tastes it again, and says, “Do all Cardassians taste like this?”
Damar’s knowledge comes mostly from Dukat. “I don’t know what I taste like,” he says, and Weyoun is wriggling up his body to offer Damar his finger expectantly. Damar lets Weyoun slide that finger into his mouth, and he’s too distracted by Weyoun’s expression, his eerie wide eyes, to notice more than the shape of Weyoun’s finger on his tongue as he sucks on it. Cardassian children are warned not to wander off with stories of the fey, the wild ones, who will carry them away, and that’s all Damar can see when he looks at Weyoun now.
Weyoun looks almost—unsettled?—when he pulls his finger out. “Well?”
It takes Damar a substantial period of time to remember what Weyoun has asked, and he hasn’t really processed it. “More or less. I thought you couldn’t taste things.”
Weyoun’s tongue flicks out again. “Not the way you do.” He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he runs his hands over the ridges that define Damar’s chest. “I can certainly feel things.” His hands are hot, like every other part of him, and Damar shivers at the sensation of it, again when Weyoun drags his tongue along one of the ridges.
“Harder,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s given Weyoun an instruction. Weyoun lifts his head to stare at Damar—in surprise? why?—and then scrapes his teeth over one of the ridges instead. It’s good, it’s perfect, and this time Damar can’t stop himself from fisting his hand in Weyoun’s hair for a second. Weyoun bites him, almost hard enough to draw blood, and it goes straight to Damar’s cock. He releases Weyoun’s hair, lets his open hand rest on the back of Weyoun’s neck and reminds himself that the Vorta are fragile, that he can’t grasp Weyoun the same as he would a Cardassian. Weyoun bites him again, this time along his neck ridge, and Damar’s entire body clenches. How horrifying, he could probably come from this, even with all the alcohol in his body, even having come once already. “Stop,” he manages to choke out, and Weyoun sits back. He’s straddling Damar’s stomach, rubbing against one of the ridges with an intoxicated dizziness in his eyes.
“Why?” He doesn’t stop the little twitches of his hips. Damar reaches between his legs to find something that feels more like a woman’s clit, and below it a slick entrance—but even as he does, Weyoun changes somehow until all he feels is the familiar shape of a hard cock. “You seem to enjoy it.”
“Yes.” Weyoun is rubbing his cock between Damar’s hand and the mess on his stomach now, and he’s honestly so drunk that he doesn’t know if he imagined something different. “But.” But what. But Weyoun has so much power over him already. Every minute he’s here only increases it. “But I need—to sleep.”
Weyoun hasn’t stopped moving. “You don’t seem to be sleepy.” His eyes are half-lidded now. He’s beautiful like this, ethereal; his breath catches when Damar touches his side with a free hand, and his skin is so soft, so fragile. He’s completely hairless but for his head, muscles defined under his skin, but without the nipples or navel Damar is used to seeing on other soft-skinned humanoids.
Damar is struggling with full sentences. “Will you—come from this?”
There’s that unnatural head-tilt again. “Perhaps. It would be easier if I could resume what I was doing. Unless you need to sleep this minute?”
Fuck. “No. Go ahead. But—”
Weyoun has already leaned down again and his face is very close to Damar’s. “But?”
“Let me see when you come,” and he’s wrecked, he’s lost.
Weyoun looks delighted at that. “Of course.” He goes back to work on Damar’s neck ridges, his collarbones, and Damar is losing his mind with the agony of sensation, a kind of ecstatic energy building in every part of his body. At the edge of his awareness, he feels Weyoun’s cock almost swelling between his hand and stomach as he thrusts, and then Weyoun sits back and replaces Damar’s hand with his own as he cries out and comes on Damar’s chest. He’s the most beautiful thing Damar has ever seen, like this, and Damar comes again almost without realizing it, hips pumping up into empty space.
Damar is barely conscious at this point. Weyoun is wide-eyed, bright and almost joyful, and Damar dimly realizes that at some point he forgot any restraint and grabbed Weyoun’s thighs with all the strength in his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbles, releasing Weyoun’s thighs.
“Why?” Weyoun spreads his own hand and twists his wrist to try to match the bruises already starting to appear. Damar is unable to come up with an explanation. “It’s—exciting?” He sounds like he isn’t sure of the right word. Damar certainly isn’t. Weyoun dips his finger into his own come and offers it to Damar. “Tell me if it tastes the same?”
It takes monumental effort to open his mouth and accept Weyoun’s finger. “Yes,” he says. His brain isn’t firing well enough to taste anything right now. He’s truly not even sure he can move his limbs.
“You do look sleepy now,” Weyoun says. “I’ll let you.” Before Damar can attempt to say something else, Weyoun has disappeared from his field of vision. A minute later, he hears the door close. He has just enough motor function left to grope for the half-empty bottle of kanar next to his bed and drain it. A lot of it ends up on his chin. He passes out before he thinks of wiping it up.