by Christine Collins

*-*-*-*-*-*
I close my eyes, I think of him
I fantasise what might have been
My dreams are endless. . .
(Charles Aznavour: 'What Makes A Man')
*-*-*-*-*-*

"How is he?"
"He's doing fine, sir, in view of the circumstances. I was able to repair the plasma burns."
"I see. What about the head injuries?"
"They were less severe than we first thought, sir. The tissue damage was quite superficial, and as far as we can tell there is no evidence of any damage to the brain itself. But then, Klingon medical equipment leaves a lot to be desired. Someone should be with him at all times while he's asleep, just to be on the safe side. If no complications arise, he should be able to resume his duties in less
than twenty-four hours."
"Very well. I shall stay with him. You may leave."
"But, sir..."
"I said you may leave."
"Yes, sir."

The doors closed behind Gul Dukat as he entered the dully lit, uncomfortably small room. Damar's quarters. With a few brisk strides he walked straight up to the austere bunk and, hands clasped behind his back, cautiously bent over the wounded man to assess the situation. The last time he'd seen his second-in-command had been on the bridge immediately after the incident on Tarima IV less than six hours earlier. Damar's body had been sprawled across the floor; his hands, face and neck had been covered with plasma burns while streams of blood kept pouring from a gaping head-wound. The sheer amount of blood had fooled Dukat into believing that Damar was dead.

So much blood! Even now, standing over Damar and looking down at his face, Dukat could still see how the dark liquid had spread, soaking the floor like a foreboding of death and defeat. He'd lost officers before, some in battle, some in accidents.  The frustration and anger that inevitably came with such losses never got any easier to bear. Yet, the situation had demanded all his physical and inner strength: Damar was dead; if he was not to lose the rest of his crew, his ship and his own life, Dukat would have to put him out of his mind. Shouting orders to his barely trained crew, organising their escape and lending a hand here and there, he'd eventually managed to regain control over the damaged ship and put some distance between them and the Klingon outpost that they had attacked. Then, and only then, he had allowed himself to think of Damar again and had learned that his second was alive and would recover. His relief had been without limits.

Of course, it had been more than justified. Given the situation, he couldn't afford to lose any of his men, least of all Damar.

Now Damar was lying on his back in a dreamless drug-induced sleep, the outlines of his slim but muscular body visible through the sheet he was covered with. His face was bruised and slightly swollen, but there was no more blood and without doubt his injuries would heal without leaving so much as a scar. On a Cardassian warship and under normal conditions, Damar would have been kept in sickbay for observation, under the surveillance of trained medical staff; however, this was a Klingon ship, and conditions were far from normal.

The Bird Of Prey was a formidable warship, but as the Klingons considered death in battle an honour, they didn't waste much time on their wounded: Sickbay was even smaller than any of the crew-quarters, and the medical equipment was barbaric and hopelessly outdated, thus making it easy for any injured warrior to find his proverbial 'good day to die'. But then, as only two of Dukat's crew had any medical knowledge to speak of in any case, more sophisticated equipment probably wouldn't have made a significant difference:

Gul Dukat was commanding a Klingon warship run by a Cardassian freighter crew of nine in a war against the whole of the Klingon Empire!

Dukat smiled despite himself. He rather liked the odds. He straightened up and looked around. The only chair in the room was of a crude, typical Klingon design. Dukat loathed having to sit back and wait for things to happen, or not to happen, as it were; he hated being forced into inactivity for any length of time; and yet, this was exactly what he had committed himself to for the following hours: They weren't going anywhere today. They had landed in the wastelands of an uninhabitable planet where they would have to remain until the repairs had been completed. With an impatient sigh he sat down.

It was night on the planet. For them, the time of day had ceased to have meaning.

He had captured the Bird Of Prey less than three weeks ago, admittedly with the help of Major Kira Nerys, a Bajoran, which in a way just added to the irony of it all. He had intended for it to be used by Cardassia in the war against the invading Klingons, only to be told by his government that there was going to be no war. Dukat had been able to accept his recent demotion and even the loss of his family, but _that_ he could not accept. And so, he had decided to start his own war against the Klingons, again aided by Kira when she took his daughter, Ziyal, off his hands.

Dukat settled back into the chair to find the most comfortable position obtainable. He was, he mused, so to speak a freedom fighter now - or maybe a terrorist, depending on how one looked at it; after all, one man's freedom fighter was another man's terrorist. Dukat had in his time dealt with plenty of people who had called themselves freedom fighters, but from his point of view they had always been terrorists, and not so long ago Kira had been one of them. Wasn't it funny how quickly the tables had turned? Again, a smile crossed his face. One simply _had_ to appreciate the irony! But the strangest thing was that it actually felt good!

Dukat had been a soldier all his adult life. Over three decades filled with an all-engulfing mix of duties and responsibilities, compromises and decisions, pleasures and sacrifices. Almost everything he'd ever done, almost everything that had ever happened to him had been tainted by the fact that he was bound and restricted by an age-old system of giving orders and taking orders, a system that - as he knew only too well - only worked as long as nobody broke the rules. He hadn't broken a rule in a very long time, and now that he had, he found to his surprise that it felt good. It was liberating. He'd thrown off his shackles. He was free. And the ship that he had captured added to this feeling. A Klingon Bird of Prey! A small ship, true, but unsurpassed in its versatility. Capable of a maximum velocity of Warp 9.6, even if only for a very limited period of time. Manoeuverable under any conditions. Equipped with both powerful phase disruptors and
forward photon torpedo emitter. In addition to all that, it also offered the valuable option of atmospheric flight, even at low altitude, and planetary take-off and landing on practically any terrain. And then of course there was the cloaking device! The ship was, in short, perfect for freedom fighters, terrorists ... _pirates_!

Dukat's smile got broader. There! He had found a term that he actually liked. Pirates they were. Pirates who moved in on their target, made their kill and then made a run for it. Which was of course exactly what they had done for the past eighteen days, and it had been one triumph after the other. Each raid had been a success; the Klingons weren't nearly as versatile and adaptable as their ships and therefore not all that difficult to defeat. For eighteen days life had been enticingly dangerous, glorious and exciting, and at the same time had seemed strangely unreal and almost like a dream to him in its sheer absurdity.

And he could tell that his men felt the same. The overworked, underpaid and undeniably bored crew of a lowly freighter less than three weeks ago, they were now fighting for Cardassia's freedom and glory. And they loved it! All of them loved it, but especially Damar. Damar, whose near death only hours ago had left him so unsettled.

He'd liked Damar right from the start. He had spotted the potential in the serious, withdrawn man with an expertise that came with decades of experience in leadership and command. Even before he had seen the freighter crew's personnel records he'd known that this man shouldn't be there, that this was really a warrior, wrongly put to work on a freighter. His slight attitude problem hadn't bothered him - Dukat didn't allow attitude problems on his ships, and that was that. He'd dealt with Damar's before the younger man had known what was going on. And once again it had turned out he'd been right in his judgement: Damar fought the Klingons with a fervour and an audacity that exceeded Dukat's most optimistic expectations. And of course Damar now followed his orders without question; Dukat would have expected or tolerated no less; yet there was something special in the other's obedience: it did not originate in fear or even dutiful loyalty but in what appeared to be genuine respect and - unless he was profoundly mistaken - affection.

_ Hero worship_, Dukat corrected himself quickly, shifting in his chair to counteract the feeling of fatigue that he sensed rising inside of him. After all, he had been the Prefect of Bajor once, and the chief military adviser to the Detapa Council not that long ago. Damar was still quite young and, as Dukat knew from his personnel records, had been through a series of very unpleasant
experiences recently. It was understandable that he would pick someone in authority as an idol to look up to, especially in difficult times like these. It was funny, though, that it never seemed to occur to him that he, Dukat, wasn't really in authority anywhere but on this ship. Or maybe he just didn't care. The ship had become their reality, after all. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was real. Dukat crossed his legs and drew in a deep breath. For some reason he found the thought that Damar looked up to him, even though he had to know about the scandal leading to his demotion, tremendously uplifting. Of course it didn't actually _mean_ anything to him. It was nice. It felt good. That was all.

There was a slight moan of discomfort from the bunk as Damar moved in his sleep.

Dukat rose immediately to check on his injured officer. Damar was lying on his side now, curled up and facing the wall. The sheet he'd been covered with had somehow gotten tangled around his legs when he had rolled over, thus revealing his bare back and upper body as well as a pair of loose light blue trousers, apparently replicated after a Klingon pattern to help keep the patient decently covered, yet reasonably cool.

A true warrior's body, Dukat noticed appreciatively, and not for the first time. Slim, but well-muscled. Strong, yet radiating elegance and grace. The pattern of small and larger scales on back and shoulders, more pronounced in male than in female Cardassians, was well defined and perfectly shaped. All in all, Dukat thought idly, following the enticing trail of scales along the spine with his eyes, the type of body that could be considered overwhelmingly attractive. By women, obviously.

Of course this subject was moot as his crew was all male and Damar was married with two young children, one male and one female, aged two and four respectively.

He bent over Damar to pull the tangled sheet from underneath him, then shook it out and tucked him in again. The simple action took his mind back to Terok Nor, to the long-gone days of Ziyal's childhood and those endless nights when the little girl had been feverish and unwell for no apparent reason - something that frequently occurred in half-Bajoran children - and he and Naprem had kept vigil at her little bed, taking turns in looking after their daughter until Naprem had fallen asleep from exhaustion and Dukat had spread a sheet or blanket over her to keep her warm.

Suddenly Dukat became aware that his hands were still resting on Damar's shoulder and hip. He pulled away as if he'd burned his fingers. What was he doing? This was no child, no woman: This was a _man_, a warrior in his prime. He backed away until he bumped into the chair which made an ugly screeching sound as it was pushed back against the wall.

Dukat held his breath for a moment.

Thankfully Damar didn't wake, in fact there was no indication that he had perceived the sound on any level of his consciousness.

Dukat sat down hard. He'd done nothing wrong, there was no need for shame and yet, he still felt the heat of Damar's feverish body burn the palms of his hands.

It was laughable, really! Yet at the same time it was a little unsettling.

For a man, Dukat thought, his sarcasm directed solely at himself, the worst thing about living without a woman was that he didn't have anyone to tell him when he was acting foolishly.

One had to be prepared to pay a price for the things one truly desired.

Dukat had desired status, power and influence and through years of hard work and making sacrifices had achieved what had been his ambition. And lost it again, true - but that was a different matter entirely.

From an early age he had deliberately avoided becoming attached to any one person; after all, emotional attachment of any kind equalled vulnerability, and that was something that he'd decided he simply could not afford. Later, when all his dreams were coming true and he was on his way to the peak of fame and fortune, he'd permitted himself to fall in love - and had paid dearly for it: His feelings for Naprem and Ziyal had in the end been his downfall. Like so often these days when he thought of his dead lover, a flash of pain shot through his heart - so intense was it that it made him flinch. No, he told himself once again, shutting out the memories of brighter days to focus on the darkness around him, no: love should never have had a part in his life.

His life had never left him much room for friendship, either; after all, friendship was just as dangerous as love - wasn't it? His legs were getting stiff and sore and he shifted around with an impatient sigh. This was going to be a long night, no doubt! He briefly considered calling for someone to take over, then decided against it. After all, he had volunteered, knowing that he would have been unable to find much sleep anyhow. He was deeply worried; death had been close today, it was fruitless to deny it. One ship against two empires, counting his own people. Suddenly the odds didn't seem so good any more. How long could such a war possibly last?  'I'll be back for you, I promise.'

Dukat closed his eyes as he recalled his last words to Ziyal. Would he live to keep his promise? Would he ever see her again? Pointless questions! he scolded himself at once and determinedly focused his thoughts back on the reason why he wasn't in his own quarters at this time of night: Damar.

Friendship...

Dukat had to admit that lately he sometimes found himself wondering what it would be like to be friends with Damar. Despite the sixteen years and all the other factors that stood between them, it wouldn't be entirely impossible. They came from a similar social background after all, and in addition they both were graduates of the Central Military Academy.

Now that he had lost his family and utterly destroyed his career, he sometimes longed for something new to fill the empty space in his life. Friendship would be a new experience. An _experience_, that was all. He wouldn't allow himself to get too attached

Now that he had broken one rule already, what did it matter if he broke another? For the first time in his life, Dukat had to face the fact that he had nothing to lose.

The hours went by. Dukat kept watch. Whenever Damar moved in his sleep, and at every sound that he made, Dukat was there to check on him and make sure that he was comfortable.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Damar opened his eyes and saw Gul Dukat sitting in a chair at the other end of the room. The outline of his body was barely discernible in the darkness, yet there was not a moment of doubt that the slim figure was Dukat. There was no mistaking him for someone else. He sat completely motionless; his body was resting against the back of the chair, his hands were folded in his lap. Quite obviously he was asleep.

Damar gingerly pulled himself up into a sitting position, careful not to make a sound that would wake the other. He drew the sheet that he'd been sleeping under around him, strangely conscious of the fact that he was naked except for a pair of loose-fitting trousers that didn't even seem to belong to him. Sitting up hadn't been a good idea: A haze of colours and lights appeared before his eyes and started spinning in circles like merry-go-rounds. Damar gasped and closed his eyes until the circles went away. Blood pressure too low, he diagnosed expertly. His whole body still ached from the injuries that he had sustained in that incident on....on Tarima IV... when? Yesterday? He felt light-headed from the medication and at the same time wide awake.

The Klingons! A triumphant smile appeared on his face. Of course! They had taken those animals by surprise, had attacked their outpost in a daredevil manoeuvre and had killed them all. True, their ship had suffered some damage. True, he had gotten hurt. But what did it matter? Pain meant nothing; destroying the enemy meant everything. He remembered the blast and the agony with no less than pride. He'd thought he was going to die. He'd been blinded by the explosion and he remembered crying out in confusion, but he also remembered Dukat's voice calling his name. Then everything had gone black around him, and the next thing he remembered was waking up in sickbay, surprised to still be alive, and Arkor standing over him with a rather unusual looking dermal regenerator in his hand, telling him that the raid had been a full success. He had tried to make a joke about the Klingon d.r. but had passed out again before he'd gotten to the punch line.

So they had taken him back to his quarters. A very reasonable decision because the Klingon sickbay bore a strong resemblance to a Cardassian torture chamber.

He drew his legs towards his body, hugging them with his arms, and looked at his sleeping captain.

Gul Dukat, former Prefect of Bajor; commander of the Second Order; chief military adviser to the Detapa Council; promoted to legate, now fallen from grace and practically exiled from the Homeworld for some misconduct over twenty years ago. Condemned by the government....Hell, but what government? How much faith could one put in a government that couldn't see the obvious, that was unwilling to fight when it was necessary? Cowards, fools and pompous bureaucrats! What did their judgement count?

Damar nearly laughed out loud. Even in his thoughts he began to sound more and more like his captain! He hadn't always been like that.

Until not that long ago his life had been fairly average and uneventful; and he had liked it that way. As a child he had wanted to become a scientist. Opting for a career in the military hadn't been so much his choice than that of his father, a well-known and much-respected gul. He could still remember how proud his father had said he was when he'd been accepted into the Central Military Academy! His two brothers had never made it.

From that day on Damar had worked hard at a military career so as not to disappoint his father, trying to tell himself that living up to his father's high hopes and expectations was nothing more than his duty as a son. The truth was far simpler, though somewhat less honourable: Damar always did things to please others. He had discovered at an early age that doing what others wanted him to do was the only way to be left alone for most of the time. He wouldn't have chosen a soldier's life for himself, but abiding by his father's wishes was far easier than opposing them by opting for the Academy of Sciences and having to live with his family's unspoken reproaches for the rest of his life. He'd been worried at first that he might prove unsuitable for the military, but it had soon turned out that his worries were completely unfounded. His readiness to comply made him an almost perfect soldier. Following orders came naturally to him. When placed in command of others, he would usually simply follow his instincts and do what he thought was expected of him, and when in doubt, he'd choose the safest option.

Soon he'd realised that this worked so well that he'd deliberately based his entire life on these two mottoes: Do what others expect you to do, and always choose the safest option. And so his career had advanced slowly but steadily enough to please his father, more or less by itself, while leaving Damar enough time for his wife - the beautiful and warm-hearted daughter of another well- to-do gul - and children. And if only eight months ago anybody would have asked him what his ambitions in life were, he would have replied without hesitating that he wished for a promotion to glinn, and to become the father of another four or five children.

Eight months ago, however, a horrific transporter accident had occurred aboard the Drak'Nor, the warship that he'd been assigned to; two crewmen had lost their lives and another four had ended up permanently crippled. Damar had been in charge of the transport, and although the fault that had triggered the accident had been with engineering, he had found himself blamed for the unfortunate affair and charged with negligence. After the initial shock and feeling of injustice he had pleaded guilty, knowing - or rather assuming - that this was what was expected of him. As nearly always it had turned out that he had made the right decision, because all that had happened to him had been that he lost his position on the Drak'Nor and was relegated to a freighter, the Groumall.

Four months later the military rule had come to an end; and merely weeks after that the Klingons had invaded Cardassia. Damar had somehow assumed that he would be re-assigned to serve on a warship; instead, it had turned out that his life-long ambition to be left alone had come true: He'd been forgotten, overlooked by the authorities, and continued to work aboard the Groumall. His father and two brothers however had been killed in the initial attack on Cardassia Prime.

That day, Damar's world had collapsed around him. For the first time in his life it had dawned on him that the ones in authority weren't always right. His rightful place should have been out there,
fighting the Klingons with his father and brothers, and maybe dying with them. Instead he'd been locked up on some freighter by a bureaucratic error, although he had done nothing wrong. That day, his feeling of betrayal had been without limits. He would have to be more careful whom to trust in the future.

Then, about two months ago, the old captain had left and Gul Dukat had arrived aboard the Groumall. There had been a good deal of gossip about Dukat's downfall and some more or less good- natured jokes about its reason, which he apparently intended to bring along to live with them on the ship. 'It' had later turned out to be a very warm-hearted, intelligent young lady and a lot less hideous than had been Damar's fear.

As soon as Gul Dukat had introduced himself to his new crew, the talking and the jokes had stopped. No-one had known for certain what would happen to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught gossiping, but there'd been no doubt that whatever it was, it would be extremely unpleasant for the perpetrator.

Never before had Damar met anybody with such an air of personal power and authority. This had nothing to do with Dukat's rank or reputation, but all with his character. It came from within. He was Gul Dukat, and he was to be obeyed, immediately and unconditionally. Never had Damar been fascinated with anybody the way he was fascinated with Dukat.

Of course, this personification of boundless authority couldn't have arrived at a worse time for Damar. The deaths of his father and brothers had still hurt and he'd still been angry with himself for blindly following other people's orders all his life. In short, Damar had not reacted well to authority at the time. Even now, he could feel the blood rush to his face when he remembered the incident on the bridge:

Dukat had scheduled a battle drill, much to Damar's dismay. Being forced to shoot at meteorites and debris while all around them a real war was raging and innocent people were dying had seemed no less than insulting to him. The rest of the crew hadn't cared much either way, but had made half-hearted attempts to meet the new captain's expectations; the results had obviously been pathetic, and had earned all of them a severe reprimand.

'This - ship, gentlemen, may be a lowly freighter, but it is a military vessel. You are military officers and will make sure that your performance is up to military standards. Am I making myself clear?'

Dukat's eyes had been fixed on Damar throughout his speech, and Damar had felt obliged to reply, 'Yes, sir.' That would have been the end of it, had defiance not driven him to continue, 'With all due respect, sir, this isn't going to work. The Groumall, sir, is, strictly speaking, not a military vessel; she is, strictly speaking, a piece of garbage.'

Dukat had at that point raised an eyeridge in amusement. 'Is that so? And what makes you think that, Damar?'

'Because if she was anything but a piece of garbage, I would not be here. And neither would you. Sir.'

There had been a menacingly long period of absolute silence during which Dukat had studied him with apparent interest. Then he had declared that, if Damar had such appallingly little faith in his own abilities as a soldier, he was unfit for duty, and before he could object or apologise, Damar had found himself replaced by another, more willing, officer and sent to his sleeping quarters for the remainder of the day like a disobedient child. Needless to say, it had been back to following orders for him after that.

Serving under Dukat had proved to be a real challenge. Gul Dukat commanded warships or military outposts. He did _not_ command freighters. Damar's remark, though outrageous and blatantly offensive, had not been that far from the truth: Frequent battle drills and other exercises were merely an unnecessary burden on the crew and a constant reminder of their captain's frustration; they could not, however, change the pitifully run-down freighter into a warship.

Soon Damar had settled back into doing what was asked of him, no matter how absurd and ridiculous it had seemed, yet it had hurt him inwardly to see this striking man reduced to playing at soldier, and nearly making a fool of himself in the process. Then eighteen days ago, with the capture of the Bird Of Prey, life had taken another drastic turn as playing at soldiers had suddenly become grim reality. When Dukat had decided to take on the Klingons against the wishes of the Council, the crew had cheered and stood behind him as one man, knowing that, with Dukat as their leader, there was nothing they couldn't do.

Dukat, after all those months of inactivity finally given the chance to do what he did best, had kept his promise and led them from one triumph to the next. Damar, however, had arrived at the realisation that he had at last found someone whose judgement and whose leadership abilities he could believe in without reservation.

Damar was very aware that he wouldn't see his family for a long, long time. Until fairly recently this would have been unacceptable, but now, nothing seemed as important as following Dukat. There were two reasons for this. First, Dukat had proved to him what he'd just begun to suspect himself: That living one's life hoping to be left alone would never do. That sometimes it was necessary to stand up for what one believed was right, and that - occasionally - it was acceptable to question orders given by someone in authority. This seemed a valuable lesson to Damar and made perfect sense, yet at the same time he knew only too well that he didn't have what it took to do just that. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't anything like Dukat. Therefore all he could do was follow him and do whatever he could to support him.

And his efforts didn't go unnoticed. Dukat freely acknowledged good work, and Damar often found himself rewarded with a sincere 'Well done', or a friendly slap on the shoulder. Those moments he was living for.

Damar, despite his many faults, had always been an honest man, and this included being honest to himself. He knew very well that there was another reason why Dukat had become so important to him. This wasn't only about the Klingons and Cardassia. He was prepared to fight and die for their cause, but if it had really come to the worst, and if he had died a few hours earlier during the incident on Tarima IV, he wouldn't have died with Cardassia, nor with his father and brothers, but with Dukat on his mind.

And this was because he was in love with him.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Damar had had certain fantasies about other males ever since his sexual awakening. Back then, his confusion had been endless. At first he'd hoped that those twisted thoughts and sick desires would go away on their own, but of course that hadn't happened, and as time had passed, he'd learned to understand. He'd found out that there were others like him; men and women who lived their lives in the slums of the big cities, places that normal people didn't talk or even know about since the government had no intention of acknowledging their existence. One day, not long after his fifteenth birthday, Damar's curiosity had driven him to such a place which he'd managed to locate through cautious and secret research.

Heart pounding, eyes cast to the ground, he'd walked through dirty streets, dodging the litter as he did so. Men of all ages in ragged clothes had followed him with hungry eyes, leering at him, blowing him kisses and commenting on his looks. Some had been drunk and barely able to stand upright, and reeked of cheap alcohol.  'You! Boy!' ... 'Over here, boy!' ... 'Look at him - isn't he a darling?' ... 'Come to me, sweetheart, and give me a kiss!' ... 'Oh, don't you dare lay your dirty hands on him, he's mine!'

Damar had walked on without looking left or right, asking himself what he was trying to achieve and why he'd come to this godforsaken part of town in the first place, when suddenly a strong male hand had closed around his wrist like steel. Panicked, he'd looked up to see a carefully made-up face and long braided hair. 'Too late - now he's mine...' the man, who was wearing a long black cloak and women's shoes, had whispered in a seductive voice and had lifted the hand that he'd captured to his painted blue lips. Damar had pulled free and had started to run away from the man, traces of lipstick and the unwanted kiss burning his hand. The man hadn't tried to follow him, but had burst out into loud laughter. Neither knowing nor caring where he was running to, Damar would nearly have fallen over two men who were lying huddled together in the gutter, too absorbed in their kisses to notice Damar until it was too late.

'Watch it, boy!' ... 'What's wrong with you? Can't you take care?'

Damar had mumbled an apology and had continued to run mindlessly until he'd left the voices and the howling laughter behind.

_Never_, he'd sworn to himself that day, back in the safety of his family's home, _never_ was he going to be like those men. Trapped in poverty with no future, defiantly looking for salvation in depravity and drugs - that was no life for him. That was no life at all. He, Damar, was nothing like them; he was better.

And he'd proved it, hadn't he? Never, not once, had he let his fantasies interfere with his life. It hadn't always been easy, and there had been times of anger and frustration - Why him? He who'd never wanted anything from life but to be like everybody else! What had he done to deserve this? - but all in all he had succeeded. Nobody knew, nobody suspected anything. Not his family, not his wife, not his colleagues. And certainly not Dukat, he thought with a sardonic grin.  His legs were getting numb, and he shifted to find a more comfortable position and found one lying on his stomach, chin resting on his arms. He could see Dukat beautifully that way.  Not for the first time he found himself wondering what Dukat would do if he knew that his loyal and trustworthy second-in-command was in fact a secret homosexual, and fantasising about him. For some reason the thought of his secret being revealed had a completely and utterly arousing effect on him, and he felt his cock twitch a little.

And why, he thought defiantly, shouldn't he think about it? Here he was, a Cardassian terrorist on a Klingon ship, caught in a crazy war against the whole of the Klingon Empire, separated from his family, only hours after a close encounter with death. Fantasising about his captain who couldn't possibly love him back seemed completely normal by comparison.

He rolled over on his back.

Dukat would be... well, he certainly would be surprised! Angry? Maybe. Somehow, showing blatant anger over such a private matter seemed very unlike Dukat. But he'd surely feel uncomfortable and find someone to replace him as his second. Considering their present situation Dukat couldn't really report him anywhere, or have him dismissed; but of course he would avoid him altogether, and that was the worst punishment that Damar could think of. And yet, the idea of somehow revealing his fantasies and innermost thoughts and emotions to Dukat was thrilling and exciting, and he felt how he was getting hard. Without giving it much thought he let his hand wander down the front of his body and let it slip under the loose waistband of his trousers. He grasped his half-erect sex and began to stroke it rhythmically. Soon the trousers seemed far too small to accommodate him, and suppressing a moan, he used his other hand to slide them down over his hips.

His next, rather sobering, thought was that, if Dukat woke now he would be treated to the very exclusive sight of his supposedly injured second - naked and masturbating. Unable to see Dukat from his present position and anxious to avoid that particular fantasy becoming reality, Damar sat up quickly and turned around to confirm that Dukat was still asleep. The sudden movement set his head spinning again.

This was quite ridiculous, he thought, annoyed with himself all of a sudden. He pulled his trousers up again. This was ludicrous, and it definitely wasn't the least bit helpful. Masturbating while thinking of another man, even if that other man happened to be Dukat, was one thing - masturbating in Dukat's presence was quite another. He had to distract himself, he decided. He was going to get up now, get dressed and get back to work. If he was well enough for activities like the one he had just engaged in, he was well enough to return to his duties. Now, where was his uniform?

Still careful so as not to make a sound, he slipped out of bed. A flash of pain shot through his head, and his legs nearly gave out. He reached out and got hold of the side of the bunk. This wasn't going to work. He'd been mistaken. He wasn't quite well enough yet to return to his duties after all.

Feeling useless and frustrated, he just stood there for a moment until he felt that he could trust his legs again. There were just about three meters of space between him and Dukat now.

Before he knew what he was doing, Damar took a step toward the chair, then another one. He didn't stop to think about it. All he wanted was to get a better look at Dukat because he might never see him like this again.

Dukat's profile was to him now.

He was wonderful. Even in his sleep he was wonderful. All power, grace and grandeur. Damar looked in adoration at those striking aquiline features, those high cheekbones; he followed the pronounced facial ridges with his eyes, utterly mesmerised by the charismatic hold that this man had over him. No matter how long he looked at this face, he could find no flaw, no fault.

Dukat's lips were slightly parted in total relaxation.

When Dukat kissed a woman, what exactly would he do to her? What would it be like, to be kissed by those lips?  The mere thought made Damar's cock ache and throb with desire. This was pointless, he kept telling himself in despair. He would never know, so why waste time thinking about it? Why put himself through this torture?

He could touch him if he wanted to.

When the idea shot through his head it scared him half to death. But it would be so simple: All he would have to do was reach out his hand and touch him. He was standing close enough. Dukat was asleep. He would never find out.

This was crazy!

He pulled back his already outstretched hand in confusion. What if Dukat were to wake?

He was playing with fire..

There!

He had done it! Damar looked at his trembling hand in disbelief. He'd actually done it. For one brief moment his fingertips had touched Dukat's face, his lips, had found unexpected softness and had felt the warmth of his breath

Madness! This was dangerous. And yet, it was thrilling and unbelievably arousing, maybe _because_ of the danger involved.

If he wanted to, he could kiss him.

Madness! Dukat would probably kill him. At the very least it would be the end of his career. Then again, his career was as good as over anyway. He was a pirate, and pirates didn't get promoted to glinns, guls or legates. Pirates, more often than not, died violent deaths before their time.

Slowly and ever so carefully, almost despite himself, he bent over Dukat. For the fraction of a second the two men's lips touched. This one moment, Damar thought triumphantly, would provide him with masturbation fantasies for the rest of his life, however long that was going to be. He had just enough time to revel in the idea that this was the bravest thing he'd ever done before Dukat brusquely pulled away; then Damar's heart stopped as he found himself arrested by a pair of ice blue eyes.

Damar felt sick to his stomach. When his heart started beating again it was pounding so loudly that he had no doubt that Dukat was able to hear it.

What _now_? He searched in his mind for something to say, some excuse. No, an excuse wasn't good enough, it had better be a plausible explanation. Finding a plausible explanation for kissing his captain was going to be difficult though, unless he opted for telling the truth and told him right out that he was in love with him, which would really be the only way he could think of to make things worse than they already were.

Now that his fantasies had become real they didn't seem thrilling or arousing at all. His secret was out, and he had only himself to blame. Bitter remorse was all he felt when he was hit by the realisation that all those years of secrecy and self-restraint had been in vain. In spite of that, he was still hard. And it showed, he noticed miserably, looking down at himself.

Dukat slowly rose to his feet, drawing himself to his full height and looking Damar over without as much as a word. Damar in turn kept his eyes lowered, horribly aware of how blatant his arousal was.

Dukat put his hands over his face for a moment and shook his head, as if lost for words.
"Damar - " he began, and stopped.
"Sir," Damar replied quietly, almost in sympathy. The situation was so embarrassingly obvious that there was really nothing to say. Dukat, however, seemed to think differently and said:

"Damar, I believe we'd better talk about - this."

*-*-*-*-*-*

It hadn't been anything like he'd expected it to be.

Dukat had expected it to feel strange, probably even unpleasant. Instead, he had to admit that letting another man kiss him had felt thoroughly enjoyable and reassuringly normal.

Of course he could have prevented it from ever happening. He'd awakened from a state of light sleep to a soft, almost imperceptible moan of pleasure coming from the bunk. Guessing  the nature of Damar's activities hadn't been difficult even with his eyes closed. The situation had struck Dukat as both funny and awkward at the same time and he'd decided that, if he wasn't to badly embarrass his second-in-command, he had best pretend to be asleep until the other had finished the job. The dull sound of skin rubbing against skin had been strangely arousing and Dukat, forbidden to open his eyes, had caught himself visualising Damar's hand moving up and down along his slick member in the age-old rhythm. Anticipating the other's climax, he'd felt disappointment when the sound had abruptly stopped. Then Damar had slipped out of bed and had come to him. He'd seen the shadow of the other's outstretched hand on the inside of his eyelids, yet he had allowed it to touch his face and lips. Why hadn't he put an end to the charade?

He'd felt the other bend over him, had felt his face nearing his own. He'd anticipated the kiss, so why hadn't he prevented it?

Maybe because he'd been curious as to how far Damar was going to go with his little game - and maybe, _maybe_ because deep down he, too, had wanted it to happen.

Of course Dukat would never have to admit this to anyone.

Damar's fate was in his hands. Dukat could punish him, expose his secret and make his life hell for him, or he could simply let him go.

Either way he could be sure that no-one, including Damar, would ever know about his inner feelings. In which case, of course, _he_ would never know what it would have been like to be with Damar.

On the other hand, there was the option of pursuing the matter further. Damar was evidently more than just willing, and as for himself - well, he could not deny the burning curiosity and the thrill that he felt, and the bright sparkle of desire somewhere in between.

Of course, there was also the reassuring knowledge that he was the one in control of the situation. It was merely another opportunity; he could take it or leave it as he chose, and should he choose to take it he could always put a halt to things any time he wanted. His recent purely hypothetical musings about friendship aside, Damar didn't really mean all that much to him. It wasn't like they were friends already. He was fond of him, that was all. He really had nothing to lose.

All he had to do was let Damar know. That was going to be the hardest part. How was he going to proposition another man without giving away that this was first for him? He'd never taken much interest in other men although there'd been plenty of opportunities for such experimentation, if not on Cardassia - where homosexual love affairs, however casual, were known to have been the downfall of many aspiring young men and women and the end of their careers - then on Bajor where he had spent a great part of his adult life. Far away from Cardassian civilisation, he'd witnessed, participated in and finally hosted countless orgies which had, amongst other popular attractions, involved Bajoran slave boys - some, to Dukat's personal dismay, no more than children - and male dancers in exotic and outrageous costumes which, by the end of the night, had usually ended up on the floor, and the dancers themselves in Cardassian beds. Dukat had watched those goings-on with amusement and faint contempt, finding the boys' overt prostitution and feminine ways mildly off-putting:

When Gul Dukat desired a woman, he had a _woman_, not some little boy. The man who was standing before him now had absolutely nothing in common with those tragicomic creatures that he recalled.

Damar stood upright; only his eyes were cast to the ground. Dukat, who rarely, if ever, saw one of his men out of armour, was struck by the sight of the other man's bare, well-muscled chest heaving up and down as he was breathing in and out deliberately slowly in an almost visible fight for self-control. His arms were hanging at his side; he didn't even attempt to hide the impressive bulge inside the trousers he was wearing; trousers which were hanging loosely off his narrow hips and were only held up by a piece of string around the waist.

Did he have experience? His age considered, it had to be expected; yet if he did, it certainly didn't show. There was a simple, dignified purity about him that made Dukat want to reach for those baggy trousers - which seemed tailored for easy access - tear them off those hips and see what treasures there were to be discovered.

"There is," he said and turned away so that Damar couldn't see his face, and he was no longer distracted by the other's assets, "no need for an explanation. So I will not ask you for one. You are of course aware that I could punish you severely -"

"Yes, sir."

"- but I won't. You are free to go now and resume your duties on the bridge, and we will both forget about this incident. But...you are equally free to stay..."

"Sir?" The single word was really an outcry of confusion.

"... with me," Dukat finished impatiently. "Here. Now." By the ancient gods, this was harder, and Damar even more innocent, than he'd thought! He turned around brusquely. "Look, I'm not going to say this twice, Damar, and I want you to understand that I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want yourself. The decision is yours."

With the preliminaries out of the way, he took a firm stance with his feet apart and his arms folded over his chest, and looked Damar straight in the eyes.

And he waited.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Damar had expected reproaches, disappointment, disgust - had expected _anything_ but this reaction from Dukat. He repeated what he'd just heard in his head, if only to be sure he hadn't misunderstood. 'Stay with me' was vague enough. Stay with him and do _what_? Hell, what had he started?

He knew he had to say something now, something other than 'sir', something that would let Dukat know how much he wanted this; he opened his mouth to speak only to shut it again because, although his heart cried out 'yes!', in his confusion he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound either extremely silly or extremely profane.

"Get dressed," came Dukat's voice again, distinctively cool and detached. "It appears you have recovered from your injuries sooner than Arkor expected. It seems to me that you are fit to return to duty. Congratulations, Damar. It's good to have you back I expect you on the bridge in ten minutes." Dukat turned on his heel and was at the door with two long strides.

Damar jumped. This wasn't happening to him! "No! Don't leave!" he called out, adding, "Please," as an afterthought.

Dukat smiled. He'd counted on Damar calling him back, but for a little while he'd been far less sure of it than had felt comfortable.

Damar had instinctively followed Dukat when he'd thought that he was going to leave, and now that the two men stood facing each other there was just about half a meter of space between them. Damar wasn't avoiding Dukat's gaze any longer; quite the reverse, he returned it firmly and with pride, and Dukat could see his own lust and desire mirrored in the other's eyes. He took a deep breath to clear his mind and wound up inhaling the unmistakable smell of sweat and male arousal that surrounded the younger man like an aura. There was no way back now.

Damar, despite his arousal, still seemed at a loss for words. Deciding that it was now time to end the talking and start acting instead, Dukat did the only thing he could think of: He pulled the other close and kissed him.

For the second time that day the two men's lips met, but this time more thoroughly. No, this was nothing like kissing a woman. Dukat ran his tongue over his upper lip to savour the taste. How could the same thing feel so different? He took the other's head firmly between his hands so that Damar couldn't have pulled away had he wanted to. That seemed like an appropriate treatment for someone who had been so eager to get a kiss only minutes ago. Damar apparently felt no need to try and break free. On the contrary, he looked as if he would happily stay in that position for the rest of his life and invitingly opened his mouth a little, just far enough to allow Dukat's tongue to make its entrance.

So this was what it felt like! Enraptured, Damar caught the other man's tongue and encircled it with his own. The metal of Dukat's body armour pressed hard against his chest and made his erect nipples sting with the cold, thus heightening his senses even further. When Dukat's hands loosened their grip, slid down the sides of his face, finally found his burning neckridges and began to rub them, he surely would have cried out with desire, if Dukat's lips and tongue hadn't still sealed his mouth; so instead he flung his arms around the other's elegantly slender waist - Dukat possessed the classic beauty of an Hebitian statuette - and laced his hands behind the small of his back, applying just enough pressure to indicate his need for closeness. Dukat willingly arched his hips and since Damar was doing the same, the two men's genitals were pushed together in a strange kind of heavenly collision that set both participants on fire.

****

The same thing, and yet so different! Dukat broke away and tilted his head to the side. Now was the time to continue the exploration on the next level

"Bed?"

Damar wasn't entirely sure if this was a question or an order, but he nodded with devotion.

No more than a couple of strides back to the hard, uncomfortable bunk inside sleeping quarters that were barely more than a prison cell - and yet, with those strides Dukat stepped into absolute freedom: He was no longer bound by the shackles of convention; he'd broken the very last rule, and, he noticed with satisfaction, he wasn't even surprised any longer at how wonderful it felt.

Just a couple of strides - and yet, when Damar had reached the bunk he knew he'd just walked out of a web of the lies that he'd been living for far too long. The feeling of liberation was almost as exhilarating as his arousal.

He sat down, wanting nothing more than to get those oddly- cut trousers off; he was on fire down there. Appropriately enough, Dukat came to his rescue. The piece of string was dealt with swiftly, and the garment was sent flying through the air and landed on the floor across the room. Damar in turn landed on his back after that somewhat deft manoeuvre. He did not object however, as the purpose had been served; looking up at Dukat's face he saw those pale blue eyes devouring his raging erection, and his heart filled with pride.

How beautiful he was, Dukat thought to himself; lying there just waiting to be explored! The mattress was so hard that it barely sank in when he finally sat down and lifted his feet out of his heavy boots. He wasn't going to keep Damar waiting much longer. He couldn't quite suppress a moan of relief as he unbuckled his trousers.

Damar propped himself up and watched with rapture as Dukat stripped naked before his eyes. He was all but hypnotised by the other man's lean, hard body, his supple grace and by the play of tight muscles, first under dark fabric, then under bare skin. Dukat's arousal had been visible enough through his uniform trousers; now as he turned around, his sex, just like Damar's, stood fully erect, slick and nearly black.

Anticipation and excitement took over as Dukat lay down next to Damar and drew him into a long embrace. Again, the two men's erections brushed against each other, and again the resulting feeling was electrifying. Damar called out with joy and smiled as he heard Dukat's voice like an echo of his own. He'd lived this scene a hundred thousand times in his dreams before, it seemed, yet those dreams faded to nothing when compared to the reality of the moment.

Damar possessively let his hands run all over the other man's body, was presented with hard muscles and sharp angles and continued his search for some softness with vigour. His hands found the pattern of scales on Dukat's back and traced the fine line that ran along the length of the spinal column right down to its base, then were finally rewarded with success as they went over the shallow curves of his buttocks. Encouraged by this, Damar reached for the actual object of
his desire.

Dukat threw back his head and moaned as Damar began to stroke his member from its base to its tip, up and down, in a slow steady rhythm, concentrating on the sensitive underside as if he'd never done anything else in his life. Unable to stop himself he bucked into Damar's hand, once, twice, then exclaimed:

"No!"

Damar misunderstood completely. Believing that the "no" had been meant to indicate that his ministrations weren't quite right, or maybe not sufficiently forceful, he began to double his efforts.

Dukat, displeased that an order that he had given was being ignored, hurled himself at Damar without notice, grabbed his arms and unceremoniously pinned them down on the bed. "No," he repeated, not as loudly as the first time, but with just as much authority. He was over Damar now, straddling his hips and holding him down by putting all his weight into his arms.

Damar opened his mouth with the vague idea to protest, or at least ask for an explanation but shut it again when he realised that he was getting exactly what he wanted, that the situation - he, Damar, on his back, pinned down by Dukat who was towering over him - excited him more than anything else ever had. His sex was brushing against Dukat's belly and ached and burned with need.

When Dukat was satisfied that his order was being followed he let go of Damar's arms and casually swooped down for another kiss.

How different Damar's body was from his own! Surprisingly soft where his was hard, rounded where his was angular. Yet Dukat knew very well that those differences meant nothing, that there were strong muscles underneath the soft skin, and that there was the ability to fight - and to fight well - under the aura of apparent submissiveness.

Damar was essentially a warrior, just like himself, only he was sixteen years his junior, and that was excactly his strength. Dukat had seen him in hand-to-hand combat with Klingons, killing fast and efficiently, without remorse, without pity. Supposing that it ever came to a fight between himself and Damar, what would the outcome be?

Who'd have to surrender to whom? Dukat thoughtfully looked down at the younger man. However favourably old age was viewed by Cardassian society, the knowledge that his physical strength would soon start to fade - he'd already noticed, and duly ignored, the first signs of it - was somewhat alarming. And yet, here this still young, beautiful man, an image of what he used to be, was lying in total rapture, ready to do whatever was asked of him. Damar was entirely his, in the bed as well as on the bridge. Oh, love was such a weakness!

Slyly he took Damar's sex in his hands and began to stroke it, watched Damar arch his hips in helpless enchantment and heard him moan. Oh yes, this was much better: He, Dukat, in control of the other who in turn was a mere slave to his own sexuality.

Because of a lack of experience that he didn't care to admit, Dukat touched Damar the way he would touch himself when he was on his own, without a woman to keep him company, and found that Damar responded to the same stimuli; responded to them with an intensity that bordered on frenzy. He'd have to question Damar in regard with his sexual past some time, Dukat decided as he moved down on the other's body, leaving a wet trail of saliva on the hot shuddering skin. The man was starved for sexual attention.

* * *

Damar didn't comprehend. Of course he could clearly see what Dukat had in mind, but he was unable to see the reasoning behind the plan. Then the fact that he didn't comprehend no longer mattered as Dukat's teeth and lips closed around his erection. Damar was barely able to control himself. His breathing was shallow and noisy, and he was digging his nails into the sheet to suppress the urge to thrash about in his frenzy. Dukat more than made up for his lack of experience in this particular field with a more general ingenuity and an imaginative mind.

"Stop, now... don't... I'm..." Damar was trying to speak but his voice failed him and he had to resort to shaking his head fiercely in a gesture of warning. Then he cried out loudly in ecstasy. Dukat pulled away not quite fast enough and wound up with a taste of salty, hot semen in his mouth and splashes of the same over his chest.

Swallowing slowly, he watched Damar's body contract in spasms, then relax. Sprawled across the bed, lips parted, blue eyes wide open and turned upwards to the ceiling in sudden and complete exhaustion, Damar radiated an odd innocence that reminded Dukat of something he'd read about in connection with Earth culture briefly after Benjamin Sisko had taken command of his station, Terok Nor.

"Angel," he said quietly.

Damar returned to reality with a frown. "What?"

"Nothing." Dukat smiled briefly. "Come here, now. We're not finished yet."

That much was obvious. Dukat's erection was still standing and there was a predatory gleam in his eyes as he moved over Damar that left no doubt that he was about to claim his prize. Dukat didn't do anything by halves. Damar slowly rolled over onto his stomach. Up to now, the haze of arousal had clouded his senses like a drug, but with his own needs satisfied for the moment, he felt a touch of apprehension which was picked up immediately by Dukat.

"Do you want this?" Dukat asked harshly. "Me - inside you?"

Damar nodded. "Yes. I want this. I want this more than anything else."

Without further ado Dukat drew him close and positioned himself so that he came to lie behind Damar and both of them came to lie on their sides. Dukat was slick with arousal and Damar's spent semen served as additional lubricant which was applied with a speed and an accuracy that, Damar thought with a hint of jealousy, just _had_ to come from experience.

Then came the pain; so strong that it made Damar gasp, change his mind and jump forward in a vain attempt to get away from its source. Dukat had no intention of permitting that and held him firmly in place. Then he began to move, gently at first, then more vigorously until Damar began to wonder how something that hurt so badly could at the same time feel so good. His sex began to stir again and came to life in Dukat's skilful hand.

Dukat climaxed first, filling Damar with his semen; then Damar came for the second time, his climax aided by several gentle, strategically placed bites to his neckridges. Dukat had made a rule for himself many years ago always to leave a lover satisfied.

And satisfied this one should be for now, Dukat thought to himself, watching the other man shudder in the aftershock of their lovemaking.

There was, however, one more thing that Damar desired, but it wasn't all that difficult to obtain. Reaching back over his own shoulder, he found it. His lover's hand. Dukat let him hold it for a little while in a universal gesture of love.

*-*-*-*-*-*

One had to be prepared to pay a price for the things one truly desired. For _everything_ there was a price to pay.

Fate had seen him contemplate friendship and, in her capriciousness, had offered him a friend and a lover in the same person. He had welcomed her offering. With Damar as a lover, he'd broken the last petty rule that had ever stood between him and freedom. With Damar as a friend, of course, the possibilities were still open. Again he thought of how Damar had lain there on the bunk, a victim of pleasure and a picture of innocence and strength all rolled into one. 'Angel'. He smiled. Yes, Damar would be his guardian angel, and in return, Dukat would give him the kind of love he seemed to need so badly.

But with such an unspoken deal, how free was he really? No matter how much effort he'd made to keep Damar at bay emotionally, hadn't he lost a small part of his new-found freedom already?

He breathed a heavy sigh as his thoughts once more returned to the dire situation that he and his crew were in. What had happened on Tarima IV yesterday could happen again today. Or tomorrow. No matter when, there was going to be a next time. And when it came, they'd be unlikely to get away without any fatalities. What good was it to delude oneself? No matter how exciting it was to fight again for a greater good, their quest against the Klingons was hopeless. It was just that they were usually too high on adrenaline, too blinded by hatred, hurt and vague ideas of revenge to realise this. But after a long eventful night, with physical exhaustion setting in, it was very plain to see that, unless some other way opened up unexpectedly, they'd die, maybe one by one, maybe all of them together.

If Damar died first, Dukat would be devastated. No, his freedom wasn't absolute. Fool that he was, he hadn't learned anything from his past and was on his way to make himself vulnerable again.

Yet he didn't regret his choice. There undeniably was tremendous solace in the thought that, even if it came to the worst and they were really going to die, and even if he and Damar died separately, at least they wouldn't die alone.

Keeping Damar at bay completely was going to be extremely hard. Maybe, he thought, it wasn't worth the effort after all...?

Gul Dukat sat in his command chair on the bridge of the Bird Of Prey and watched as the long night came to an end and a sun rose over the wasteland of another lonely desolate planet.

~~ end ~~

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Now tell me if you can: What makes a man a man?
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

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