Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Weyoun irritatedly entered his authorization code to Damar's quarters, tail twitching in agitation. He had been paging the poor excuse for a legate for nearly an hour to no avail. Clearly the lout was ignoring the comms. Well, enough was enough. Damar was not going to be allowed to ignore his coming in person.

He aggressively pushed himself through the doorway as it opened, only to deflate at the empty room. He continued on to the bedroom, going still at the sight that greeted him. He could feel his tail flaring at the tip as he sagged in annoyance, frustration seeming to weigh on every part of his body. Scoffing to himself, he pushed himself upright and approached the pathetic tableau before him. 

He called out to Damar as he moved closer, but the sound of his voice was muffled by the Cardassian's snoring. Chittering quietly under his breath, he reached out and nudged at Damar's foot, calling out his name once more. This time, Damar jerked awake, rumbling discontentedly deep in his chest.

Weyoun tilted his head at the sound, having never heard anything like it before. It was far more raspy and lower in tone than Damar's usual voice. As he waited impatiently for the Cardassian to get his bearings, his eyes passed over the clutter beside the bed. The empty bottles of kanar were no surprise. The scant bit of fabric, however, was. 

He glared briefly at the clothing Damar's companion must have left behind before turning back to the absurd Legate and promptly choking on the vitriolic remarks he had planned to unleash. Damar had pushed himself semi-upright and was blearily squinting at him. His long hair, usually cemented in place with generous applications of some kind of gel, was instead hanging free past his shoulders. It shouldn't have made much of a difference, especially to a Vorta's lack of aesthetic appreciation, but something about how the loose strands framed Damar's face completely derailed all his trains of thought.

"What is it, Weyoun?" It was Damar's irked voice that snapped him out of his strange trance. His cheeks felt warm and he knew there had to be a telltale violet flush there. He chuffed and crossed his arms across his chest. He kept his gaze trained on Damar's face, refusing to let his embarrassment cow him.

"There has been a malfunction in some of the temperature relays," he began to explain, only to be interrupted.

"And for that you had to rush to my quarters and wake me up?" Damar was scowling fiercely, pressing the heel of a palm against his forehead. 

Weyoun grit his teeth in frustration. "I did no such thing. I only came here because you were refusing to answer your comms. And I can see why."

Damar refused to rise to the bait, just sighing heavily and rubbing at his eyes.

"I still don't understand why something so minor would need my attention. Surely the Jem'Hadar are more than capable of performing such simple repairs." Acidic sarcasm dripped from his words. 

Weyoun sneered back at him, tail whipping side to side as the two of them bickered. "Of course they are more than capable of fixing your inferior Cardassian systems...given enough time. The amount of time we cannot spare at the moment."

"And why must we suddenly hurry?" 

Rolling his eyes at the Cardassian's insolent tone, he strolled closer to the bed, ignoring Damar's offended hiss. He curiously ran his hand over the rumpled covers before continuing to speak. "Temperatures across the ship have already begun to return to Cardassian standard. And with the Founder due to return at any-"

"Of course! Of course it's to do with your precious Founders! Wouldn't want them to be the slightest bit uncomfortable after all. Let's take our allied leaders out of their beds to tackle repairs any halfway competent engineer could handle! Because circumstances forbid the Founders are in any way inconvenienced!" Damar was shouting by the end of his diatribe, teeth gnashed together as he seethed at the Vorta.

Weyoun painted a neutral smile across his lips, hands raising beseechingly even as he couldn't stop himself from watching how Damar's hair moved with his fury. 

"You are quite right. The needs of the Founders come before all things, after all." He widened his insincere smile, eyes glinting mischievously. 

Damar merely grunted at this statement and shook his head. Seemingly resigned to catering to the Vorta's ridiculous demands, he slowly heaved himself out of bed. Weyoun moved back at the movement, putting space between them as Damar said, "Fine. I'll freshen up, then see to these essential repairs." 

Weyoun nodded thoughtfully, looking Damar up and down slowly before peering up at him through his lashes. "You'd best get right on that. You may not be able to smell yourself, Damar, but you reek of subpar kanar." He smirked playfully as the Cardassian froze at the look, a tinge of blue blooming in the scales along his neck.

"As if you know anything about quality kanar," he muttered, sullenly pushing hair out of his face. Weyoun's fingers twitched at the gesture, aching to run themselves through the strands and experience the texture firsthand.

Pushing away the uncharacteristic urge, Weyoun coughed to himself and turned his back to Damar. "I shall leave you to try to make yourself presentable," he mumbled awkwardly and fled, feeling Damar's curious eyes burning into his back.

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If he had been pressed, Weyoun would not be able to explain why he found himself lurking in the corridor, ears trained onto the quarters he had just left. He did not understand why he listened to the sounds of Damar getting ready, straining to assign an act to each noise. When he had judged that enough time had passed for the Cardassian to be decent, he barged back in. He ignored Damar's flustered demands to get out, giddy to see he had caught him before his typical gel had been applied. Utilizing his most imperious and obnoxious attitude, he hustled Damar out of his quarters and on their way, shooting down all his protests about not being ready yet. Eyeing the Cardassian's loose locks, he began plotting. 

And when Damar inevitably came to him complaining about the Replicators suddenly refusing to distribute his hair products, he would play none the wiser.

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An hour later, elbows deep in the panel to blame for the temperature malfunction, Damar cursed for a final time, trying and failing to keep his hair from getting in his way. Snarling to himself, he withdrew from the panel and stalked to the nearest Replicator. He barked a request for the simplest sort of tie and snapped it up as soon as it materialized. He wasted no time in gathering the annoying strands up and twisting them into a messy yet sufficient bun. That nuisance taken care of, he dived back in to address the other.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he heard approaching footfalls and voices. Preemptively curling his tail closer and hopefully out of the way, he purposefully kept himself working. He was almost finished.

Unfortunately, he found himself distracted from the soothingly familiar task by the distant call of, "And Damar is here, working to rectify that dreadful temperature problem. I am sure it will be as you desire it momentarily, Founder." Sighing at Weyoun's disgustingly insouciant tone, Damar finished the last bit of repairs and retreated from the panel. Closing it with little fanfare, he took a moment to brace himself then forced himself to address his annoyance and their illustrious visitor.

"Weyoun, Founder," he nodded politely to them both and gestured to where he had been working. "The relays have been replaced and should already be working to bring the ship's temperature down to...Dominion preference." He grimaced faintly as he waited for Weyoun's usual simpering to begin. But there was nothing.

Stumped by the unusual silence, he quirked an eye ridge and actually took a closer look at the Vorta. He was stunned at what he saw. Purple flush high in his cheeks and violet eyes wide, Weyoun was staring blankly at him, mouth agape and, for once, clearly speechless. Feeling a flush cresting in his own face, he turned to the Founder for an explanation.

The Changeling looked serenely back at him before turning her own attention to the Vorta.  He followed suit. Finally seeming to realize he was under the scrutiny of both Damar and the Founder, Weyoun let out a choked whine, mouth clicking shut and face aflame as he looked down to the floor. 

Shocking everyone, the Founder chuckled and shook her head. Voice dry, she turned to the Cardassian and said, “You appear to have broken my Vorta, Legate."

Chapter Text

Weyoun followed Damar into his quarters, letting out a delighted trill under his breath at the lack of protest. If anything, Damar only seemed to regard his behavior with an amused resignation. He stuck close to the Cardassian as he made his way to the center of the room, evidently heading toward the nearby replicator. A delicate warmth bloomed in his chest when Damar didn’t complain at his proximity. A gentle smile conquered his mouth when the Legate waved a broad hand toward the sofa, indicating both that he should make himself comfortable and that he was welcome here, in one of the few retreats he had from the pressures of their duties. And although Damar had been apparently growing more tolerant of the Vorta’s presence lately, he still choked as that earlier warmth engulfed his heart.

Weyoun took a seat while drifting in that pleasant daze, tracking Damar’s movements from the corner of his eyes. He heard the clatter of the PADD being dropped onto the table and a tired hiss of breath. But, not as he had expected, the telltale sloshing of kanar or a barked order for the same directed to the replicator. He turned to regard Damar and found him slightly slouched, eyes closed in probable exhaustion. He watched as he sighed heavily before straightening up, reaching up to adjust the untidy twists of his hair. He found himself focusing on the motion, utterly mesmerized. Seeming to sense his gaze, Damar’s eyes snapped over to him, narrowing sharply to find him staring. Weyoun felt the familiar heat of a flush in his cheeks and glanced downwards, breaking the brief eye contact. His tail twitched behind him before curling nervously over his lap. He fiddled with the fluffed tip in an attempt to stifle his discomfort, biting back an anxious chirp. 

He startled when Damar released a drawn out and loud sigh. His violet eyes flicked quickly back up to the Cardassian’s face, roving over his annoyed expression. Damar made sure he had his complete attention as he brought his hand back up to his hair, face growing even more irked as he roughly tugged the pin loose, hair wildly tumbling down. Weyoun swallowed as he bemusedly ran his fingers through the strands, scowling whenever he encountered a tangle. The Vorta slightly jumped when the Cardassian snorted, withdrawing his hand and shaking his head. 

“You are ridiculous,” Damar said, with that indignation that Cardassians seemed so fond of bandying about. 

Weyoun bristled at the comment, tail whipping out of his lap and continuing to swish side to side beside him. “You have a lot of gall, to be calling me ridiculous, Damar. Not when you can’t even be bothered to put in even a basic effort to make yourself remotely personable.” Condescension dripped heavily from his words and he painted his most disapproving pout across his lips. Damar’s tail lashed out violently before coiling tightly by his feet. It was one of the more obvious tells of a frustrated Cardassian. 

“Oh, you mean this?” Damar gestured vaguely to his head, though they both knew exactly what he was talking about. “A Cardassian’s mane is rather difficult to tame. Certain...products are needed to keep it well-groomed. Products, as it so happens, the replicators will no longer allow me to access. For some reason.” Though there was no outright accusation in his words, Damar’s glare made it clear that he was very aware of who was responsible for this development.

Weyoun gave an inquisitive hum, watching his own fingers where they tapped restlessly against his thigh. “That is very strange. I’m surprised you haven’t been able to rectify it yet.” He coyly peered at Damar through his lashes, inwardly preening at the blue flush he spied in the Cardassian’s face.

“I would have, if my authorization to those specific systems hadn’t been suspended. I wonder who would have the ability to do that.” 

“As do I. Maybe we’ll have to launch an investigation into the matter.” The Vorta was almost beaming at this point, very thoroughly enjoying himself. Preventing Damar from plastering his hair in those unappealing gels had been one of his better ideas.

Rolling his eyes, presumably at Weyoun’s outrageous behavior, Damar crossed his arms and bared his teeth at the Vorta. “Don’t pretend that we both don’t know who is responsible for this. You are ridiculous and very obvious. At least, when it comes to this...weird fixation of yours.” For the first time, an expression of discomfort appeared on his face. Though he frequently bickered with Weyoun and they picked constantly at one another, the Vorta’s recent fascination with his appearance had unsettled him. He wasn’t at all certain how to deal with it and it threw the equilibrium that had taken so long to settle between them out of balance. Though, on some level, he was enjoying throwing Weyoun off his rhythm in return. Because it was equally as clear that Weyoun really had no idea what to make of things either. 

Now blushing in earnest, Weyoun wasn’t quite able to cut off the embarrassed chirrup that left his mouth. Mortified, he desperately panned his eyes about the room as he tried to turn the topic of the conversation. While he had been aware Damar couldn’t have missed his preoccupation with his looks in recent days, he had not expected him to have had quite this level of awareness of it. He still could not articulate the reasoning for it to himself, let alone to the Cardassian in question. Although it went against every well-honed bit of logic he possessed, he often found himself merely going with the flow of things, allowing his emotions to dictate the course of the tide. 

Seeming to take pity on the flustered Vorta, Damar resolutely took back the reins of the conversation. “Since this is all your fault, you’re just going to have to start taking responsibility for it.” Without waiting to see what Weyoun was making of that statement, he stalked over to the Replicator, stiff with alarm at his own nerve. He snapped a flustered command out and shakily grabbed the comb and water that materialized. Hissing to himself, he gathered himself together and walked over to Weyoun, shoving the items into the Vorta’s lap. He then marched over to grab the previously discarded PADD and joined Weyoun on the sofa.

Weyoun had reflexively grabbed the things shoved into his hands, fumbling momentarily in surprise but managing not to spill any of the liquid. He had turned to watch in confusion as Damar walked off and had just marshalled enough composure to respond to Damar’s ludicrous remarks when he had felt the cool mass of the Cardassian press to his side. Thrown off for yet another time this evening, his wide eyes flashed up to Damar’s face. His stomach seemed to flutter(?) at the unreadable look on the Legate’s face. He had the odd urge to reach out and touch him, though he hastily suppressed it. 

Damar could feel Weyoun’s eyes burning into him and swallowed the flustered What are you staring at? That wanted to explode from him back down his suddenly tight throat. “If,” he started, then coughed at the strangled sound of his voice. “If,” he restarted more firmly, “you’re so concerned with my being presentable, you can put yourself up to the task.” Not daring to expand upon his statement, he draped his tail along the arm of the couch and turned his own back to the Vorta, clutching the PADD tightly to his stomach.

Weyoun blinked as Damar turned away from him, fingers tightening around the glass of water and the comb placed in them. He stared blindly for a few moments at the Cardassian’s broad back, trying to process what exactly was going on. When he finally believed he knew what Damar wished for him to do, he began to slightly shake. Trembling, he drew his feet up from the floor and turned so his entire body was faced toward the legate. Taking a deep breath, he crossed his legs beneath him and slowly reached out to carefully deposit the water glass on the floor. It was the only sound in the room, aside from their breathing and the myriad machinations of the ship around them. He found that, despite all he had experienced in his various iterations of life, that he did not have the courage to shatter the silence. And the only sign he had that Damar was as unsettled as himself was the rigid way he held his body. Still shaking, he grasped the comb in one hand and with the other reached out and grabbed several strands of that hair he had found himself so entranced by.

Damar might as well have been holding his breath for how slowly he was breathing as he waited for Weyoun to do something. He was shocked the Vorta hadn’t already berated him for overstepping his bounds and left in a huff. He shakily sucked in air when he finally felt Weyoun’s tentative touch, a tingling sensation traveling from the crown of his head down the back of his neck. The first draw of the comb through his locks made him tense back up as it got caught in a tight snarl, Weyoun tugging far too hard to free the teeth. His head stung from the assault and he didn’t speak up in time to stop Weyoun from repeating the motion, resulting in a repeat of the same pain. Hissing at the sting, he finally found his voice. “Wet the comb. That’s what the water’s for. It’ll help.” He felt Weyoun freeze behind him and then the clattering of the comb dipping into the water. He could feel droplets bleeding into his clothing when the Vorta resumed his position behind him and slowly began deliberately unwinding what muscles had tensed. Before the brushing began again, he also made sure to add, “And untangle what knots you find with your fingers first. It will...hurt less.” He felt the pressure of another hand drifting through his hair, nimble fingers, clumsy at first but swiftly gaining in confidence, skillfully seeking out what other knots they could find and working to unknot. Gradually, he fully relaxed and turned to using the PADD he had nearly forgotten he still had to distract himself from the emotion he did not have the bravery to name rising in his chest.

Weyoun quickly found himself lost in his task, mesmerized by the sensation of the smooth hair sliding through his tingling fingers. He fell into a rhythm of slowly pulling the comb and gently untangling. Much too quickly for his liking, the comb stopped encountering resistance. He kept repeating the same motions, peering at Damar to see if he had noticed what he was doing. To his delight, the Cardassian appeared oblivious. He kept working on his PADD, his body now satisfyingly loose and relaxed. And to the Vorta’s amazement Damar eventually even began to let out a low rumble from deep in his chest, the sound an indicator of great contentment. Purring nearly silently to himself, Weyoun dared to discard the comb entirely and begin to let his fingers play as they pleased, essentially just petting Damar by that point.

After a length of time he would not be able to determine, Damar found his eyes growing too heavy to keep open, so relaxed he was dangerously close to fully dropping into a doze. Forcing himself to wake up, he distantly felt the rumble he had been subconsciously emitting cut off and became aware of a strange, quiet noise behind him. As he puzzled over that development, he also noticed that he could no longer feel the distinct sensation of the comb’s teeth. Frowning to himself, he nearly choked when he realized that the only thing he could feel was Weyoun’s fingers roving gently through his hair, petting him in random patterns. His face burned at the realization and he jerked, dislodging the Vorta’s hands and the PADD falling from his hands. His tail, which had been limp on the arm of the sofa, violently lashed out and curled across his lap. The noise he had been unable to place had ceased and he blushed even more violently as he pieced together that Weyoun himself must have been producing it.

Weyoun dropped his hands down to his sides, feeling bizarrely bereft. He sat back on his heels from where he had risen when he had been startled and peered forlornly in Damar’s direction. The Legate’s face was the deepest blue he had ever seen it go and he had to force his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out to touch him. His tail listlessly swayed behind him and began to twitch as the heavy silence continued to press against them. He gradually forced his gaze away from Damar and instead stared down at his lap. Finally unable to stomach the idea of simply continuing to sit there, he turned back to the Cardassian and opened his mouth to speak. All that emerged was a startled squeak as strong grey hands forced him against the back of the couch.

Damar glared down at him, still with that fierce blush staining his cheeks. He maintained the intense eye contact for several moments before loosening his hold on the Vorta. Bowing his head, he let out a heavy sigh and muttered, “We’re both ridiculous,” before letting go of Weyoun completely and sitting up himself. Seeming determined to deny Weyoun the ability to speak for the rest of the evening, he seemed to steel himself before turning his back to the Vorta and throwing himself across his lap. Weyoun stiffened in shock, completely frozen as the Cardassian’s head draped itself across his thighs. Damar settled himself stubbornly and reached out to grab Weyoun’s hands and return them to his hair. He carefully threaded them through his locks and then released them. “Since we both want you to go back to petting me,” he huffed, beyond grateful Weyoun could not see his face, “I decided we should at least be comfortable.” He closed his eyes in embarrassed relief when fingers slowly started carding through his hair.

Unable to believe his luck, Weyoun pet the Cardassian in his lap. Thrown by all that had happened in the last few hours, he fell back into recent habits and simply led events unfold as they willed. He was nearly giddy when that delightful rumble started again, feeling it strong enough to vibrate through him everywhere they were in contact. He let his mind drift as he thoughtlessly let his fingers play and only came back to himself when the rumble began to quiet. Anxious as he was of losing this opportunity to indulge himself, he looked down at Damar’s face and was utterly in awe of what he discovered. The legate had fallen asleep, breaths even and utterly at peace. Weyoun could not believe that the Cardassian would trust him enough to leave himself this vulnerable. Touched in a way he had not been in more years than he could remember, he carefully kept petting the slumbering Damar, purring to let loose his own hard-won affection. 

Chapter Text

Weyoun slid the comb through Damar's hair, lightly purring at the sensation and tail swaying contently. This was one of his favorite things about staying the night in Damar's quarters: getting to assist the legate with his morning routine. There was something immensely pleasing about seeing Damar without his armor adorning him and not yet weighed down by a day’s duties. He leaned into the Vorta’s caresses and released the most serene version of his content rumbling. He was being much more relaxed and expressive, his remarks more fondly caustic than tiredly sarcastic. 

Weyoun cherished this growing facet of their relationship, finding himself slowly returning that openness in kind. He still struggled with communicating his own feelings, frustratingly hindered by a lack of experience even his extensive training could not compensate for. He more often resorted to allowing his actions to convey his sentiments, and luck seemed inclined to favor him for once, as Damar appeared to somehow get the gist of what he was trying to impart. It somewhat cooled Weyoun’s ire over his own incompetence.

His ruminations stopped when Damar went quiet. That meant they now had to make productive use of their time, instead of indulging in each other. As always, duty called. Swallowing a disappointed chirp, he slowly drew the comb through the Cardassian’s hair one final time. Damar’s back straightened as he turned to return the comb to the bedside table, tracking his movements with affectionate mistrust. This was Damar at some of his softest. Sending a tender smirk in his direction in return, he stopped Damar with a hand to his chest when he started to rise up, probably getting ready to procure one of his usual, boring hair accessories. Fortunately, Weyoun had already taken care of it. Damar really could use some variety in his life.

Damar’s tail had curled anxiously around itself, though he did not in any way resist the faint pressure against his chest. The only indication of his bemusement was a slightly cocked eye ridge. Staring innocently back, Weyoun gestured for Damar to retake his seat. The Legate gave him an unamused glare in response, though a measure of curiosity glinted in its depths. 

“I took the liberty-” Weyoun started to say.

“When don’t you?”

He rolled his eyes and finished, “-of selecting a pin for you for today. It’s better than anything you would have chosen.” 

“I really doubt that,” Damar muttered, mulishly holding out a hand. 

Weyoun chuffed at his immature behavior, reaching over to grab the ornamentation he had previously chosen. Unlike the plain, synthetic pins Damar invariably favored, this one was crafted of what felt to be rough porcelain. It was stained dark blue, with black script in a Kardasi dialect he was unfamiliar with spiraling down its length. He thought it was oddly striking, though he was not quite sure why. He was eager to see it set against the dark strands of Damar’s hair.

An unreadable look crawled across Damar’s face when he set it into his waiting palm. Grey fingers encircled the slim accessory, nearly hiding its entirety. Weyoun was taken aback by the trembling even his weak eyes could see in those digits. His tail twitched in concern as he started to say, "Damar, what-"

"This was my mother's," the Cardassian whispered, a somber weight to his words. The Legate's tail was disturbingly still, coiled tightly by his side. It was a picture far removed from the peaceful leisure the Vorta had been yearning for.

But, Damar's mother. Aside from a name and the fact that she had been estranged from her son for a long time prior to her death, Weyoun did not know all that much about her personally. Damar had never brought her up before this moment. He was at a loss on how to respond. Fortunately, Damar himself broke the silence. 

"My father gave it to her as his betrothal gift. He carved it himself," he said, staring blindly at the object in question, his mind clearly elsewhere, expression pensive, almost sad. The only thing needed to finish the forlorn cliché was a kanar bottle. Frowning and seeking to banish the unwanted melancholy, Weyoun let out a questioning chirp, drawing Damar back into the present moment. Under the Cardassian’s pondering gaze, he reached out and placed his hand gently over Damar’s curled fist. 

He stared at their overlapping hands as he mused, “I wasn’t aware of this aspect of Cardassian courtship. How interesting.” 

Damar gave a quiet snort of amusement at his remark, the tight grip of his fingers loosening beneath Weyoun’s.“It’s not, usually,” Damar explained. “Creating betrothal gifts with one’s own hand is part of the older traditions. It’s not a custom favored by most couples anymore.” His tail finally started to move, curling closer to the Vorta’s warmth. Weyoun’s own tail twitched in reaction, slowly swaying closer to the other. “My mother’s family,” Damar continued, “is one of the older ones and my father wanted to respect their practices. He actually got my maternal grandfather to assist him.” He chuckled slightly there, shaking his head approvingly. “It was one of the few things he ever did that impressed my mother.” As though he was reluctant to sink back into his earlier depression, he fidgeted for a few moments, glancing down at their still joined hands and beginning to move as though he intended to finally separate them. Noticing this, Weyoun increased his own grip, keeping the legate in place.

Ignoring yet another of Damar's puzzled glances, Weyoun pulled his hand away and turned Damar's so that his curled fingers faced upward. He carefully tugged at the digits till they reluctantly unfurled and he could snatch the history-laden pin back with his other hand. Keeping his fingers stacked atop the Cardassian's, he brought the pin up to his face to peer more closely at its characteristics. 

His eyes traced along the indecipherable spirals and he hummed thoughtfully as he turned his gaze onto Damar himself. Damar was still staring down at their hands, a faint blue tinge dusting his cheeks. Weyoun titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at the sight. A questioning chuff diverted the Legate's attention back to the Vorta. Assured he had Damar's focus, Weyoun idly started to twirl the hair pin between his fingers as he wondered aloud, "I must admit that I am curious about this writing. I'm not familiar with this particular form of Kardasi, I'm afraid."

Damar watched him playing with the accessory for a moment before scowling. "I wouldn’t expect you to be. This writing system is no longer used. Most of the characters didn't get incorporated into the current one." He seemed to further squirm under Weyoun's scrutiny, his irritated scowl shifting into the frustrated pout he hated to have the Vorta tease him about. Weyoun smirked in satisfaction at its appearance. The lingering remnants of the Cardassian’s melancholy finally seemed to be dissipating.

“Fascinating,” Weyoun remarked at Damar’s statement, genuinely intrigued by this previously unknown aspect of Cardassian culture. There was more historical depth to these courtship rituals than he had anticipated. “Should I even ask if you can read these, then?” he asked with teasing condescension. “Your psychographic profile makes no mention of any particular skill with linguistics.” An irritated growl answered his taunts, prompting him to bite back his amused laugh. This was much closer to how he had wanted their morning to play out.

“Again with these profiles of yours. I’d have thought you’d have learned to place much less credence in them by now, considering how many ‘fascinating’ discrepancies have arisen,” Damar sallied back. He moved as though he was going to gesticulate with his hands as well, only to be stopped by the continued connection he had with Weyoun. Preemptively cutting off the comeback the Vorta was undoubtedly about to unleash, he said, “Of course I can read them. My mother would have done a great disservice to her family’s reputation if she hadn’t made sure to impart such essential and outdated knowledge to her only child.” Sarcasm dripped very heavily from each pointed word. “Even if I have no ‘particular skill with linguistics’ there is no problem with my memory. No matter what you think about my ability to conduct a proper strategy meeting.” 

Weyoun narrowed his eyes at that declaration, retorting with banked heat, "I find it difficult to give any credit to your supposedly reliable memory. I’ve too often had to add in pertinent points that you’ve glossed over.”

“If your briefings weren’t so tedious and needlessly repetitive, I wouldn’t feel the need to ‘gloss over’ anything.”

Weyoun swallowed the blazing rejoinder that wanted to fly from his lips and reluctantly directed the conversation back onto its intended course, the tip of his tail twitching. “Why not prove me wrong and tell me what is written here.” He gestured smugly with the hair pin, mischief burning in the depths of his violet eyes. Just because he was determined to get their discussion back on track, didn’t mean he still wasn’t going to have fun while doing so.

Damar scoffed at his antics, rolling his eyes and lightly whacking the Vorta’s hip with his tail. “‘You hold me to the ideals of my youth and inspire my passion for the present. May I have the strength to stay true to the wisdom you have taught me,’” he recited quietly, his eyes closed as he loosed the words. When he reopened his eyes, he smirked at the open curiosity that greeted him from Weyoun’s face. “It’s a quote from one of my mother’s favorite novels. They read it together while they were courting.” He shook his head after recalling the story, a slight smile overtaking his expression.

Weyoun titled his head to the side as he thought over what Damar had just told him. He idly whipped his tail over to brush against Damar’s, a small retaliation for the way the Cardassian had gently hit him. “Many Cardassians seem to have a preoccupation with literature. Yourself excluded, of course.” He sneered fondly at Damar when he said that, more out of reflex than any genuine effort to tease, and quickly moved on. “Do many proposals incorporate literary works?” He felt the Legate’s fingers flex underneath his at the question and turned narrowed eyes toward the Cardassian.

Damar had an expression on his face that Weyoun couldn’t quite place, his eyes oddly intent as he peered closely at the Vorta in return. “What’s with all the questions? You planning to propose?” His words were playful in tone, though the peculiar look on his face made them fall slightly flat. This dissonance, as well as the implication in Damar’s query left him extraordinarily flustered. The myriad rebuttals that immediately sprang to mind tripped over his tied tongue, pairing with the intense flush suffusing his cheeks to create ample humiliation. The only sound that left his mouth was a strangled chittering, adding to his mortification. Seeming to be aware of his plight and taking pity on him, Damar reached up and cupped his free hand on one of the Vorta’s flaming cheeks. He briefly stared into violet eyes before lowering his gaze to the floor, body growing tense as he stated with a tight voice, “I wouldn’t say no.”

For a moment, Weyoun’s mind seemed to almost short-circuit, freezing him in place as he failed to make sense of Damar’s declaration. “What-” he eventually managed to squeeze out in a strangled voice. He coughed roughly and tried to continue with “What do you-”

“If you proposed,” Damar gruffly interrupted his attempt, eyes still trained resolutely on the floor, “I wouldn’t say no.” 

Weyoun’s tail twitched as the Cardassian’s meaning actually sank in. In utter disbelief, he brought the hand still holding the momentous accessory up to cover the cool one still cupping his cheek. He trembled faintly as blue eyes met violet ones, determined to release the words sitting heavy in his chest. “The Dominion does not honor any sort of connection that even remotely resembles Cardassian enjoinments. The marriages we do have are not anything you would recognize as such.” He paused to recollect himself, opening his mouth to continue only to stop when Damar’s hand on his face applied slightly more pressure. 

“Would you like to have something like a Cardassian enjoinment?” Damar asked him carefully, with no expectations weighing down his words or coloring his expression. 

“The Dominion would not permit-” he stuttered in reply, only to be cut off.

“I’m not asking what the Dominion would allow. I’m asking what you want.” Damar’s tail wound itself around the Vorta’s, a clear offer of physical support to help the confused Weyoun anchor himself.

Taking a deep breath and withdrawing his hand to delicately place Damar’s mother’s betrothal gift on the bed, Weyoun straightened the fingers of his other hand and forced the Cardassian to mirror the gesture. For a moment, he stared keenly at where their hands sat palm to palm and, as he raised his eyes to lock earnestly with Damar’s, he purposely entwined their fingers. His tail twitched around Damar’s and coiled tighter as the Vorta leaned forward and gingerly pressed his forehead to the stunned Legate’s. “You,” he whispered brokenly as he basked in the press of their skin. “I want you,” he confessed with all the desperate courage he could scrounge up.

Damar sucked in a trembling breath and jerked himself back from Weyoun. Before the Vorta could protest or demand an explanation, he pulled him into an emotionally-loaded kiss. Damar squeezed the hand clasped in his own as he ended the kiss. There was a pleased and awed glimmer in his gaze that remained as the two of them finished their morning routine, the hair pin that had caused the entire matter returned to its proper place and Damar ‘s hair pulled back with one of his regular clasps. While Weyoun had initially wanted to spice up Damar’s appearance, there had been more than enough excitement in their morning to mitigate any disappointment he may have felt otherwise.

And many years later, he would take the revelations that he had come to that morning and ask Damar that essential question. He would have a delicate pin he had crafted with his own hands, stained with a combination of the Dominion’s and the Union’s hues and engraved with the words that had given him the strength to recognize his right to his own autonomy. And, true to his vow, Damar would say yes, tremors running through his hands as his finger traced over the phrase “I’m asking what you want.” And Weyoun would feel a sense of completion utterly foreign to him as he so very carefully threaded the ornament asserting his claim into the Cardassian’s hair, proclaiming their devotion for all to see.