Chapter Text
He goes—home. Weyoun is scanning rapidly through a stack of padds, but when Damar walks in, he must see something in Damar’s face that makes him stand up. “Well?” His voice is cautious.
“They’re all dead.” Damar can’t manage the same softness. “All the Jem’Hadar. There’s no going back now.”
“Did you—want to go back?” Weyoun looks confused. “I thought we were—”
“No,” Damar says. “It’s just—something people say.” His body feels very heavy, and he plucks ineffectively at the catch on his chest plate.
Weyoun approaches him and flicks the catch open, then helps Damar lift the armor over his head. “It’ll be over soon,” he says, as though that’s reassuring.
“No.” He laughs humorlessly. “No, soon it will be much worse.” He puts his hand over Weyoun’s. “I want you to stay out of the way, if there’s fighting. I don’t want someone killing you and you waking up in one of those cloning facilities. We don’t even know if you’d be the same person.”
Weyoun turns his hand palm-up so he can squeeze Damar’s. “At least I’d be cloned,” he says. “There’s only one Damar.” It’s a little too reminiscent of what he said to Kira, and so instead Damar pulls him into a rough kiss. “You know,” Weyoun says, pulling back a little, “if you want a hug, you can just ask.” The words he chooses are so strange sometimes, and he’s wrong about that. “Why do you taste like that?”
Damar does manage a real laugh at that. “Quark is trying to get everyone to drink root beer. I helped him sell some, but I had to drink a little to do it.” He feels obliged to answer, “I did have some kanar too. With the men.”
Weyoun doesn’t comment on it, just kisses him again and frowns a little. “It’s—not the worst taste. The root beer,” he adds quickly. “I still don’t like kanar.”
“Quark has plenty of it, and it’s not even alcoholic. Though I’m not sure the men realize that.” In Damar’s experience, once soldiers start drinking together, they can get drunk on almost anything, alcoholic or not. He should pull away from Weyoun, should do—something—but he finds it hard to imagine stepping away from Weyoun’s warmth now. “Weyoun,” he says, and his voice cuts off. “If it’s a choice between me and Cardassia, you have to choose Cardassia.”
Weyoun’s purple eyes are very alien when he looks at Damar. “Why? Would you?”
Damar closes his eyes. “Freeing Cardassia is the most important thing. It has to be. For either of us.”
He knows what Weyoun is going to say before he says it. “I know you would. But the only reason I care about Cardassia is because you do.” Weyoun’s voice is flat. “Why would I choose it over you?”
Damar can’t look at him. It’s both terrifying and intoxicating, the idea that he’s the one thing that matters most in the galaxy to someone. “Because it is important to me. I couldn’t live with it, if I survived and Cardassia fell.”
He can feel Weyoun’s cool regard, even with his eyes closed. “You would move past it, eventually,” Weyoun says, but there’s the slightest hesitation. “You would be angry with me, but I could take you somewhere safe and eventually you would be glad that I had saved you instead of sacrificing you.”
That makes him open his eyes, and he grips Weyoun by both shoulders and holds him in place. “No,” he says.
“There’s only one Damar,” Weyoun reminds him.
“I wouldn’t forgive you.” Of all the things that he has to worry about, now it’s whether Weyoun is secretly planning to kidnap him to protect him. “Weyoun. I would not forgive you.”
Weyoun squints at him. “…I suppose you wouldn’t. No, you’re too—honorable.” One corner of his mouth tugs in a smile. “Weyoun Five liked that about you too. He didn’t understand it, but he liked it. Except when he thought you would make him execute you instead of finding a way to escape. He didn’t know exactly what was happening, when the transporter went wrong, but he knew Dukat was doing it to give you a few more days and he didn’t mind.”
It must be strange to have so many other lives in his head. “We’re both going to survive,” Damar says firmly. Weyoun is leading him toward the bedroom and Damar asks, “Were you just waiting for me to get home for this?”
Weyoun’s eyes light up at Damar’s slip. “Home? Yes. Unless you had something else in mind?”
He’d had vague ideas of…food? Reading more readiness reports on endless padds to figure out how to get more power out of the torpedoes? But no, this is—always what he wants. A constant thread in the back of his mind, the need to be touching Weyoun. “No,” he mumbles, and his hands are already finding their way inside Weyoun’s shirt to feel the heat of his skin. “What do you want to do?”
“I want—” Weyoun seems to have trouble deciding, his eyes darting up and down Damar’s body. Damar has never been self-conscious but sometimes Weyoun’s gaze feels like it’s penetrating his skin. “I want you to suck my cock again,” he says finally. “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”
“I can do that,” Damar says, and kneels between Weyoun’s spread legs on the bed. Weyoun is rapidly hardening, and he swells further when Damar begins to suck him into his mouth.
“Damar—” Weyoun’s voice is breathy. He’s already holding the back of Damar’s head, trying to pull him down further as Weyoun thrusts up into his mouth—no manners—and Damar pins his hips firmly to the bed and hums a kind of scolding noise. Then he rolls them over carefully, until Weyoun’s knees are planted on either side of Damar’s head on the bed, and Weyoun makes a frantic kind of noise. He’s still for a second and then thrusts into Damar’s mouth, as deep as he can get, and he’s all around Damar and inside him. It’s all Damar wants, the feeling of Weyoun falling apart above him, the thick weight of his cock in Damar’s mouth, the frantic noises he makes when his cock hits the back of Damar’s throat. Damar has his fingertip just tugging at Weyoun’s rim, pushing in minutely every time Weyoun thrusts into his mouth. Then Weyoun grabs his hair to tilt his head at just the right angle and fucks in deeper, enough that Damar’s throat starts to close a little around his cock as he comes. Damar sucks him through it, rolls them again and begins to pull off.
“Don’t stop yet,” Weyoun says, and his voice is choked. When Damar glances up, his entire body is flushed. Damar can see where his own fingerprints are starting to turn a little purple. Weyoun has only softened a little, and this time he threads his fingers very softly into Damar’s hair as Damar sucks him hard again. “Don’t—let me do that this time,” Weyoun says. “I have a plan.”
Damar laughs a little around his cock but hmmms in agreement. Of course Weyoun has a plan. He does go slowly this time, sweeping his hands up and down the smooth skin of Weyoun’s legs and abdomen, feeling Weyoun’s muscles twitch and jump beneath his hands, the way that he arches into the pressure. Damar can tell when he’s close to coming, but Weyoun pushes him off, until Damar is lying on his back. “Well?”
Weyoun is fucking into his hand, eyes shining and cheeks red, and Damar realizes what he’s doing only seconds before Weyoun comes on his neck and chest with a long groan. Damar shivers at the sight and Weyoun drags his finger through the mess. “There,” Weyoun says, and he sounds very satisfied. He keeps doing it, until Damar realizes he’s rubbing it into Damar’s skin.
“That’s disgusting,” he says.
Weyoun stops and sits back. He looks surprised. “Is it? Should I stop?”
Damar doesn’t know how to answer that. He wipes his hands across his chest and then grips Weyoun’s thighs tightly. “No,” he says. “You can keep doing it.” He awkwardly adjusts them so that they’re both sitting up, Weyoun straddling him. His cock is rubbing between Weyoun’s cheeks and he can’t help shifting to trying to get better friction.
“Oh,” Weyoun says, and sits back just a little. He’s almost done with Damar’s skin. “I suppose you want to fuck me.” He sounds like he's laughing
Damar closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. “I wouldn’t say no.” Weyoun laughs a little at that and starts to climb off Damar. “No,” Damar says. “Stay there.” He gropes for the lubricant that Weyoun has started keeping by his bedside and hands it to Weyoun. “I—want to see you do it.”
Weyoun cocks his head. “If you insist.”
Damar can hear the smile in his voice. Weyoun reaches back to work himself open, eyes fluttering closed. Damar can feel it whenever his slick fingers bump against Damar’s cock, the way his thighs tighten around Damar as he does it. They’re both breathing hard by the time Weyoun grasps Damar’s cock in his slick hand, strokes it a few times, and then gradually begins to slide down on it. Damar wants to close his eyes too at the sensation of it, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open so he can memorize Weyoun’s face. When Weyoun has taken him fully, Damar says, “Open your eyes,” and kisses Weyoun when he does. Weyoun is pressed almost flush against his sticky chest, sweating. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my cock. I can’t really move,” he says against Weyoun’s mouth.
Weyoun draws in a quick breath almost from Damar’s lungs. He lifts himself up a little and then sinks back down, and Damar tightens his grip on Weyoun’s thighs until he’s holding on as hard as he can.
“Ouch,” Weyoun complains. He doesn’t stop moving, though, one hand on Damar’s shoulder and the other buried in his hair. It’s overwhelming, staring into his purple eyes—Damar’s entire body feels like it’s on fire, and he has to break their locked gazes. He releases one hand and uses it to turn Weyoun’s head and bring it a little closer, so that he can get his mouth on the edge of one of Weyoun’s ears. Weyoun shivers a little and Damar bites down harder than he usually would, holding with his teeth as he sucks at the skin, and Weyoun makes a hurt little noise and speeds up, lifting himself until only the head of Damar’s cock is held tight in his ass and then almost slamming down. Damar’s head knocks back against the wall for a second and then he surges forward, grips Weyoun’s hair and turns his head the other way. He sucks a ladder of bites from Weyoun’s bare shoulder all the way up his neck and then up along his ear and Weyoun is almost crying out now as he fucks himself on Damar’s cock. Their bodies are pressed tight, Weyoun’s sweat slick against his own sticky skin, and Damar almost doesn’t want to come, wants to stay like this forever. Weyoun is begging with his body instead of words, trying to get even closer, and he bites Damar’s neck ridge so hard that he almost draws blood and it’s perfect, it’s exactly what Damar wants.
“Do that again,” he says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. When Weyoun obeys, he holds Weyoun’s hips in place and thrusts up as best he can, grips Weyoun’s ear between two fingers and pinches, and he doesn’t know if it’s the noise Weyoun makes or the way that his ass suddenly clenches almost convulsively around Damar’s cock that makes him come. Weyoun draws it out, holding Damar inside as he keeps tightening and releasing, until it’s too much, until Damar can’t see straight and manages to croak out, “Weyoun.”
Weyoun lifts himself off Damar’s cock and then settles back into his lap. He carefully licks the painful places on Damar’s neck, tongue almost exploratory, and Damar lets go of his thigh. There are bruises already forming, livid against Weyoun’s skin, and Damar can’t bring himself to regret it. “We’re both going to live,” Weyoun says.
“We’re going to free Cardassia,” Damar tells him.