The Serpent and the Hawk 5/6 (DS9)
TITLE: The Serpent and the Hawk
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Ziyal's brutal death unites Gul Dukat and Major Kira in ways neither of them expected.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART FOUR
Their kiss was as gentle as a summer shower.
What followed burned hotter than a furnace, driving them to a blazing, torrid finish.
As his lips pressed against hers, Dukat felt Kira release his hand and encircle his waist, pulling him closer. Now both his hands were cradling her face, the heels exerting a gentle pressure just below her ears to lift her face as his fingers entwined themselves in her hair.
In her Bajoran military-issue boots, she was several centimeters shorter than him, but in her bare feet, with him in his boots, she was so tiny he feared hurting her, yet he had to bend his neck so far it was beginning to ache. She must have somehow sensed his discomfort, because she suddenly stood on the tips of her toes, digging her fingers into the flesh at his hips for support, and kissed him with greater fervor. His hands slid down her neck, across her shoulders and down her arms to her waist, where they circled around until they rested against her bottom. Then he felt the pressure of her lips against his slacken, and she dropped back down to her normal height as she leaned against his embrace.
Disturbed, Dukat opened his eyes. Much to his delight, the large brown eyes staring back at him were filled with desire and longing. One of her hands snaked up his chest and she fingered the hollow at the base of his throat. He swallowed reflexively as she licked her lips.
Kira gave him a come-hither smile as she indicated with a slight movement of her head that they should probably take this to another room. His eyes widened in agreement; it would not be a good thing if someone caught them in flagrante. He let her lead him by the hand to her bedroom, where she closed the door behind him and leaned against it, a passionate and predatory gleam in her eyes.
Nothing needed to be said.
He took just long enough to remove his boots - without the shin guards, it was only a matter of stepping out of them - before leaping to possess her. His lips, her lips, his hands, her hands, were all a blur as they struggled to bring their bodies into complete contact.
Her hands were kneading his neck ridges while she nibbled his lower lip, sending little tremors of pleasure down his jawline and up to the tips of his ears. He arched his back and pressed his now-damp groin against hers, rotating his hips slightly to give her the full benefit of his arousal, while one hand stroked her breasts and the other played with her earring. Her deep sigh evoked a similar reply from him and he pressed even closer, pinning her against the door. Her throaty chuckle was accompanied by her hips grinding against his own.
A low rumble of laughter shook his chest at her shamelessness. How unlike a Cardassian woman. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
While one of her hands continued to explore his neck ridges, the other brushed down between them and across his chest, rubbing against the pattern of his scale growth until he could no longer bear the alternating sensations of pleasure and pain. He captured both her hands in his and held them above her head against the door, his fingers entwined with hers, as he tried to regain a modicum of control.
In retaliation, she began undulating against him, arching her back to push her breasts against his chest ridges. He pulled his mouth free of her teeth and nuzzled her neck, growling and nipping and kissing with abandon as tiny sobs of pleasure escaped from her half-open mouth.
In this position, with her arms raised above her head and his nose buried in her neck, the aroma of her pheromones was potent, and his grip on her hands slackened in response. Then one of her hands broke free and slipped around his waist to tug his shirt out of his trousers. She turned her head and nipped at his ear ridge as those warm fingers found his dorsal ridge and began tracing each knobbed scale. He groaned, loudly, and released her other hand to bring both of his hands down to her ribcage.
His mouth moved to her unadorned ear, his tongue exploring all its contours, and as her free hand massaged his scalp she --
What the --?
She was humming. His attention to her ear required him to crane his neck at an odd angle, and she had used that to her advantage by tilting her chin just enough to brush her lips across the hollow at the base of his throat and then start humming and murmuring tunelessly against his flesh. He could feel the vibrations of her mouth against his throat echoing through his gullet, evoking an exquisitely placed responding reverberation in his groin. He turned his head away from her ear to touch his lips to her nose ridges. Her lips were now pressed against the slight bulge in his throat his people called the Hebitian heart, and the delicate tug of her teeth along the taut skin could be felt all the way to his toes.
With his fingers splayed against her back, he could feel her ribs moving as she shifted in his grasp, silently urging his thumbs to caress her breasts. He complied, and she moaned hot breath against him, eliciting a shiver in response.
Her upper hand moved slightly downward, to begin caressing the scales at the back of his neck, while the other hand slipped inside his trousers to knead the tip of his dorsal ridge, a spot so sensitive to Cardassian males that most wore a thick corset underneath their clothing to protect it from unexpected contact. He lacked the customary corset in his present wardrobe, and his entire body shuddered with agonized passion as his mouth returned to hers, his tongue sliding in through her open lips. Now his hands were working feverishly to unhook the fasteners on her blouse, revealing just enough of her smooth skin for his fingers to find their way to her bared breasts.
He felt her lift one of her legs and wrap it around his until her foot rubbed against the back of his knee. Even through the thick cloth of his trousers the touch was electrifying, and he responded by moving his hands down to her bottom and lifting her until both of her legs were entwined around his, her arms around his neck, her mouth latched on to his neck ridge. Moving slowly, so as not to lose his precarious balance, he turned around and walked cautiously forward until he felt the edge of her bed against his legs, then released his grasp and let her back down to the floor. He took a step back, compelling her to pull her arms away from his neck.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Flushed with passion and need - for him - she was beautiful. In the name of whatever spirits governed his life, he loved her. He wanted her.
And now, he would have her.
Her hands reached up to her half-opened blouse and completed the work he had begun. Then she took one of his hands and brought it up to the downy crevice between her breasts, using her fingers to spread his across her sternum. The dual sensations of her smooth skin against his palm and the edges of her blouse brushing against the back of his hand were exquisite, and a hiss escaped his lips. The steady beating of her heart beneath his hand held his fascination until he realized that she had pulled his shirt completely free of his trousers and was now working to release the catch on his waistband. His other hand came up beside the other and they slowly spread up and out toward her shoulders, his fingers lifting the blouse away from her skin and down her arms until gravity pulled it to the floor.
His eyes were riveted to her breasts. So smooth, completely unadorned except for the brown tips, so soft and fleshy as they yielded to the firm pressure of his hands, and so pale next to his darkened gray skin. So different from Cardassian women, Bajoran men had no idea how fortunate they were.
But he knew; oh, yes, he knew.
She had at last managed to open his trousers and was exploring the contents, stroking him to a near-frenzy as she examined his contours with wicked determination. He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand free, guiding it to his shirt. She smiled, understanding his wish, and began opening it, working from the bottom up as he did the same from the top down. Their hands met in the middle and he took both her hands in his and lifted them to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each delicate fingertip until she pulled one hand free and drew the index finger into her own mouth, deliberately tasting the residue of his natural lubricant. He abruptly released her other hand and removed his shirt, oblivious to the tearing sound as it caught on one of his ridges.
As she came into his embrace and skin caressed skin, they both let out a cry of pleasure.
In unison their fingers traced delicate lines up each other's back, hers weaving in and out among the knobs of his dorsal ridge, his following the neat, even valley formed by her spinal column.
His mouth instinctively returned to hers, and he groaned into her as her warm breath filled his lungs. He felt her hands come up his back and grasp his neck ridges from behind; in response, he wiggled his hand down the back of her trousers until his palm was flush against the smooth expanse of her bottom. The other hand returned to the front and stroked her breasts. Then her hands returned to his waistband and began working his trousers free of his hips. His mouth never lost contact with hers as he did the same for her.
In no time they were free of the last physical barrier to their union.
Kira disengaged her mouth from his and climbed on to the bed, rising up on her knees before him. Then she did something no woman had ever done for him before, indelibly marking him with the memory of her unique wicked perversity.
She grasped his hips and placed her warm soft mouth against the knot at the bottom tip of his chest ridges, where he had once received nourishment from his mother's womb, and began kissing and licking and sucking at that spot until his knees were so wobbly he thought he would lose consciousness. As it was, he had his hands wound so tightly in her hair he had to be hurting her, but she did not complain, nor did she stop what she was doing.
Not that he wanted her to stop, especially when he looked down to see her raise an eyebrow up at him just as she nipped at him.
Dukat released his grip on her hair and gently pushed her down on the bed, lowering himself next to her. They now lay side by side, their eyes devouring each other with unquenchable hunger. The blending of their pheromones perfumed the air with their shared desire as once again their hands reached out in need and exploration.
His hand brushed across her round hip, thrilling at the slight spasms of her muscles as his fingers skimmed the surface.
He loved Bajoran hips. Cardassian women were not voluptuous, and not even the whores he had frequented as a young man had the wonderful curved hips that all Bajoran women seemed to have. Kira's hips had been the first thing he noticed about her, the way they blossomed out from her narrow waist and then curved back in to her slender legs. Those first few months after she had given birth to the O'Briens' baby had been the worst, when not even his autoerotic fantasies satisfied his desire, but although her figure was back to its usual trim shape she still had the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. He leaned toward her and caressed the curve of her hip with his mouth as his hand began stroking her bottom and the backs of her thighs.
He felt her muscles clench beneath him as she rolled on to her back and arched up against his mouth. He nibbled and kissed his way across her hip bone, enjoying the sensual motion of her rocking in anticipation as he neared the upper edge of her pubic bone. Her sweet scent was particularly strong here, and he momentarily luxuriated in it, turning his head to rest his cheek against her as his hands smoothed up her hips and rib cage to caress her breasts.
She groaned loudly, arching her back again and grasping his hair with one hand and a neck ridge with the other, urging him on. He smiled and began slowly kissing and licking his way up her abdomen, leaning in to her so she could feel the friction of his chest ridges against her groin. She moaned and pressed into him, rotating her hips against his scaled belly.
His responding moan was muffled by her breast in his mouth.
He released the breast, gave a brief kiss to its mate, and resumed his journey upward. Soon his entire body blanketed hers, and the contact between his rough, scaled flesh and her warm, smooth flesh had him shaking from head to toe with longing. He raised himself up on his hands and looked down on her lovely face.
This was the moment he had been anticipating for years. Once he took this step, there would be no turning back.
He desired her. He needed her. He loved her.
Her eyes opened and looked at him. He saw nothing but desire and longing in them. No fear, no hatred, no disgust.
She smiled at him.
"Yes," she said.
~ * ~
Kira dreamed of flying, her naked body skimming across the surface of Bajor on a warm summer air current.
It was a dream she knew well; it had come to her many times during her adolescence as her still-childlike mind discovered the womanly body she had mysteriously acquired. The dream was often accompanied by strange and exotic sensations in her breasts and groin that left her feeling achy and unfulfilled. Yet even as an adult, when the woman had left the girl far behind, the dream would return to her after a long night of lovemaking with Bareil and, later, Shakaar. But it had been many months - almost a year - since the dream last came to her, and she sighed with contentment as the warm air enveloped her body.
A different sensation, one of a cool breeze brushing against her bare skin, began to draw her out of her dream state, but she did not fight it. The coolness was refreshing as it filled her veins with renewed vigor. Gradually she came fully awake, opening her eyes to find herself lying on her stomach with Dukat on his side next to her, his fingers tracing elaborate designs on her back. She gave him a sleepy smile and stretched, extending her arms past her head as far as they could go, then folding them under her chin.
Dukat returned her smile but said nothing as he continued his delicate examination of her unadorned skin.
"Hmmm," she purred, "that feels good."
She realized that he was observing her reactions as he caressed or tickled or kneaded each part of her, memorizing what brought her pleasure and what did not. She thought about telling him that just the sensation of his alien skin against hers was enough, but she was enjoying his exploration of her too much. Instead she watched him through half-closed lids, wondering if he found as much pleasure in watching her as she did in him.
There was a peculiar expression on his face as he gazed at her that she found both endearing and puzzling. His dilated pupils and darkened scales betrayed his insatiable desire, and there was expectancy evident in his deep-set eyes as he waited for her reaction to his ministrations, but there was something else - in the set of his jaw, perhaps, or his labored breathing - that she could not quite define. She turned her head to get a better look at him, but it was not enough, so she rolled on to her side until she was facing him, resting her head on the crook of her folded arm. He had his head propped up against one hand while the other, which never lost contact with her skin as she moved, now rested on her hip before beginning a new exploration of her curves.
She reached out her free hand to trace the edges of the ridges on his upper chest, and heard his breath catch in his throat as his chest scales grew noticeably darker.
Hesitance.
That was it; Dukat was tentative. As much as his longing for her obviously threatened to overwhelm his control, he was holding back. But from what?
He had certainly not been hesitant with her for the past couple of hours. Timidity was not in his nature. Although he had not been rough, Dukat had made love to her with all the virile vehemence and vigor she might have expected from Cardassians in general, and Dukat in particular. Yet as violently passionate as it had been, making love with Dukat had been more tender and responsive than anything she could have imagined. His unexpectedly affectionate and sensitive side had given her almost as much pleasure as the fervency of the act itself.
Why was he being hesitant now?
Was this sort of gentle touching not common among Cardassian couples?
Had Garak been right? Was Dukat courting her as a Bajoran man might?
Was Dukat truly in love with her?
Garak had been right about one thing; Dukat had found the way to her heart. Time would tell if she could bring herself to forgive him for what he did to Bajor, but in the interim she had come to realize that she did love him.
She loved him. It was that simple.
Kira loved Dukat.
There was only one thing left to be done. It was time to affirm her love for him, to stand before him and, using the steps handed down from generation to generation, to call upon the Prophets and the company of paghs and the elemental spirit of Bajor to bear witness to her affirmation.
It was time to dance the Dance of Eternal Longing.
Kira leaned toward Dukat and wrapped her arm around his ridged neck, pulling him toward her. Gently, tenderly, lovingly she kissed him; first his mouth, then the tip of his nose ridge, then each closed eye, then the hollow in the center of his forehead, then back to his mouth. As her attention focused on his lips he draped an arm and a leg over her, squeezing her as he tried to bring her closer to him. For a moment she acquiesced, and the thrilling sensation of his increasingly damp groin against hers and the inebriating effect of his growing scent in her nose were almost irresistible, but with monumental effort she was able to break off the kiss and move away from him.
His baffled and forlorn expression almost made her laugh as she climbed off the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her shoulders. Tonight she would not honor his innate modesty; she wanted to see all of him as she gave him this most precious of gifts. Tonight there would be nothing hidden between them.
And so, with the light of three moons guiding her steps, Major Kira Nerys began to dance for Gul Dukat.
* ~ *
One step at a time.
Kira was unaccustomed to expressing herself in such a stylized and symbolic manner, and her first movements were clumsy and tentative. As she focused her thoughts on the traditional meaning of the dance, however, her limbs became imbued with what could only be defined as a prophetically-inspired grace, and she was soon aware only of Dukat's rapt attention.
The basic steps, as Chivas Panat had described them twenty years ago, were quite simple, but highly symbolic: one foot in contact with the ground at all times, to represent the dancer's fidelity to Bajor; eyes open, indicating her willingness to receive inspiration and guidance from the Prophets; one arm extended toward the Celestial Temple, the palm bent up with the fingers slightly cupped, prepared to receive the Orb of Eternal Life; the other arm pointed toward her audience, with two fingers pointed directly at him and the others turned in to point back at her.
The movement of the feet was entirely up to the dancer, for it was in the steps she chose that she imbued the Dance of Eternal Longing with her unique personality. Kira had done some research on her trip to the capital city and found an old file describing the Cardassian Imperial Waltz. It was a modest but elegant quadrille box-step moving through a series of trapezoidal patterns, and Kira was easily able to memorize the basic pattern. She had not originally intended to put her information to use in this manner, but now it seemed the most appropriate thing to do.
His understanding, and subsequent approval, was immediately evident.
Kira had feared that Dukat would fail to recognize what she was trying to express, that he would see her movements only as a seduction, and not as an effort to put into movement what she was not yet prepared to put into words. The Dance of Eternal Longing was neither about sex nor love; it was a revelation of the purest, most simple intimacy that can exist between a man and a woman and an expression of the need that masquerades as both love and hatred, driving one to hurt and heal in the same moment, scorching hatred and love onto the pagh in a single, eternally infinite point of darkness and light.
The Dance of Eternal Longing was intended to reduce both the dancer and her audience to their most primitive, instinctual selves. By dancing for him, Kira was inviting Dukat to shed his Cardassian skin just as she would shed her Bajoran skin, so that nothing but the most basic bond would unite them.
But would Dukat understand? Was there hope for his stony Cardassian heart?
Kira took a quick glance at Dukat's face, which beheld her with such an expression of awe and longing it was almost unrecognizable as the same reptilian face that had haunted her dreams for years. She could almost see his dampness from where she stood, and his scales were hued such a dark charcoal gray that she inhaled sharply through her nose, nearly choking on her own breath as the powerful scent of his pheromones filled her lungs. The blood pounded in her ears.
She saw Dukat's scales grow even darker, and the sheen that permeated his groin began to spread across his abdomen and thighs. She longed to go to him, to taste that delightfully salty moisture, to press her hands against it and rub it across her skin, but the tradition of the dance demanded that he come to her, driven to such frenzied agony that he shed all inhibitions and opened himself up to the most primitive instinct in all creation. Encouraged by Dukat's unwavering gaze, Kira began to modify the waltz with a few steps from Bajoran folk dances. She moved to a faster tempo as she twirled along an imaginary elliptic, then stopped, stamped her feet eight times, and took several long strides forward until she was just beyond his grasp, undulating her hips in a circular motion as she stepped away from him.
His long pink tongue snaked out of that wondrous and cruel mouth, licking his lips. Kira almost froze in her tracks. She had to turn her back on him before she lost control, but his anguished groan only made her already ragged breathing even more so. He was torturously close, she knew, and she was desperate to end the waiting and possess his body as he had possessed hers. Only her fierce determination enabled her to keep her eyes open.
Her arms ached mercilessly, but she fought to keep them in position. Holding her arms away from her body served to promote the production of adrenaline, thus severing rational inhibition from primitive need, and to enhance the flow of blood around her groin and abdomen. She could feel it working: her belly felt as though it was on fire, and she was growing increasingly light-headed.
She sensed movement just beyond her range of vision and turned to see Dukat moving toward her. When she had first begun to dance, he had arranged himself in a sitting position, his back resting against the wall, one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee, his arms pulling it toward his chest. Now he had shifted to his hands and knees and was crawling towards her, his deep-set eyes piercing her with a look that a month ago would have terrified her, but now had her trembling so violently she could no longer move.
With heat in her belly and ice in her veins, Kira watched Dukat approach her, his long scaled limbs coiled beneath him, his neck ridges standing out like the hood on a cobra.
Dukat was crawling.
Kira felt giddy with power. Power over Dukat. Power to control her destiny. Power to confront her fears.
From the moment they met, Kira's relationship with Dukat had revolved around power and who wielded it. For years, Dukat has seemingly held the upper hand, flaunting his former role as Prefect of Bajor in the face of her lifelong hatred of Cardassians to keep her off-balance. Then Chance - or prophetic design - had revealed to her a side of Dukat she had never imagined possible, a side that was vulnerable, needy and bereaved. From the moment Kira saw him in mourning at the gravesite of his former mistress, she assumed control, because in revealing so much of himself to her, Dukat relinquished his claim to power.
Although she did not realize it at the time, that was the moment he fell in love with her.
The sight of him on his hands and knees, submitting himself to her, however, opened her eyes to the startling, undeniable reality that he loved her. He loved her because she represented his only hope for forgiveness and redemption.
The dance had served its purpose; it had eliminated all of their layers of subterfuge and hatred and doubt and pain, leaving them wholly naked before each other, Dukat begging forgiveness, Kira yearning to bestow it.
Kira's fingers grasped the Orb as Dukat rose from the bed and took her in his arms.
~ * ~
damn bajoran sensuality
That was the only rational thought running through Dukat's mind as he watched Kira dance for him. The innate aesthetic sensibility of Bajorans, coupled with their willingness to embrace physical sensations with the same respect they accorded their ancient superstition, had been both his and Cardassia's undoing.
damn them damn their eroticism damn kiras beauty damn me for enjoying it
Cardassia had once been as spiritual as Bajor, and her people had been as openly sensual as the Bajorans, devoting their lives to the welcome pleasures of the physical universe. Then Cardassia's guiding spirits abandoned her, leaving her people to die wretched and starving wherever they fell, too weak even to beg for food. In retaliation, the Cardassians had turned their hearts away from spiritual and sensual matters, focusing only on whatever was necessary to stay alive. It was not long before the new military leaders realized that Bajor was the key to Cardassia's survival.
damn bajor damn the prophets damn cardassia
How ironic, Dukat had often thought in more sensible moments, that Cardassia had sought salvation in a world as freely spiritual and sensual as she had once been. At times he even wondered if perhaps the Prophets had lured Cardassia to Bajor, either to entice her to return to her old ways, or to destroy her for her infidelity.
damn kira damn me
If the goal of the Prophets was to destroy him, by luring him to imminent defeat with this beautiful, sensual woman, then so be it. It was a defeat - a death, perhaps - he would readily accept.
damn the dance of eternal longing
Dukat knew what the Dance of Eternal Longing signified, and although several of his mistresses had danced for him, Kira was the first, after Naprem, to adhere to the ritual movements. Not so long ago he thought he would never forget the night Naprem had danced for him; it was the night of Ziyal's conception. Now that precious memory was slowly being eradicated from his subconscious by a new dancer, a dancer who had sacrificed and lost everything to him - to his people's need to avenge the loss of their spirituality - and yet was willing to give him this priceless gift. He had lost and regained and lost far more than she ever had.
She still had her Prophets. All he had was her.
Kira loved him.
More importantly, she had forgiven him. Someday, he would have to ask her why. Today, however, he would revel in this wondrous moment, when all that had transpired between them had been washed away.
His chest was filled with a strange aching sensation, as if he were being simultaneously filled and emptied with a peculiar mixture of burning and freezing that left his scales bristling and his groin throbbing. Pain and pleasure struggled to dominate his rational mind, demanding that he surrender to the abyss of his longing.
Kira turned to look at him, and the fire he saw burning in her eyes quenched any discipline that might have remained. The sweet aroma of her pheromones filled the room, and he licked his lips, trying to catch that tantalizing taste on his tongue. The color drained from her face and she faltered before turning away from him. He cried out in agony as the muscles around his groin spasmed in anticipation and desire. After six years of lusting after her, only to be tortured so exquisitely. He wanted Kira. He needed Kira. She belonged to him.
He belonged to her. She had conquered him, taken possession of him...and then set him free.
Every fiber of his being longed to be with her. His arms ached to hold her to his chest...to feel her smooth breasts rubbing against his scales as his hands caressed her torso, her curved bottom, her shoulders, her dainty throat, the sensitive area between her thighs where her intoxicating scent was its most potent...to touch his lips to hers and feel her warm breath in his mouth as her teeth nibbled the tip of his tongue...to taste her hair...to trace his tongue across her nose ridges...to nip at her ear as she pressed her nose against his throat...to taste her flesh as he ran his tongue over her shoulder, across her collarbone and down to her breasts, where he would suckle like a hungry infant, and then kiss each delicate rib in turn...to hear her respond to him with cries and gasps of pleasure...to see the beads of perspiration appear on the surface of her skin and draw their sweet moisture into his mouth...to feel her fingers caress his most sensitive spots as she blew that luxuriously hot breath of hers across his scales...to massage his groin against her until she was bathed in his lubricant...to writhe...and groan...and twist...and sigh...and shudder...and cry out in unison....
To become one with her. To forget Ziyal, and Naprem, and Cardassia, and begin anew with Kira.
Dukat moved to the end of the bed and drew his legs beneath him, waiting for the right moment. She stopped dancing and watched him, her fiery brown eyes boring into him. Neither of them moved, except for the heaving of her chest that he matched with his own deep, uneven breaths. He felt like ice and fire, his skin chilled by the night air but his veins flooded with molten lava. Every muscle strained for release. His scales were fairly crackling with electricity.
He saw the flash in her eyes that only a month ago would have meant danger. Tonight it was his invitation. As he stood to pull her to him, his lips parted and a guttural hiss silenced anything she might have had to say. There would be ample opportunity for words later.
~ * ~
Following a series of events so fevered she could not piece them back together in sequential order, Kira found herself leaning against a pillow at the opposite end of the bed from where Dukat reclined. His lean frame was stretched full-length so that one of his feet brushed casually against her shoulder as his strong fingers expertly massaged her calf muscles.
She had never before had the opportunity - or wish - to study Cardassian feet, and she noted with no small amount of surprise and amusement that Dukat's toes were webbed. Large gray plates, the patterns uninterrupted by the ridges that decorated his upper body, covered his legs. His broad, fleet feet, however, were covered with tiny opalescent scales growing so closely together their surface was almost as smooth as her own skin. Kira brushed the edge of her finger across the sole. Dukat's leg jerked reflexively, and a strangled laugh sent him into a fit of choking and sputtering. She looked at him with concern and curiosity as he continued to cough and gasp.
At last the fit passed. He looked at her with a sheepish grin. "Please don't do that again. I'm - My feet are rather sensitive."
Now it was Kira's turn to grin. "Ticklish, hm?" she teased, wrapping her fingers as far around his foot as she could. "I'll have to remember that for future reference. Information like that could come in handy someday."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before causing trouble for Bajor or the station, otherwise I might just have to strap you to an interrogation bench and...." She let her voice trail off.
"Next time, I'll just have to be sure I don't get caught."
She arched her eyebrows at him. "Oh, I think I might be able to lure you into a trap."
Dukat's eyes darkened, and for a moment Kira regretted her teasing. Even as the heat of their lovemaking still filled her veins, she could not forget just how dangerous and mercurial Dukat could be. She watched him purse his lips in thought, then he exclaimed, "Nerys, what am I going to do with you?"
That was not what she had been expecting to hear, and she was not quite sure how to respond. What did he mean by that? She decided to interpret it as more of his teasing; even at the height of his ardor, he had refrained from using her given name. "Kill me? It's the only way to keep your secret safe."
Her small smile faded as he twisted his body around until he was lying on his stomach next to her, his chin resting in his hands as he gazed up into her face. "Believe me, I've thought about it many times over the years. I should have had you executed for the Vaatrick murder. A lot of secrets would have died with you then, and I'd have been saved years of humiliation and heartbreak."
At first, the mention of her role in the collaborator's murder sent a chill through Kira's body, but then the underlying meaning of Dukat's words hit her. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and gently traced her fingers along his dorsal ridge. He closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and bent his head so his brow rested against the heels of his hands.
"You might never have found Ziyal if you had executed me," she said softly.
"No," he said. His voice was muffled. "I could have spent the rest of my life in the ignorant belief that she had died when the Ravenok disappeared. I wouldn't have lost my rank and my wife, I wouldn't have turned pirate during the war with the Klingons, and I probably wouldn't have signed an alliance with the Dominion. Face it, Major, you've managed to accomplish your one goal in life: you've destroyed Cardassia."
Her voice was gentle. "So you're saying that this is all my fault?"
He shook his head. "Oh, Nerys, why couldn't you have just died, like everyone else I've ever loved?"
Although Dukat's oblique confession that he loved her deeply affected Kira, his narcissistically morbid mood was beginning to irk her. "Your wife is still alive, isn't she?"
There was a short bark of laughter, and he tossed up his head to roll his eyes at her. "My wife and I never loved each other. The only things we had in common were my career and our children." Kira gave him a puzzled frown, and he grinned back at her before rolling on to his back and lacing his fingers across his chest. "It was an arranged marriage. My mother comes from an ancient and honorable family, with bloodlines that claim to go back to the Hebitian emperors. When my father was executed for...treason...the political and social fallout was pretty severe, and I probably would have spent my life as a petty bureaucrat in some government office on Cardassia IV if Mother couldn't find a suitably prominent family to marry me into. She pulled so many strings to get my future mother-in-law to consent to the match it's a wonder she didn't incite a class rebellion. On our wedding night, my wife made it very clear that she thought I was beneath her notice, and that she had agreed to marry me only to absolve my mother's family name of the shame my father had brought upon it. She stayed with me as long as she did because my career seemed to be on the fast track for a ranking position at Central Command and, well, you know why she finally left me."
One hand went up to trace the distinctive mark above his nose, and his chest filled and deflated with a heavy sigh. Kira was mesmerized by the moonlight reflecting off his scales as he breathed. She placed her palm flat against his abdomen, thrilling at the vague rasping sensation of the edges of his scales brushing against her hand. His other hand slid down his chest to clasp hers, his thumb tickling at her palm as his finger traced the same design that stood out from his brow on the top of her hand. Then his hand moved up her arm, tugging slightly until she moved closer to him and rested her head on his chest, their linked hands held against her cheek, the fingers of his other hand running through her hair.
"I had forgotten about the stamina and...enthusiasm...of Bajoran women," Dukat murmured.
Kira let a breathy laugh out through her nose and felt Dukat's diaphragm expand and contract beneath her as he responded in kind. "Is your age finally catching up with you?" she asked.
"I'm not that old, Kira." His hand moved from her hair to caress her bare shoulder. "I was merely going to comment on the fact that we have been at...this...all night, and that it is nearly dawn. It's been a very long time since I spent an entire night in such a pleasant manner."
"You mean, having a Bajoran woman begging for mercy?" She had not meant her remark to come out sounding as bitter and acrimonious as it did to her, and she immediately regretted saying it.
"I believe, Major, that your memory of recent events is confused. If I recall correctly, it was I who was begging you for mercy, not the other way around." He was silent for a moment, and Kira hoped that he had let her unintentionally caustic tone pass. Then he said, "Kira, why must you continue to make everything that passes between us into a battle? Why can't you just let bygones be bygones? I thought - I had hoped - that after learning what a good lover I can be you would finally accept that I'm not the monster you insist I am. Apparently you've proved me wrong yet again."
His voice revealed no sense of blame or resentment, but Kira knew it simmered just beneath the surface of his scales. Unfortunately, she could not think of anything to say to take away the sting of her remark. She knew that she had finally forgiven him for the horrors of the Occupation, but she was not yet able to admit that to him. She doubted she ever would tell him. She loved him, but love was not enough. It was the Dukat who had been betrayed by a trusted officer, broken in spirit, bereaved of his beloved daughter, nearly killed in a shuttle crash, and forced to depend on her for survival that she loved; not the Dukat who had once ruled Bajor with an iron fist, who had harassed and leered at and propositioned her for years, who had invited the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant. The gentle Dukat she loved. Could she also love the cruel Dukat?
"Ah, well," he said, mirroring her own dark thoughts, "I should have known this wouldn't work." His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. "Oh Nerys, why couldn't you have just died like everyone else I've loved?"
PART SIX
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Ziyal's brutal death unites Gul Dukat and Major Kira in ways neither of them expected.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
PART FOUR
Their kiss was as gentle as a summer shower.
What followed burned hotter than a furnace, driving them to a blazing, torrid finish.
As his lips pressed against hers, Dukat felt Kira release his hand and encircle his waist, pulling him closer. Now both his hands were cradling her face, the heels exerting a gentle pressure just below her ears to lift her face as his fingers entwined themselves in her hair.
In her Bajoran military-issue boots, she was several centimeters shorter than him, but in her bare feet, with him in his boots, she was so tiny he feared hurting her, yet he had to bend his neck so far it was beginning to ache. She must have somehow sensed his discomfort, because she suddenly stood on the tips of her toes, digging her fingers into the flesh at his hips for support, and kissed him with greater fervor. His hands slid down her neck, across her shoulders and down her arms to her waist, where they circled around until they rested against her bottom. Then he felt the pressure of her lips against his slacken, and she dropped back down to her normal height as she leaned against his embrace.
Disturbed, Dukat opened his eyes. Much to his delight, the large brown eyes staring back at him were filled with desire and longing. One of her hands snaked up his chest and she fingered the hollow at the base of his throat. He swallowed reflexively as she licked her lips.
Kira gave him a come-hither smile as she indicated with a slight movement of her head that they should probably take this to another room. His eyes widened in agreement; it would not be a good thing if someone caught them in flagrante. He let her lead him by the hand to her bedroom, where she closed the door behind him and leaned against it, a passionate and predatory gleam in her eyes.
Nothing needed to be said.
He took just long enough to remove his boots - without the shin guards, it was only a matter of stepping out of them - before leaping to possess her. His lips, her lips, his hands, her hands, were all a blur as they struggled to bring their bodies into complete contact.
Her hands were kneading his neck ridges while she nibbled his lower lip, sending little tremors of pleasure down his jawline and up to the tips of his ears. He arched his back and pressed his now-damp groin against hers, rotating his hips slightly to give her the full benefit of his arousal, while one hand stroked her breasts and the other played with her earring. Her deep sigh evoked a similar reply from him and he pressed even closer, pinning her against the door. Her throaty chuckle was accompanied by her hips grinding against his own.
A low rumble of laughter shook his chest at her shamelessness. How unlike a Cardassian woman. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
While one of her hands continued to explore his neck ridges, the other brushed down between them and across his chest, rubbing against the pattern of his scale growth until he could no longer bear the alternating sensations of pleasure and pain. He captured both her hands in his and held them above her head against the door, his fingers entwined with hers, as he tried to regain a modicum of control.
In retaliation, she began undulating against him, arching her back to push her breasts against his chest ridges. He pulled his mouth free of her teeth and nuzzled her neck, growling and nipping and kissing with abandon as tiny sobs of pleasure escaped from her half-open mouth.
In this position, with her arms raised above her head and his nose buried in her neck, the aroma of her pheromones was potent, and his grip on her hands slackened in response. Then one of her hands broke free and slipped around his waist to tug his shirt out of his trousers. She turned her head and nipped at his ear ridge as those warm fingers found his dorsal ridge and began tracing each knobbed scale. He groaned, loudly, and released her other hand to bring both of his hands down to her ribcage.
His mouth moved to her unadorned ear, his tongue exploring all its contours, and as her free hand massaged his scalp she --
What the --?
She was humming. His attention to her ear required him to crane his neck at an odd angle, and she had used that to her advantage by tilting her chin just enough to brush her lips across the hollow at the base of his throat and then start humming and murmuring tunelessly against his flesh. He could feel the vibrations of her mouth against his throat echoing through his gullet, evoking an exquisitely placed responding reverberation in his groin. He turned his head away from her ear to touch his lips to her nose ridges. Her lips were now pressed against the slight bulge in his throat his people called the Hebitian heart, and the delicate tug of her teeth along the taut skin could be felt all the way to his toes.
With his fingers splayed against her back, he could feel her ribs moving as she shifted in his grasp, silently urging his thumbs to caress her breasts. He complied, and she moaned hot breath against him, eliciting a shiver in response.
Her upper hand moved slightly downward, to begin caressing the scales at the back of his neck, while the other hand slipped inside his trousers to knead the tip of his dorsal ridge, a spot so sensitive to Cardassian males that most wore a thick corset underneath their clothing to protect it from unexpected contact. He lacked the customary corset in his present wardrobe, and his entire body shuddered with agonized passion as his mouth returned to hers, his tongue sliding in through her open lips. Now his hands were working feverishly to unhook the fasteners on her blouse, revealing just enough of her smooth skin for his fingers to find their way to her bared breasts.
He felt her lift one of her legs and wrap it around his until her foot rubbed against the back of his knee. Even through the thick cloth of his trousers the touch was electrifying, and he responded by moving his hands down to her bottom and lifting her until both of her legs were entwined around his, her arms around his neck, her mouth latched on to his neck ridge. Moving slowly, so as not to lose his precarious balance, he turned around and walked cautiously forward until he felt the edge of her bed against his legs, then released his grasp and let her back down to the floor. He took a step back, compelling her to pull her arms away from his neck.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Flushed with passion and need - for him - she was beautiful. In the name of whatever spirits governed his life, he loved her. He wanted her.
And now, he would have her.
Her hands reached up to her half-opened blouse and completed the work he had begun. Then she took one of his hands and brought it up to the downy crevice between her breasts, using her fingers to spread his across her sternum. The dual sensations of her smooth skin against his palm and the edges of her blouse brushing against the back of his hand were exquisite, and a hiss escaped his lips. The steady beating of her heart beneath his hand held his fascination until he realized that she had pulled his shirt completely free of his trousers and was now working to release the catch on his waistband. His other hand came up beside the other and they slowly spread up and out toward her shoulders, his fingers lifting the blouse away from her skin and down her arms until gravity pulled it to the floor.
His eyes were riveted to her breasts. So smooth, completely unadorned except for the brown tips, so soft and fleshy as they yielded to the firm pressure of his hands, and so pale next to his darkened gray skin. So different from Cardassian women, Bajoran men had no idea how fortunate they were.
But he knew; oh, yes, he knew.
She had at last managed to open his trousers and was exploring the contents, stroking him to a near-frenzy as she examined his contours with wicked determination. He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand free, guiding it to his shirt. She smiled, understanding his wish, and began opening it, working from the bottom up as he did the same from the top down. Their hands met in the middle and he took both her hands in his and lifted them to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each delicate fingertip until she pulled one hand free and drew the index finger into her own mouth, deliberately tasting the residue of his natural lubricant. He abruptly released her other hand and removed his shirt, oblivious to the tearing sound as it caught on one of his ridges.
As she came into his embrace and skin caressed skin, they both let out a cry of pleasure.
In unison their fingers traced delicate lines up each other's back, hers weaving in and out among the knobs of his dorsal ridge, his following the neat, even valley formed by her spinal column.
His mouth instinctively returned to hers, and he groaned into her as her warm breath filled his lungs. He felt her hands come up his back and grasp his neck ridges from behind; in response, he wiggled his hand down the back of her trousers until his palm was flush against the smooth expanse of her bottom. The other hand returned to the front and stroked her breasts. Then her hands returned to his waistband and began working his trousers free of his hips. His mouth never lost contact with hers as he did the same for her.
In no time they were free of the last physical barrier to their union.
Kira disengaged her mouth from his and climbed on to the bed, rising up on her knees before him. Then she did something no woman had ever done for him before, indelibly marking him with the memory of her unique wicked perversity.
She grasped his hips and placed her warm soft mouth against the knot at the bottom tip of his chest ridges, where he had once received nourishment from his mother's womb, and began kissing and licking and sucking at that spot until his knees were so wobbly he thought he would lose consciousness. As it was, he had his hands wound so tightly in her hair he had to be hurting her, but she did not complain, nor did she stop what she was doing.
Not that he wanted her to stop, especially when he looked down to see her raise an eyebrow up at him just as she nipped at him.
Dukat released his grip on her hair and gently pushed her down on the bed, lowering himself next to her. They now lay side by side, their eyes devouring each other with unquenchable hunger. The blending of their pheromones perfumed the air with their shared desire as once again their hands reached out in need and exploration.
His hand brushed across her round hip, thrilling at the slight spasms of her muscles as his fingers skimmed the surface.
He loved Bajoran hips. Cardassian women were not voluptuous, and not even the whores he had frequented as a young man had the wonderful curved hips that all Bajoran women seemed to have. Kira's hips had been the first thing he noticed about her, the way they blossomed out from her narrow waist and then curved back in to her slender legs. Those first few months after she had given birth to the O'Briens' baby had been the worst, when not even his autoerotic fantasies satisfied his desire, but although her figure was back to its usual trim shape she still had the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. He leaned toward her and caressed the curve of her hip with his mouth as his hand began stroking her bottom and the backs of her thighs.
He felt her muscles clench beneath him as she rolled on to her back and arched up against his mouth. He nibbled and kissed his way across her hip bone, enjoying the sensual motion of her rocking in anticipation as he neared the upper edge of her pubic bone. Her sweet scent was particularly strong here, and he momentarily luxuriated in it, turning his head to rest his cheek against her as his hands smoothed up her hips and rib cage to caress her breasts.
She groaned loudly, arching her back again and grasping his hair with one hand and a neck ridge with the other, urging him on. He smiled and began slowly kissing and licking his way up her abdomen, leaning in to her so she could feel the friction of his chest ridges against her groin. She moaned and pressed into him, rotating her hips against his scaled belly.
His responding moan was muffled by her breast in his mouth.
He released the breast, gave a brief kiss to its mate, and resumed his journey upward. Soon his entire body blanketed hers, and the contact between his rough, scaled flesh and her warm, smooth flesh had him shaking from head to toe with longing. He raised himself up on his hands and looked down on her lovely face.
This was the moment he had been anticipating for years. Once he took this step, there would be no turning back.
He desired her. He needed her. He loved her.
Her eyes opened and looked at him. He saw nothing but desire and longing in them. No fear, no hatred, no disgust.
She smiled at him.
"Yes," she said.
~ * ~
Kira dreamed of flying, her naked body skimming across the surface of Bajor on a warm summer air current.
It was a dream she knew well; it had come to her many times during her adolescence as her still-childlike mind discovered the womanly body she had mysteriously acquired. The dream was often accompanied by strange and exotic sensations in her breasts and groin that left her feeling achy and unfulfilled. Yet even as an adult, when the woman had left the girl far behind, the dream would return to her after a long night of lovemaking with Bareil and, later, Shakaar. But it had been many months - almost a year - since the dream last came to her, and she sighed with contentment as the warm air enveloped her body.
A different sensation, one of a cool breeze brushing against her bare skin, began to draw her out of her dream state, but she did not fight it. The coolness was refreshing as it filled her veins with renewed vigor. Gradually she came fully awake, opening her eyes to find herself lying on her stomach with Dukat on his side next to her, his fingers tracing elaborate designs on her back. She gave him a sleepy smile and stretched, extending her arms past her head as far as they could go, then folding them under her chin.
Dukat returned her smile but said nothing as he continued his delicate examination of her unadorned skin.
"Hmmm," she purred, "that feels good."
She realized that he was observing her reactions as he caressed or tickled or kneaded each part of her, memorizing what brought her pleasure and what did not. She thought about telling him that just the sensation of his alien skin against hers was enough, but she was enjoying his exploration of her too much. Instead she watched him through half-closed lids, wondering if he found as much pleasure in watching her as she did in him.
There was a peculiar expression on his face as he gazed at her that she found both endearing and puzzling. His dilated pupils and darkened scales betrayed his insatiable desire, and there was expectancy evident in his deep-set eyes as he waited for her reaction to his ministrations, but there was something else - in the set of his jaw, perhaps, or his labored breathing - that she could not quite define. She turned her head to get a better look at him, but it was not enough, so she rolled on to her side until she was facing him, resting her head on the crook of her folded arm. He had his head propped up against one hand while the other, which never lost contact with her skin as she moved, now rested on her hip before beginning a new exploration of her curves.
She reached out her free hand to trace the edges of the ridges on his upper chest, and heard his breath catch in his throat as his chest scales grew noticeably darker.
Hesitance.
That was it; Dukat was tentative. As much as his longing for her obviously threatened to overwhelm his control, he was holding back. But from what?
He had certainly not been hesitant with her for the past couple of hours. Timidity was not in his nature. Although he had not been rough, Dukat had made love to her with all the virile vehemence and vigor she might have expected from Cardassians in general, and Dukat in particular. Yet as violently passionate as it had been, making love with Dukat had been more tender and responsive than anything she could have imagined. His unexpectedly affectionate and sensitive side had given her almost as much pleasure as the fervency of the act itself.
Why was he being hesitant now?
Was this sort of gentle touching not common among Cardassian couples?
Had Garak been right? Was Dukat courting her as a Bajoran man might?
Was Dukat truly in love with her?
Garak had been right about one thing; Dukat had found the way to her heart. Time would tell if she could bring herself to forgive him for what he did to Bajor, but in the interim she had come to realize that she did love him.
She loved him. It was that simple.
Kira loved Dukat.
There was only one thing left to be done. It was time to affirm her love for him, to stand before him and, using the steps handed down from generation to generation, to call upon the Prophets and the company of paghs and the elemental spirit of Bajor to bear witness to her affirmation.
It was time to dance the Dance of Eternal Longing.
Kira leaned toward Dukat and wrapped her arm around his ridged neck, pulling him toward her. Gently, tenderly, lovingly she kissed him; first his mouth, then the tip of his nose ridge, then each closed eye, then the hollow in the center of his forehead, then back to his mouth. As her attention focused on his lips he draped an arm and a leg over her, squeezing her as he tried to bring her closer to him. For a moment she acquiesced, and the thrilling sensation of his increasingly damp groin against hers and the inebriating effect of his growing scent in her nose were almost irresistible, but with monumental effort she was able to break off the kiss and move away from him.
His baffled and forlorn expression almost made her laugh as she climbed off the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her shoulders. Tonight she would not honor his innate modesty; she wanted to see all of him as she gave him this most precious of gifts. Tonight there would be nothing hidden between them.
And so, with the light of three moons guiding her steps, Major Kira Nerys began to dance for Gul Dukat.
* ~ *
One step at a time.
Kira was unaccustomed to expressing herself in such a stylized and symbolic manner, and her first movements were clumsy and tentative. As she focused her thoughts on the traditional meaning of the dance, however, her limbs became imbued with what could only be defined as a prophetically-inspired grace, and she was soon aware only of Dukat's rapt attention.
The basic steps, as Chivas Panat had described them twenty years ago, were quite simple, but highly symbolic: one foot in contact with the ground at all times, to represent the dancer's fidelity to Bajor; eyes open, indicating her willingness to receive inspiration and guidance from the Prophets; one arm extended toward the Celestial Temple, the palm bent up with the fingers slightly cupped, prepared to receive the Orb of Eternal Life; the other arm pointed toward her audience, with two fingers pointed directly at him and the others turned in to point back at her.
The movement of the feet was entirely up to the dancer, for it was in the steps she chose that she imbued the Dance of Eternal Longing with her unique personality. Kira had done some research on her trip to the capital city and found an old file describing the Cardassian Imperial Waltz. It was a modest but elegant quadrille box-step moving through a series of trapezoidal patterns, and Kira was easily able to memorize the basic pattern. She had not originally intended to put her information to use in this manner, but now it seemed the most appropriate thing to do.
His understanding, and subsequent approval, was immediately evident.
Kira had feared that Dukat would fail to recognize what she was trying to express, that he would see her movements only as a seduction, and not as an effort to put into movement what she was not yet prepared to put into words. The Dance of Eternal Longing was neither about sex nor love; it was a revelation of the purest, most simple intimacy that can exist between a man and a woman and an expression of the need that masquerades as both love and hatred, driving one to hurt and heal in the same moment, scorching hatred and love onto the pagh in a single, eternally infinite point of darkness and light.
The Dance of Eternal Longing was intended to reduce both the dancer and her audience to their most primitive, instinctual selves. By dancing for him, Kira was inviting Dukat to shed his Cardassian skin just as she would shed her Bajoran skin, so that nothing but the most basic bond would unite them.
But would Dukat understand? Was there hope for his stony Cardassian heart?
Kira took a quick glance at Dukat's face, which beheld her with such an expression of awe and longing it was almost unrecognizable as the same reptilian face that had haunted her dreams for years. She could almost see his dampness from where she stood, and his scales were hued such a dark charcoal gray that she inhaled sharply through her nose, nearly choking on her own breath as the powerful scent of his pheromones filled her lungs. The blood pounded in her ears.
She saw Dukat's scales grow even darker, and the sheen that permeated his groin began to spread across his abdomen and thighs. She longed to go to him, to taste that delightfully salty moisture, to press her hands against it and rub it across her skin, but the tradition of the dance demanded that he come to her, driven to such frenzied agony that he shed all inhibitions and opened himself up to the most primitive instinct in all creation. Encouraged by Dukat's unwavering gaze, Kira began to modify the waltz with a few steps from Bajoran folk dances. She moved to a faster tempo as she twirled along an imaginary elliptic, then stopped, stamped her feet eight times, and took several long strides forward until she was just beyond his grasp, undulating her hips in a circular motion as she stepped away from him.
His long pink tongue snaked out of that wondrous and cruel mouth, licking his lips. Kira almost froze in her tracks. She had to turn her back on him before she lost control, but his anguished groan only made her already ragged breathing even more so. He was torturously close, she knew, and she was desperate to end the waiting and possess his body as he had possessed hers. Only her fierce determination enabled her to keep her eyes open.
Her arms ached mercilessly, but she fought to keep them in position. Holding her arms away from her body served to promote the production of adrenaline, thus severing rational inhibition from primitive need, and to enhance the flow of blood around her groin and abdomen. She could feel it working: her belly felt as though it was on fire, and she was growing increasingly light-headed.
She sensed movement just beyond her range of vision and turned to see Dukat moving toward her. When she had first begun to dance, he had arranged himself in a sitting position, his back resting against the wall, one long leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee, his arms pulling it toward his chest. Now he had shifted to his hands and knees and was crawling towards her, his deep-set eyes piercing her with a look that a month ago would have terrified her, but now had her trembling so violently she could no longer move.
With heat in her belly and ice in her veins, Kira watched Dukat approach her, his long scaled limbs coiled beneath him, his neck ridges standing out like the hood on a cobra.
Dukat was crawling.
Kira felt giddy with power. Power over Dukat. Power to control her destiny. Power to confront her fears.
From the moment they met, Kira's relationship with Dukat had revolved around power and who wielded it. For years, Dukat has seemingly held the upper hand, flaunting his former role as Prefect of Bajor in the face of her lifelong hatred of Cardassians to keep her off-balance. Then Chance - or prophetic design - had revealed to her a side of Dukat she had never imagined possible, a side that was vulnerable, needy and bereaved. From the moment Kira saw him in mourning at the gravesite of his former mistress, she assumed control, because in revealing so much of himself to her, Dukat relinquished his claim to power.
Although she did not realize it at the time, that was the moment he fell in love with her.
The sight of him on his hands and knees, submitting himself to her, however, opened her eyes to the startling, undeniable reality that he loved her. He loved her because she represented his only hope for forgiveness and redemption.
The dance had served its purpose; it had eliminated all of their layers of subterfuge and hatred and doubt and pain, leaving them wholly naked before each other, Dukat begging forgiveness, Kira yearning to bestow it.
Kira's fingers grasped the Orb as Dukat rose from the bed and took her in his arms.
~ * ~
damn bajoran sensuality
That was the only rational thought running through Dukat's mind as he watched Kira dance for him. The innate aesthetic sensibility of Bajorans, coupled with their willingness to embrace physical sensations with the same respect they accorded their ancient superstition, had been both his and Cardassia's undoing.
damn them damn their eroticism damn kiras beauty damn me for enjoying it
Cardassia had once been as spiritual as Bajor, and her people had been as openly sensual as the Bajorans, devoting their lives to the welcome pleasures of the physical universe. Then Cardassia's guiding spirits abandoned her, leaving her people to die wretched and starving wherever they fell, too weak even to beg for food. In retaliation, the Cardassians had turned their hearts away from spiritual and sensual matters, focusing only on whatever was necessary to stay alive. It was not long before the new military leaders realized that Bajor was the key to Cardassia's survival.
damn bajor damn the prophets damn cardassia
How ironic, Dukat had often thought in more sensible moments, that Cardassia had sought salvation in a world as freely spiritual and sensual as she had once been. At times he even wondered if perhaps the Prophets had lured Cardassia to Bajor, either to entice her to return to her old ways, or to destroy her for her infidelity.
damn kira damn me
If the goal of the Prophets was to destroy him, by luring him to imminent defeat with this beautiful, sensual woman, then so be it. It was a defeat - a death, perhaps - he would readily accept.
damn the dance of eternal longing
Dukat knew what the Dance of Eternal Longing signified, and although several of his mistresses had danced for him, Kira was the first, after Naprem, to adhere to the ritual movements. Not so long ago he thought he would never forget the night Naprem had danced for him; it was the night of Ziyal's conception. Now that precious memory was slowly being eradicated from his subconscious by a new dancer, a dancer who had sacrificed and lost everything to him - to his people's need to avenge the loss of their spirituality - and yet was willing to give him this priceless gift. He had lost and regained and lost far more than she ever had.
She still had her Prophets. All he had was her.
Kira loved him.
More importantly, she had forgiven him. Someday, he would have to ask her why. Today, however, he would revel in this wondrous moment, when all that had transpired between them had been washed away.
His chest was filled with a strange aching sensation, as if he were being simultaneously filled and emptied with a peculiar mixture of burning and freezing that left his scales bristling and his groin throbbing. Pain and pleasure struggled to dominate his rational mind, demanding that he surrender to the abyss of his longing.
Kira turned to look at him, and the fire he saw burning in her eyes quenched any discipline that might have remained. The sweet aroma of her pheromones filled the room, and he licked his lips, trying to catch that tantalizing taste on his tongue. The color drained from her face and she faltered before turning away from him. He cried out in agony as the muscles around his groin spasmed in anticipation and desire. After six years of lusting after her, only to be tortured so exquisitely. He wanted Kira. He needed Kira. She belonged to him.
He belonged to her. She had conquered him, taken possession of him...and then set him free.
Every fiber of his being longed to be with her. His arms ached to hold her to his chest...to feel her smooth breasts rubbing against his scales as his hands caressed her torso, her curved bottom, her shoulders, her dainty throat, the sensitive area between her thighs where her intoxicating scent was its most potent...to touch his lips to hers and feel her warm breath in his mouth as her teeth nibbled the tip of his tongue...to taste her hair...to trace his tongue across her nose ridges...to nip at her ear as she pressed her nose against his throat...to taste her flesh as he ran his tongue over her shoulder, across her collarbone and down to her breasts, where he would suckle like a hungry infant, and then kiss each delicate rib in turn...to hear her respond to him with cries and gasps of pleasure...to see the beads of perspiration appear on the surface of her skin and draw their sweet moisture into his mouth...to feel her fingers caress his most sensitive spots as she blew that luxuriously hot breath of hers across his scales...to massage his groin against her until she was bathed in his lubricant...to writhe...and groan...and twist...and sigh...and shudder...and cry out in unison....
To become one with her. To forget Ziyal, and Naprem, and Cardassia, and begin anew with Kira.
Dukat moved to the end of the bed and drew his legs beneath him, waiting for the right moment. She stopped dancing and watched him, her fiery brown eyes boring into him. Neither of them moved, except for the heaving of her chest that he matched with his own deep, uneven breaths. He felt like ice and fire, his skin chilled by the night air but his veins flooded with molten lava. Every muscle strained for release. His scales were fairly crackling with electricity.
He saw the flash in her eyes that only a month ago would have meant danger. Tonight it was his invitation. As he stood to pull her to him, his lips parted and a guttural hiss silenced anything she might have had to say. There would be ample opportunity for words later.
~ * ~
Following a series of events so fevered she could not piece them back together in sequential order, Kira found herself leaning against a pillow at the opposite end of the bed from where Dukat reclined. His lean frame was stretched full-length so that one of his feet brushed casually against her shoulder as his strong fingers expertly massaged her calf muscles.
She had never before had the opportunity - or wish - to study Cardassian feet, and she noted with no small amount of surprise and amusement that Dukat's toes were webbed. Large gray plates, the patterns uninterrupted by the ridges that decorated his upper body, covered his legs. His broad, fleet feet, however, were covered with tiny opalescent scales growing so closely together their surface was almost as smooth as her own skin. Kira brushed the edge of her finger across the sole. Dukat's leg jerked reflexively, and a strangled laugh sent him into a fit of choking and sputtering. She looked at him with concern and curiosity as he continued to cough and gasp.
At last the fit passed. He looked at her with a sheepish grin. "Please don't do that again. I'm - My feet are rather sensitive."
Now it was Kira's turn to grin. "Ticklish, hm?" she teased, wrapping her fingers as far around his foot as she could. "I'll have to remember that for future reference. Information like that could come in handy someday."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before causing trouble for Bajor or the station, otherwise I might just have to strap you to an interrogation bench and...." She let her voice trail off.
"Next time, I'll just have to be sure I don't get caught."
She arched her eyebrows at him. "Oh, I think I might be able to lure you into a trap."
Dukat's eyes darkened, and for a moment Kira regretted her teasing. Even as the heat of their lovemaking still filled her veins, she could not forget just how dangerous and mercurial Dukat could be. She watched him purse his lips in thought, then he exclaimed, "Nerys, what am I going to do with you?"
That was not what she had been expecting to hear, and she was not quite sure how to respond. What did he mean by that? She decided to interpret it as more of his teasing; even at the height of his ardor, he had refrained from using her given name. "Kill me? It's the only way to keep your secret safe."
Her small smile faded as he twisted his body around until he was lying on his stomach next to her, his chin resting in his hands as he gazed up into her face. "Believe me, I've thought about it many times over the years. I should have had you executed for the Vaatrick murder. A lot of secrets would have died with you then, and I'd have been saved years of humiliation and heartbreak."
At first, the mention of her role in the collaborator's murder sent a chill through Kira's body, but then the underlying meaning of Dukat's words hit her. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and gently traced her fingers along his dorsal ridge. He closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and bent his head so his brow rested against the heels of his hands.
"You might never have found Ziyal if you had executed me," she said softly.
"No," he said. His voice was muffled. "I could have spent the rest of my life in the ignorant belief that she had died when the Ravenok disappeared. I wouldn't have lost my rank and my wife, I wouldn't have turned pirate during the war with the Klingons, and I probably wouldn't have signed an alliance with the Dominion. Face it, Major, you've managed to accomplish your one goal in life: you've destroyed Cardassia."
Her voice was gentle. "So you're saying that this is all my fault?"
He shook his head. "Oh, Nerys, why couldn't you have just died, like everyone else I've ever loved?"
Although Dukat's oblique confession that he loved her deeply affected Kira, his narcissistically morbid mood was beginning to irk her. "Your wife is still alive, isn't she?"
There was a short bark of laughter, and he tossed up his head to roll his eyes at her. "My wife and I never loved each other. The only things we had in common were my career and our children." Kira gave him a puzzled frown, and he grinned back at her before rolling on to his back and lacing his fingers across his chest. "It was an arranged marriage. My mother comes from an ancient and honorable family, with bloodlines that claim to go back to the Hebitian emperors. When my father was executed for...treason...the political and social fallout was pretty severe, and I probably would have spent my life as a petty bureaucrat in some government office on Cardassia IV if Mother couldn't find a suitably prominent family to marry me into. She pulled so many strings to get my future mother-in-law to consent to the match it's a wonder she didn't incite a class rebellion. On our wedding night, my wife made it very clear that she thought I was beneath her notice, and that she had agreed to marry me only to absolve my mother's family name of the shame my father had brought upon it. She stayed with me as long as she did because my career seemed to be on the fast track for a ranking position at Central Command and, well, you know why she finally left me."
One hand went up to trace the distinctive mark above his nose, and his chest filled and deflated with a heavy sigh. Kira was mesmerized by the moonlight reflecting off his scales as he breathed. She placed her palm flat against his abdomen, thrilling at the vague rasping sensation of the edges of his scales brushing against her hand. His other hand slid down his chest to clasp hers, his thumb tickling at her palm as his finger traced the same design that stood out from his brow on the top of her hand. Then his hand moved up her arm, tugging slightly until she moved closer to him and rested her head on his chest, their linked hands held against her cheek, the fingers of his other hand running through her hair.
"I had forgotten about the stamina and...enthusiasm...of Bajoran women," Dukat murmured.
Kira let a breathy laugh out through her nose and felt Dukat's diaphragm expand and contract beneath her as he responded in kind. "Is your age finally catching up with you?" she asked.
"I'm not that old, Kira." His hand moved from her hair to caress her bare shoulder. "I was merely going to comment on the fact that we have been at...this...all night, and that it is nearly dawn. It's been a very long time since I spent an entire night in such a pleasant manner."
"You mean, having a Bajoran woman begging for mercy?" She had not meant her remark to come out sounding as bitter and acrimonious as it did to her, and she immediately regretted saying it.
"I believe, Major, that your memory of recent events is confused. If I recall correctly, it was I who was begging you for mercy, not the other way around." He was silent for a moment, and Kira hoped that he had let her unintentionally caustic tone pass. Then he said, "Kira, why must you continue to make everything that passes between us into a battle? Why can't you just let bygones be bygones? I thought - I had hoped - that after learning what a good lover I can be you would finally accept that I'm not the monster you insist I am. Apparently you've proved me wrong yet again."
His voice revealed no sense of blame or resentment, but Kira knew it simmered just beneath the surface of his scales. Unfortunately, she could not think of anything to say to take away the sting of her remark. She knew that she had finally forgiven him for the horrors of the Occupation, but she was not yet able to admit that to him. She doubted she ever would tell him. She loved him, but love was not enough. It was the Dukat who had been betrayed by a trusted officer, broken in spirit, bereaved of his beloved daughter, nearly killed in a shuttle crash, and forced to depend on her for survival that she loved; not the Dukat who had once ruled Bajor with an iron fist, who had harassed and leered at and propositioned her for years, who had invited the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant. The gentle Dukat she loved. Could she also love the cruel Dukat?
"Ah, well," he said, mirroring her own dark thoughts, "I should have known this wouldn't work." His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. "Oh Nerys, why couldn't you have just died like everyone else I've loved?"
PART SIX