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wolf-in-a-suit · 6 years

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Freedom of press: Dominion style

Show: Star Trek DS9

Summary: Gul Dukat, the undisputed winner of the war, will not let anyone make fun of him! So, a hunt for the culprit- you- ensures. Throw in a Vorta, and a Ferengi, pushing their noses into other people’s business and there you have it: One stressful day, for the resident human left on DS9. Well, dear reader: I wish you the best of luck!

The day Gul Dukat started hunting a ghost, began with people smiling at his passing figure. Bayorans once more in the clutches of the Cardassians- with a little help from the Dominon- oppressed, and under his thumb on Terok Nor: Were smiling at the man, that conquered them! Were their delusional brains finally snapping? He passed the center of operation, and there it was again. Somebody sniggered behind his back! The great military leader whirled around, but every officer wore the exemplary of an impassive expression. Though, something had caught his keen eye.

He took three well measured strides to the youngest officer on duty, a small Bayoran male, and snatched the data pad in one fluent motion from his hands. Exalting at the horror crawling onto the young man’s face, Dukat allowed a self-satisfied smirk to grace his features. However, after his eyes ghosted over the first sentence, the muscles in his face began to loosen, the grin disappearing. After a whole paragraph his teeth were clutched tight, and the blood in his body reached critical temperature. "Who wrote this?" He demanded. Only silence answered, at first. Finally, the young officer caved under the intensity of the smoldering black eyes. Stuttering he grasped for any word, in order to form a coherent sentence: "Nobody knows w...who p...posts these... articles. We’re... not even... s...sure if it's a Bayoran o...or someone else." Black eyes narrowed, a very low voice, promising years of pain for the next transgression- or disrespectful gulp of breath- retorted: "Articles!?" The s stretched into a long, hostile hiss. Looking at the terrified faces of the personnel, he knew he got all the information- as pitiful as it had been- out of them. When the Gul reached the conference room for his daily meeting with Damar, and that weasel Weyoun, he was seething. Articles, indeed! There existed quite a few of them. Each a greater jab, at the competence of the new ‘already crumbling command - short ACC' than the last. One of them described himself, attending the great harvest ceremony of Bayor as a guest of honor,- he could be quite persuasive, and ever the diplomat- Weyoun had claimed, attending would smooth things over with the locals. The first thing that assaulted his eyes was a photo of him stumbling into the Kai, in a very much undignified manner. If he remembered correctly, this had been the result of one of these filthy farmers tripping him- the last thing he ever did-, yet the article came to a very different conclusion: 'It's so nice to see our esteemed Gul enjoy himself, after all that hard work keeping a few officers on DS9 in check. Though, perhaps he should cut back on the Kanar, lest he starts molesting our Kai.' The audacity! He would see whoever was behind this decaying in the depths of the Cardassian work camps! "Why the gloomy face Dukat? What possibly could have irritated your normally so composed person, hmm?" The Vortas eyes twinkled with mischief, blue lightning mixing into the violet hue of his eyes. Bam! In one swift motion the Cardassian slammed down the pad, right before the diplomat. To Dukats ire this did little to impress, least of all startle the hated man. The only reaction Weyoun graced him with was a raised eyebrow. "And what could that be, now?" "Some low life has the gall to ridicule us in anonym articles!" He pressed through gritted teeth. He expected surprise, anger perhaps, or panic on the face of this annoyance. What he got was: A fake yawn.

"I must say, it took you quite some time to stumble upon them. Not that I expected better of course." Dukat was dumbfounded, then anger from an untapped source deep inside, welled up. In contrast, his demeanor became very still. "How is it..." he began in an almost civil tone "that you don't inform me, about rebels UNDERMINING OUR OPERATIONS!?" The scream was a hot coal that finally dropped, very liberating. The Vorta, like always, payed no heed and had simply grabbed the pad and started reading. Here that little weakling sat, legs crossed, the pad held before him: The picture of a man on a slow Sunday, reading the comics in the morning paper. A chuckle shook his whole frame. "This is my favorite: ‘I must defend our beloved Gul on his actions against the drunk, ninety year old Bayoran: Everyone who came into contact with someone at such a headstrong age can agree that there is no escape, no action against a cane crashing to your behind’. Weyoun turned the pad and sure enough, a picture of an old Bayoran connecting his cane with Dukat's hindquarters littered the display. With a lightning fast flash of gray scaled hands the pad was snatched from the Vorta’s grasp and flung through the room. Crash. The impact, and cluttering of tiny pieces to the ground was the only sound resonating in the suddenly very silent room. Gul Dukat took a deep breath, flaring nostrils stilled somewhat. When he opened his eyes again, they shifted like lava of a Vulcan on the verge of erupting. "I will find the one responsible! And. Make. Them. PAY!"

"And one Ra'taj coming up, for my favorite human of the station." The Ferengi slid a steaming cup over the counter, his smile exposing sharp, bend teeth gleaming in the light. Expertly snatching the cup and taking a swing of bitter liquid, a trained motion almost second nature after years spend on DS9, you watched the short man with a dubious expression. "Quark, I am the only human on the station." He scoffed "Semantics! Any paying customer is a good customer, even-" and here he regarded your beverage with distaste "-if they prefer to drink something destroying every flavor receptor on their tongue." You couldn't hold back a grin. "Rule of Acquisition number... ?" "That's just common sense honey, speaking of which..." He leaned over the counter, his eyes losing their mocking quality. "I love good reading material like the next guy, but in times like these, it's the writers who lose their heads first! Would be really stupid, to poke a sleeping Tark if you ask me." "Quark, are you worried about little, old me?" While you feigned surprise, Quark blocked with the shrug of his shoulders. "Not at all, I just have too much Ra'taj on my hands, and you're the only customer drinking that stuff!" The last swing of the bitter brew streamed down your throat and you knocked on the bar in parting. "I think you're just going soft, in your old days." The annoyed look of the barkeeper followed your exiting form. Slowly, the annoyance was replaced by worry, and dread creeping into his expression. This was however, easily hidden once a new customer entered. "Welcome to Quarks! What can I help you with? " Sweat formed on your brow and trickled down your neck, even though it wasn't anywhere near warm in the cargo bay. He was on to you! You simply knew it. Trice this day, you had tried to link your pad to the main computer, in order to publish your newest article and every time Gul Dukat had somehow appeared out of thin air in the vicinity. You had no idea how he did it. Your only consolidation was his searching gaze, indicating that he wasn't onto you just yet. But judging from the smoldering look on his square features, it was only a matter of time. So, that was how a rabbit felt when the snake slowly sneaked around it, ready to smother all air from its tiny lungs. Speaking of air, had it always been this hard to breath? Crash. The steel tire vibrated only for a second, the pain in your fist however would sting for quite some time to come. 'Pull yourself together! You knew this could happen, don't chicken out now!' Red defiant, untamed hair flashed through your inner vision. Major Kira would never weaver like this! Fresh air streamed into your lungs, after the large inhale your hands were only left somewhat shaking. You stepped next to the console, ready to begin the upload. The rhythmic beeping of the control panel soothed your clenched muscles.

"Well, this certainly is interesting!" You whipped around and sure enough: Behind you sitting on a crate, legs crossed was Weyoun. The embodiment of the powerful Dominion, crushing any resistance in its way. With a steaming cup in hand, he was the very picture of confidence, and superiority. And,... was that smell... you sniffed, catching the scent of Ra'taj. The creepy smile on the man’s face let no room for doubt: ‘No, I don't enjoy it, just showing off, how much I know about your insignificant existence.’ When he realized, that you got the message, his smile stretched even wider, almost turning feral. Violet eyes, gleaming in the dark. "My, my such courage. Such… defiance." His cheerfulness did little to hide the cutting edge of his tone, dragging over your flesh ready to draw first blood. The only thing you could choke out, was a weak: "How d..did y...you know?" "My dear, you didn't delude yourself for one minute that I wasn't aware of what is going on, on my station, hmm?" "N...no!?" 'Damn this stammering, Kira would be ashamed!' "Well then." With a wush and an inexplicable grace, the Vorta flopped down to the floor. "While your articles have been, rather... amusing. I think, it would be time to try your delicate hands-" here he gingerly took your cold hand into his "-at something new. Before Gul Dukats reputation- or your life- is damaged, beyond repair. Wouldn't you agree?" These unnatural eyes burned into yours, driving the point home that this wasn't a request. While the tightening of his grip on your hand added: 'I might be a diplomat, but this isn't a negotiation. Don't let it become a tribunal!' Your nod was very weak, but he seemed to still pick up on it, in the shadow filled room.

"Excellent! Now that we are probably acquainted, I look forward to seeing you far more often." His purr sent shivers down your spine, fear and something you couldn’t place, mixing into an unknown emotion. The weight on your hand vanished and instead of the humanoid skin, the ceramic of a cup warmed your too cold extremities. "Drink up! After all, you have a long shift ahead, and you must be exhausted after writing for three days, on that new- very amusing I might add- article about Damar." If your blood pressure was low before, the ice setting in your veins at his words couldn't be very beneficial. The Vorta turned and headed to the door. "Such a shame, that no one is going to read it." With the wush of an automatic door, he was gone. But the sentiment of paranoia he gifted you with, would stay with you for a long time to come. In the end, you stood frozen in the dark room, not daring to move a muscle. Finally, when the warm glow of the cup dissipated, you started to regain control of your shaking muscles, and headed out.

#star trek imagine #star trek ds9 #weyoun x reader #quark #gul dukat #quark x reader #gul dukat x reader #dukat x reader #weyoun #star trek #star trek deep space 9 #weyoun imagine #quark imagine #gul dukat imagine

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oblio-k · 6 years

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i Only write self-indulgent fics so here’s something from later on in my story about the USS Nobility, a sovereign-class starship that’s on a mission of exploration ~18 years after ds9, which focuses on Ensign Molly O’Brien, a science officer. This one’s about her friendship with the virologist on board, Mekor Dukat Yek.

Also on AO3

Taste and Distaste

They were laying underneath the view port, an almost empty bottle of kanar between them. Mekor hadn’t drank any of it, but Molly had consumed a considerable amount of it, and was definitely feeling the effects. She had been wary when he offered the red encrusted bottle to her, but he could be irritatingly convincing, so she’d popped it open and taken a sip of the viscous substance.

It wasn’t very good. Most things Cardassia had the faint taste of metal, but then the alcohol content had hit her, and she’d agreed to drink it while they talked.

Their ‘hang out’ time was important to the both of them. Molly had many friends on board, but she knew the only other people Mekor was close to were Doctor Yek, Saint, and Ensign Hoji Andu. Though he enjoyed their company, they weren’t exactly friends. Ensign Hoji was still nervous around Cardassians, and saw Mekor as a sort of brother-figure instead of a friend. Mekor viewed him as a youth that he was happy to give advice to.

Doctor Yek, as Mekor’s husband, couldn’t fill the spot of friend like she did. Molly had no doubt the two of them were friends as well as lovers, but Mekor was Yek’s chosen host, first and foremost. And Saint was his son, so Mekor would always see himself as the boy’s parent more than a friend. She wasn’t even sure Cardassians saw being friends with their relatives as important.

So she was the only one on the Nobility that could fulfill that role, and she did it gladly.

“Do you ever think about your home planet, Mekor?”

“On occasion, I remember Cardassia. I don’t like to. Do you often think of Earth?”

“Not as often as I should, I think. I think about Bajor, too. ‘Cause I grew up on the station.”

“My father’s station.”

“Captain Sisko’s station,” she corrected. Mekor huffed a laugh. “And now Aunt Nerys’ station.”

“Nerys?”

“Admiral Kira.”

“Ah. Any true relation, or is this another of your parents’ friends?”

“She was the Bajoran surrogate that carried my younger brother.”

“I see.”

“Your dad used to harass her all the time.”

Mekor made a disgusted sound. “Would you pass on to her that I sincerely apologize for my father’s behavior? How distasteful of him.”

“We could- we could call her. Tell her yourself. It’ll mean a lot to her, and I meant to introduce her to you and Saint.” She sat up, convinced. “We can go to my quarters and call right now.”

Mekor stared at her. When he realized she was serious, he raised his brow ridges. He slowly sat up, careful not to jostle his son, who Molly was pretty sure was sleeping on top of him. The boy didn’t seem to notice being moved, but Molly couldn’t be certain. Not with his life support helmet covering his helmet.

He tilted his head and asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Absolutely! It’ll make her day. Night. I don’t know what time it is on the station.” She stood up, swaying on her feet. Mekor rose and used one arm to steady her. She beamed at him. “Thanks!”

“To your quarters, then?”

“To my quarters!”

Mekor hoped that Molly would change her mind as they walked to crew quarters, but she remained just as eager as the moment she thought of the idea. A few people stared at them as they walked, and some of the officers whom Mekor recognized as Molly’s friends laughed.

“Need any help, Mekor?”

“I believe we can return her to her quarters on our own.”

His son made a little trilling sound, happy to be included. Molly made a delighted noise and reached over to give his arm a squeeze. “Saint, you’re awake! Hello, little guy- how are you feeling today?”

“Good,” a robotic voice answered, as the life support suit translated the high pitched chirp he made. Mekor was proud to hear him talk to someone other than him or his husband.

Molly got over the novelty of hearing her friend’s son speak quickly, and surged forward. “Let’s keep going!”

“I obey.”

She laughed, turning to give him a lopsided smile as they walked down the hall. “Sometimes you really sound like a soldier.” She laughed harder when he cringed. “You’d make a poor soldier, though.”

“I am unsure whether or not that is an insult, Molly.”

She thought for a moment, and then elaborated, “You’re too much of a family man to be a soldier. And you hate leadership.”

“That is true. I have no desire to pursue a military career. My only wish is to raise Saint to be a healthy and happy adult. And-” He could see her begin to ask a question, and knew exactly what it was. “-I still do not understand what pants and relationships have to do with one another, but I do defer to Yek’s judgement more often than not.”

“Yeah. But doesn’t he drug you all the time?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I listen to him because he is older than I, and has more experience. As for the venom, I choose to allow him to inject me. It is for Saint’s welfare.”

“I guess, but doesn’t that seem kind of creepy?”

“Molly, Yek has never injected me without my permission. He would not force me to agree with him by intoxicating me. Frankly, I’m insulted that you would imply that he is somehow controlling my decisions. If you weren’t drunk, I would be angry.”

“Sorry. Just wondered.”

“Apology accepted. Do not bring it up again.”

“I was worried, for a second-”

“Molly. I do not wish to continue this conversation. Please, change the subject. How exactly do you plan to introduce me to your aunt? I can’t imagine she’ll be happy to see me standing next to you. I bear a close resemblance to my father, after all.”

Molly struggled a bit with her computer console, both due to intoxication and how dim Mekor had kept the lights, but managed to send a call to Nerys. She slumped back in her chair. Mekor dragged over a second one and sat down near her. Saint was sitting on his lap, patting his arm softly and making cooing sounds.

“Good. Warm. Good. Safe. Warm...” Mekor pressed a button on his son’s helmet, and it ceased translating. Then he wrapped his other arm around the boy. Saint patted that one too, still cooing. Molly reached over and patted his arm as well. Mekor gave her a look, and she pulled her hand away.

Her console beeped as Nerys answered, and Molly beamed. She tapped the console, and Nerys’ face showed up on screen. She was in uniform, the lights bright around her. “Molly, how are you?”

“Aunt Nerys!”

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“I am. I drank a lot with my friend. He didn’t drink any, because he has his kid with him.”

“It’s so dark, Molly, I can barely see you.”

“Oh! Lights, 100%!”

Mekor hissed as the lights suddenly went to full brightness, bringing his hands to his face. “Molly! I don’t have my glasses!”

“Oops- Computer, dim lights by 20%. Sorry.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Chaos, that’s painful.”

“Is that a Cardassian?”

“He’s my friend! He’s a virologist, and he gave me kanar. It tasted horrible.”

“Exactly why I... pawned it off on you. Molly, I feel as though I’ve gone blind.” Saint reached up for his face, making a worried chirp. “I’ll be alright, son.”

“Where did the bottle go?” Molly looked around. She hadn’t grabbed it. She remembered she was supposed to be talking to Nerys. “How are you?”

“Good, I guess. Who’s your friend?” Mekor lowered his hands, blinking rapidly. “Dukat?”

“Mekor Dukat, formerly.” He squinted. “It’s been Mekor Yek since I got enjoined.”

“Mekor wanted to apologize to you!” Molly was proud of her brilliant idea. She couldn’t wait to tell her other friends about it.

“Apologize?”

“When Molly told me how my father used to harass you, I asked her to pass on my apologies for his extremely disgraceful actions. She... cleverly suggested that I tell you myself.”

“Huh.”

“I’m aware of how my father used to act, and I am sorry you had to experience close proximity to him.”

“Mekor doesn’t like his dad,” Molly added, feeling helpful. “He hates Cardassia.”

“I don’t hate Cardassia, Molly. I prefer not to think about it.” He sighed. “How are things on Bajor? Molly speaks fondly of your station.”

“Molly, does your dad know you’re friends with Dukat’s son?”

She didn’t see why that mattered. And even if it did, she was an adult, and could make her own decisions about her friendships. “Uh, no. I tell him about my Cardassian friend Mekor a lot, but Dukat isn’t even his last name anymore.”

“Yek, right?”

“Yes, that is a fraction of my husband’s name that I chose to replace my surname.” Saint waved his arms. “No, darling, it is not part of your name. Parasitoids don’t have surnames, and your father requested that we following his people’s naming tradition.” The boy slumped, arms going limp.

Nerys still looked wary, but Molly was sure that with a little bit of effort, she could get her aunt to like her friend. But... She was getting tired. Folding her arms on her computer console, she put down her head. She heard Saint coo at her as she drifted to sleep, and Mekor saying, “Goodness, she always does this.”

“Goodnight, Molly.”

“And you just let me call Admiral Kira?” Molly almost shrieked, as Mekor told her what had happened while they ate breakfast together. A few people stared, someone laughed. “I don’t remember that at all!”

“After you fell asleep, we had a rather pleasant conversation, once I assured her that I meant you no harm, and that you were the one who chose to intoxicate yourself.” He poked at the Cardassian meal he was eating. “I told her all about you.”

“God...”

“She seems like a respectable woman. I can see why my father pursued her.” She glared at him, and he gave her a small smile. “A joke. Nevertheless, we did have a nice chat. Saint grew tired, so I bid her farewell and put you to bed before returning home.”

“Was Yek upset that you were late?”

“Oh, he whined like a needy child that had been abandoned.”

“How long did he whine this time?”

“I wouldn’t know. I shut off my translator and went to bed.”

Molly saw someone headed their way. “Speak of the devil.”

Four hands clasped Mekor’s shoulders and arms, and a helmeted head ducked down next to his. “Hello, Mekor! Are you ready to go to work with me? That new virus from the binary system won’t study itself! It’s begun mutating in response to that cell specimen you added to it.”

“So quickly? Has it permeated the cell membranes yet?””

Molly noticed that Saint was hanging onto his father’s back. She waved to him, and he waved back. Mekor got up. “Leaving so soon?”

“My apologies, Molly. We’ll have a proper breakfast tomorrow.”

“Maybe I’ll swing by the infirmary if I don’t have too much to do in the lab.”

“Sorry to steal him away, Ensign O’Brien!” Yek dipped his head in apology. Saint squeaked as he almost fell off, and Mekor grabbed him. “Oops. Sorry, son.”

#uss nobility and crew #oblio's fics #molly o'brien #mekor dukat #star trek ocs #sorry if this doesn't make sense or is confusing lmao i promise i will add other parts to explain things. since this is about 2 years into #their exploration mission #Dr. Yek was created Just so i could shove my knowledge of parasitoids into a character and make a nice but creepy wasp husband

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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Prompt? Garak and Parmak are in exile and happily together on DS9. How does their wooing of Bashir go?

OT3 humor (plus my Bolian OC) coming up!

First Contact

“Are you sure it isn’t suppose to be The Fornby Project?” Parmak had asked the question innocently enough to the Bolian completing the set up of goods right outside the entry to the shop. The newcomer had enlisted Parmak’s help in hanging the mysterious curtain leading to the shop inside. That comment unfortunately had seemed to put up a wall between their positive interaction following as the Bolian, Ziw Tralar informed him sounding annoyed that the “other skinny overly pedantic doctor” had said the same. Parmak wasn’t quite sure what other doctor that was until he learned later of another Federation transfer expected to join him. Parmak had tried to apologize for any slight. He’d been trying to work on his Federation Standard starting with the basics and he thought he remembered that words used some sort of “the”, “a”, “an” or something. His vocabulary was sadly eons behind.

Ziw had given him a measured look when they finished deciding with a bit of a strange expression that even if Parmak was apparently just as ill mannered as every other Cardassian he’d ever met, at least he had the decent to appear contrite, so he gifted him with several books. First and foremost was a book that Ziw assured him was full of useful old Standard greetings that he should take note of. Parmak had discovered to his delight while offering his assistance that the eccentric “Fornby Project” a few stores down from Garak’s, contained a wide variety of old books. The old texts were one of his true loves though Garak often despaired at the volume of Parmak’s “collection”.

Parmak was curious about the new medical team as he later parsed the book of idioms. He knew that the Federation was bringing a medical team per protocol but he had yet to meet any of them. He didn’t exactly see the need for them protocols aside. Nurse Jabara too had commented on the Federation thinking they were the only power in the quadrant capable of diplomacy. Parmak laughed as she said it, being that she was currently performing a check up on one of the Starfleet ensigns. While Parmak agreed, he had to politely demur. It was the logical assumption that there would be resentment from the Bajorans directed towards the two Cardassians on station, especially a doctor. Still, it would have been nice had anyone thought to ask his patients what they thought.

As far as the Bajorans and previous Cardassian occupiers knew, Parmak and Garak were both exiles due to their anti occupation leanings and revolutionary activities. That may have been true in Parmak’s case, but Garak rather was only there because he refused flat out to torture his lover even under threat of death. Death for Garak would have been preferable to exile but well, at least they had managed to foster rather positive working relationships with everyone on station. Even if Garak was quite vocal in private on how irritating it was to hear the constant racial slander always followed by “but of course you and Doctor Parmak are nothing like them.”

“Do you get fries with that shake?” Parmak puzzles over that one in present time, repeating the words, checking his diction against the computer. It’s a Federation System and takes some getting used to, but he and Garak have been adapting.

“Are you still at that?” he hears Garak ask, coming into the room looking particularly well put together. Hmm, it seems Garak too has caught wind of the new Federation Doctor. From some of the gossip around the station that Parmak’s heard, the new Chief Medical Officer Doctor Julian Bashir is a young handsome man with no known attachments. One of his and Garak’s former partners, a dashing and considerate young Bajoran named Teja, was keen to let him know with a suggestive wink that the doctor was definitely “their type”.

“Are you an angel? Because you must have fallen from heaven…” Parmak mumbles to himself, repeating the sounds as best as he can. Yes, he absolutely is “still at that”. Thirty six hours from learning of Doctor Bashir, and finally seeing a picture hasn’t been nearly enough time to gain proficiency in a new language but it absolutely is enough time to try and memorize a few greetings from the old book. It took him just that long to understand the thing they call romanized script well enough to pronounce the words. He’ll leave the definitions for later. Perhaps Doctor Bashir can teach them…

“Did you hear that he’s a xenobiologist?” Parmak asks, looking up to Garak with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pushes his glasses back up on his face. Garak snorts as he sits down and neatly plucks the book from Parmak’s hands idly thumbing through it. “Do you suppose that it ah… has the same implications as it does back home?” That gives Garak pause as he checks to make sure he’s holding the book the proper way.

“You realize Kelas, and forgive me if this sounds uncharitable, that the primary cause of the xenobiology field becoming synonymous with ‘alien fucker’ back home originated solely with you.”

“I think you’re giving me far too much credit, Elim,” Parmak replies, absently toying with the end of his long braid. “I noticed you’re wearing one of your new pieces. Were you planning on going somewhere without me?”

“I am aware that you have no true appreciation for the craft of subtlety, but I thought perhaps a little reconnaissance might be in order.” Garak holds up the book pointing to the shortest phrase on the page. Parmak is still somewhat mystified that Federation Standard has so many types of greetings, and he’s been somewhat at a loss to decide on the best one. The Bolian had informed him primly that since he had “all the answers” where Federation Standard was concerned he could very well figure it out for himself. “This is the shortest one so it might be the easiest to recall.”

“Is that supposed to be a slight on my age?” Parmak asks snatching the book back, giving Garak a smack on the knee with it.

“I would hardly cache your age as slight,” Garak answers with a tug to Parmak’s long, white, plait of hair. Parmak pauses, reading that fire in Garak’s expression trying not to smile. Garak had used to lament that his ability to properly engage in a good bit of flirtatious banter was permanently damaged from all of his off world fraternizing, but Parmak has had a good several years now to work on it with his husband. He gives Garak’s stomach a little poke in return.

“Mmm, we shouldn’t speak then of things that aren’t slight,” he answers, letting a book drop a moment. It’s all lies and misdirection. Garak is delightfully thick, and Parmak was born with white hair, but it’s fun.

Perhaps there’s a renewed vigor between them as well, when Parmak decides that Garak’s dapper new creation deserves a bit of dishevelment and they both agree that Doctor Bashir can wait one more day before a proper introduction.

---

“It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it?” Garak asks as soon as he sidles up to the table, Parmak hovering just off to the side. Parmak thinks the young human is at least twice as easy on the eyes as Teja had said. Really, Parmak is surprised that Teja didn’t go after the doctor himself but Parmak has never been one to question good fortune. He remains smiling politely, sadly not dressed anywhere near as smartly dressed for his shift later, as Garak continues. “Of course it is. May I introduce myself?”

Parmak notices that the doctor’s eyes get wide, the size of dilated dinner plates as he looks between the two of them. Oh dear, perhaps Teja had been spreading stories after all.

“Uh yes… yes of course,” Doctor Bashir answers not looking the least bit excited. Parmak wishes he didn’t look so nervous because it’s making Parmak nervous and Garak just soldiers on his usual engaging self. It’s entirely unfair, he thinks as he tries to recall any of the dozen phrases he’d memorized out of the book the last few days.

He notices that Garak is also taking a seat, taking the lead in this, and taking Parmak into the deep waters where he usually doesn’t tread. Well really, if Garak had wanted to work alone he could’ve said something, because now that Parmak recalls the earlier conversation, Garak had likely only passive aggressively agreed.

“My name is Garak; Cardassian by birth, obviously. This is my husband Kelas,” comes seemingly as an afterthought, leaving Parmak to shuffle around, push his glasses back up, and try and decide if he ought to steal another chair from somewhere or just sit on Garak’s lap.

“We’re the only two of us left on the station, as a matter of fact. So we appreciate making new friends when we can.” Garak looks up to him now, clearly passing this bit off to him and he sort of wants to get close enough to step on Garak’s foot because this is all so sudden and he doesn’t have half of Garak’s charm or ease of tongue. Doctor Bashir is also still completely ill at ease which is clearly amusing Garak but only making Parmak’s inclination towards empathy entirely out of sorts. Garak is expectant, needling him even further with that wicket serpent’s grin. “Oh come now, my dear Kelas, don’t be so shy. I know you were just aching to introduce yourself to Doctor Bashir without the - what did you call it? - formal trappings of the office?”

Garak is radiating smug at that easy lie, and Parmak is going to kill him tonight, doctor’s oath be damned. He clears his throat, sure his smile doesn’t look nearly as coy or practiced as Garak’s as he stammers and tries to remember everything he’d taught himself and picked up from Ziw.

“Perhaps you might take the opportunity to demonstrate one of the charming little phrases you’ve been working so hard on. You really should hear him, doctor. My Kelas has the delightful dulcet tones of an Andorran songbird.” A songbird who’s going to peck Garak’s eyes out, Parmak decides as his eyes dart everywhere but Julian’s face as he tries to pull something out of that blank page.

By some miracle of the ancients, his eyes catch one of Julian’s black shoes from under the table, bringing forth, as Garak had suggested from the outset the simplest and shortest phrase that he’d memorized so far. Well then, they’re going to see who looks stupid now when Parmak beams at Julian and slams both hands on the table just as Ziw had taught him by way of greeting.

“Nice shoes!” Parmak exclaims, hoping that his cadence and tone are at least passable. “Wanna fuck?”

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ezrisdax-archive · 7 years

Note

prompt: surprise date while working late (maybe with a ds9 pairing??)

send me a pairing + a valentines day prompt

The operations center was quiet, the gamma shift had startedand while normally Kira would have been on the alpha shift she’d switched thatnight for a Bajoran security friend who wanted to spend some holiday with theirhuman loved one.

It meant that she hadn’t seen most of her friends all daythough. Sisko and Kassidy had left the station for Bajor that afternoon, Milesand Keiko were on a holosuite date, Bashir was most likely arguing overliterature with Garak, and Jadzia was nowhere to be found. She was probably atQuark’s watching the nightly debate between Odo and Quark.

Even Nog and Jake weren’t running around the Promenade,which at first made her suspicious due to old habits but she was sure that Nog’sStarfleet training would stop them from getting into any major trouble.

She looked over the screens once more, noting the amount ofdocks taken up in case someone arrived at the station with an emergency. Shewas about to request that dock five be cleared up when her screen was coveredby a basket.

Kira looked up to see Jadzia grinning at her.

“What’s this?” Kira poked at the basket, lifting the cornerof the blanket on top to see what was underneath.

Jadzia pushed her hand away while tsking, “It’s for a humantradition, a picnic. See humans celebrate this day as being a loving holiday. Iwas quite fond of it whenever I visited earth.” Jadzia sighed, lost in somememory from her older lives, “I once went on one with Doctor McCoy.”

“And this matters now because…?” Kira asked, slightlybemused but she knew that if she let Jadzia fall into the memory she’d behearing about it all night.

“It matters because that’s what we’re going to be doing. Apicnic date.” Jadzia lifted the basket once more, “Benjamin helped me cook andconvinced the Chief to let me have some of his real wine.” She pulled theblanket off the top and spread it out on the ground behind Kira though it was atough fit.

Jadzia sat down with her legs tucked under and Kira realizedthat she wasn’t in her Starfleet uniform, instead Jadzia had dawned a bluedress that made her eyes stand out more than usual.

“You realize I’m on duty.”

“It’s a boring night.” Jadzia waved her hand and then pulledout dishes of food from the basket, “Besides, Nerys,” She looked up, eyes twinklingas she used Kira’s given name, “This is a day you spend with loved ones.”

“Not on Bajor it isn’t.” Kira muttered but somehow stillended up taking a seat.

“There’s an old human saying ‘when in Rome’.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that you adapt to the place that you’re in andenjoy the culture there. Right now we’re on a space station run by Starfleetwhich is largely human.” Jadzia was grinning again, “So enjoy yourself. And don’tworry, I did ask the security team to keep an eye on things.”

“Looks like you’ve got this all covered.” Kira noted, shesmiled at the rich smell of spiced Klemmen. “And since you got Sisko’s help Iknow it’s edible.”

“Well, I don’t have everything covered just yet.” Jadzialeaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Kira’s lips. “Now I think I do.”

Rather than roll her eyes at Jadzia’s lines Kira laughed, itwas going to be a good night she could tell.

#kiradax #jadzia dax #kira nerys #xsarahx #femslash february #beej writes #kiradax fic #femslash february 2017 #trek femslash

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