#whew lads

Of all the positions you’d been assigned to, prison watch had proven to be – by far – the most tedious. Stashed away on some starbase sufficiently isolated from the rest of the quadrant, passing the slow hours in mind-numbing boredom, you had begun to look forward to even the smallest moments of excitement at mealtimes. As starved for attention as you were during those long shifts in empty rooms, kept company only by your security camera consoles, the prisoners were even lonelier - and the short time they had to hold conversation with you while you delivered their meals was often the highlight of both of your days.

Many prisoners refused, at first, to so much as look at you. After all, you and your colleagues served as a constant reminder of their defeat. But inevitably their defiant silence gave way over time, first to an offhand comment here or there, then to tentative chatter, and finally to warm conversation as you became a comforting constant in their dreary lives.

But one prisoner in particular had yet to follow this preordained path. From the moment he arrived on the starbase, he treated everyone around him with equal parts cold condescension and detached politeness, and for all the months you’d spent bringing him his three squares and trying in vain to initiate conversation, he’d never given an inch. It intrigued you, even more than his violet eyes and curvy, ridged ears had at first glance. But try as you might, the Vorta never appeared to take even the slightest interest in talking to you.

“Lieutenant.”

You snap out of your reverie to the sight of your commander standing before you; you hadn’t even heard him come in. You stand at attention.

“Sir.”

“Today is going to be a little different, Lieutenant. We have...visitors.”

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, looking off for a moment. You can tell the stress was getting to him; whoever these visitors were, they were trouble.

“The Dominion has sent a representative to check on our Vorta prisoner. To ensure he is being ‘well-treated.’ They know damn well the Federation doesn’t torture our P.O.W.s, but when we declined their visit the first time, they grew insistent. Now I suppose we’re in the position of having to prove to them that we have nothing to hide.”

You swallow, half in nervousness, half in excitement. The chance to meet another Vorta! And in the midst of all this political intrigue as well.

“What is my part to play in all this, sir?”

“I’d like you to stand guard with Keevan while their representative ‘chats’ with him. We wanted a more...established officer with them to ensure no wrongdoing, but they’re worried about intimidation tactics. That he won’t say certain things if we’re in the room with him.”

The commander waves a hand dismissively.

“It’s bullshit if you ask me, but we have no choice in the matter now. We’ll have two guards standing outside the door and I have a security team in place if anything goes wrong. Any funny business and you just say the word, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They start talking about any escape plans or sensitive information, you escort the representative out at phaser-point. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and steps back, speaking into his comm-badge to order the transporter room to teleport their visitor directly into the prison block. Before you materializes a relatively short Vorta, standing upright with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes, amethyst and wide, dart about the room – hesitating on yours for a split second – before settling on the commander. His mouth pulls into a sharp grin.

“Ah! Commander. Such a pleasure to finally speak face-to-face. I must thank you once again for –”

The commander holds a hand up and cuts him off. “Let’s dispense with the formalities. Lieutenant Y/N will escort you to Keevan. After forty minutes she’ll bring you back here and we’ll transport you out. Any questions, you ask her.”

You’re surprised to be put in such a position, having only been briefed moments ago, but the responsibility emboldens you and you stand just a bit taller. You hold the Vorta’s gaze as it slides over to you, his smile tightening.

“Ah. Well, in that case.”

He holds his arms out at his sides, palms open.

“Shall we?”

“Right this way,” you direct him, voice clear and loud, becoming for a Starfleet officer. He follows closely – a bit too closely – as you walk briskly down the corridor. Every species has a different idea of personal space, you think, trying not to make too much out of it. But somehow it feels intentional.

“Forgive me,” he purrs suddenly, once you are out of earshot of the commander. “I hadn’t the chance to introduce myself properly. My name is Weyoun.”

You hear the smile in his voice as he speaks but don’t glance over. He senses your hesitation to return the sentiment and prompts you: “And you are…?”

“Lieutenant Y/N.”

“A lovely name,” he states, matter-of-fact, and you can’t help feeling as though he meant that genuinely.

You reach Keevan’s cell and input the security code; the two of you stride into the room past the guards posted at the door and you step aside, allowing him to approach the forcefield. Keevan, reclined on the bed, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows in dispassionate interest. You had half-expected a more emotional response but, then, you really should’ve known better.

“Weyoun.”

“Keevannn,” he retorts, dragging out the Vorta’s name, sounding as warm somehow as he does threatening. “You could at least appear happy to see me.”

“Why should I, exactly?” he asks, rising to sit upright. “You and I both know my stay here isn’t entirely Dominion-sanctioned.”

“No,” Weyoun admits, “it isn’t. But we are at least invested in the wellbeing of our operatives. Captive or not, you are still Vorta, and we take great interest in knowing the Federation is not abusing the privilege of having you in their grasp.”

Keevan scowls; you wonder if these two are communicating something beneath the words they’re using, but you have no way to tell. Weyoun turns suddenly to you, his smile unwavering.

“Tell me, Lieutenant. Is this where Keevan spends all of his time? Or is there some communal space, a mess hall or barracks of some sort?”

“The lower-security prisoners do have communal spaces,” you begin to explain, but then curtail yourself, remembering these Vorta are the enemy and you do not wish to supply them with any unnecessary intel. “...Keevan is a high-security prisoner, so he spends all his time in this cell, yes.”

“Ahh,” he sighs, focusing more intently on you and beginning to slowly pace back and forth in front of the forcefield. Has he noted that eagerness to share you just displayed? “You bring him his meals here, then? How often does he eat?”

“Three times a day.”

“Mm, a shame,” he denotes, and at your confused expression, gracefully explains: “The Vorta have a slightly higher metabolism than humans do. We eat four, sometimes five times a day. Still,” here he glances back to Keevan, who tilts his head back defiantly, “he certainly does not appear to have lost any weight. Nor does he appear to be sleep-deprived or ill...”

“We’re not in the business of starving, sleep-depriving or otherwise abusing our prisoners,” you interject sharply, offended by proxy at the diplomat’s hypocrisy; you’ve heard tell of what Dominion prisons have to offer, and he has the gall to stand here and grill you. “Federation prisons are nothing like Dominion ones.”

Weyoun’s head whips around to stare at you. His smile has vanished. Your bravado dissipates as he advances upon you; gripping the phaser at your hip does nothing to slow his approach and, for a moment, you feel real fear.

“I don’t know what kind of lies you’ve heard about Dominion facilities,” he hisses, stopping inches from your face, “but I do not appreciate the implication that we mistreat our guests, Lieutenant. In fact…”

He pauses, eyes leaving your own uneasy gaze to travel down and back up your body. The tight-lipped smile returns to his lips; you feel more unsettled by the second.

“Many things are allowed in our facilities which clearly are forbidden in this one. I assume you do well to meet many of Keevan’s needs...” He looks back over to the Vorta, who meets his gaze challengingly. “But not all of them.”

“We meet our prisoners’ needs just fine.”

Weyoun shoots you a venomous smile before turning his attention back toward Keevan. He holds a hand out to gesture at the Vorta and directs firmly: “Stand.”

After a moment of hesitation, Keevan does so, begrudgingly.

“Strip.”

You glance at Weyoun, alarmed, but say nothing. Fascinated, you stare without restraint as Keevan rolls his eyes, uncrosses his arms and begins to shed his prison uniform; you’ve never seen a Vorta naked and you're not about to pass up this opportunity.

His skin is paler beneath his clothing, almost to the point of translucency. He is slender, though he lacks much muscle tone. You notice with interest that he sports a pair of aubergine nipples but no belly button; if the latter is no longer necessitated due to their cloning techniques, why keep the former? Heat spreads over your cheeks as Keevan’s jumpsuit falls completely to the floor, revealing a relatively small protrusion dangling at the meeting of his thighs. Your attention is quickly drawn further downwards, however, as you notice the bright red scars that decorate the Vorta’s thighs.

No, not scars – these are fresh. Partially scabbed over with bruises blooming beneath. Five angry lines, vertical, on each thigh – claw marks?

“Ahh,” sighs Weyoun, as if he knew exactly what he was going to find. He looks pointedly back to you, as if you’re supposed to know what this means.

Panicked, you stutter: “I – these aren’t – the Federation doesn’t –”

Weyoun raises a hand to cut you off, and you fall to silence, grateful. He shakes his head, tutting softly as he closes the distance between you once more. You wish he wouldn’t get so close; it makes it hard to think.

“My child. I know quite well the Federation is no practitioner of torture. At least, not on purpose.” He pauses to let the implication sink in and tilts his head, studying your measured expression. “However. I believe you have mistaken one of our people’s needs for what your people consider a mere desire.”

The confusion is evident on your face and, to Weyoun, it is amusing. He raises a hand and brushes the back of his fingers, ever so gently, against your cheek. The feather-light touch sends shivers throughout your whole body; your breath hitches. You stand statue-still, frozen, your eyes locked on his piercing violet gaze.

Weyoun chuckles, low in the back of his throat. You wonder briefly if this constitutes “funny business,” but can’t seem to bring yourself to move. Or care.

“You see, my dear, the Vorta suffer quite horribly if they cannot achieve a joining on a somewhat regular basis. Keevan here seems to have taken to self-harm in order to deal with the urges.”

You break Weyoun’s icy stare for long enough to glance at the vulnerable Vorta behind the forcefield, who has diverted his gaze to stare in dismay and frustration at the floor. But the hand that caressed your cheek suddenly grips your chin, forcefully directing you back to the ambassador’s attention.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, child,” he growls, every hint of pleasantry all but evaporated.

The words, uttered so closely, so dangerously, bring a hint of red to your cheeks once more. Swallowing, you manage a whisper-quiet protest: “I’m not a child.”

“Oh,” he sighs. His hand slides to grip the back of your neck, holding you firm. Leaning in, he exhales the rest of the sentence into your ear. “That, you are not. Forgive me. A grown woman...with her own needs and desires.”

You exhale a shaky breath. This is not the kind of diplomacy for which you were prepared.

“I can tell,” continues Weyoun, his hand snaking up into your hair, “yours are not being met either. Why, you’re positively melting under my touch.”

You hate the smug way he says this – you hate that he’s right. But the way he murmurs each word into your neck...the way he tightens his grip on your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. The slow, open-mouthed kisses he’s now pressing into it. These things, you don’t hate.

You realize one of your hands is gripping Weyoun’s upper arm. When it got there, you aren’t sure. But the Vorta takes this as a sign to continue, as if he weren’t planning to do so already. His free hand snakes around your waist and pulls you into him, and the heat radiating between your bodies is intoxicating. His deliberate kisses travel up your neck and along your jaw, and finally he descends upon your parted, waiting lips – cradling the back of your head as you press desperately back into the passionate kiss.

In his cell, Keevan clears his throat loudly.

You whine quietly in protest as Weyoun breaks the kiss and turns to survey the prisoner you’d all but forgotten about. He breaks into a wide grin. “How rude of us,” he laments, still holding you close as he looks back into your eyes. “We seem to have forgotten someone.”

Your eyes widen a bit in panic as you realize what he wants. “I… I can’t just –“

“Ah, but you can,” counters the Vorta, releasing you and backing away. You miss his touch immediately and take an involuntary step after him. His smile widens; ever amused, that one.

“Think about it. There are two guards just outside that door, and surely more just out of sight. There is nothing accessible in this room that constitutes a danger to you – besides myself, of course!”

He laughs in genuine delight at his own joke.

“Keevan isn’t going anywhere. But isn’t it awfully cruel of us to indulge in such a feast in front of the proverbial starving man?”

You consider Keevan carefully. He’s met your gaze now, and behind his guarded stare you notice something else this time – a hunger. A weakness. Between his legs, the soft, lavender-tipped organ has started to swell. He swallows, worried at your hesitation, and after a moment chokes out a single, genuine plea, the first hint of submission you’ve ever heard leave his lips: “Please.”

You could be relieved of duty for this, you think as you stride over to the wall panel.

You could be stripped of your ranking, you realize as you type the security code to neutralize the forcefield.

You could –

“Mmm!”

Your thoughts cease altogether as Keevan descends upon you. Hungry, desperate, his hands are all over you; his lips dominate yours and his (rather longer than you’d expected) tongue shoves its way into your mouth to tangle with your own. One of his hands grips your ass and pulls you into his hips, and you let out a tiny moan at the feeling of the hardness pinned between you. His other snakes up your chest and squeezes a breast, groping, exploring.

Suddenly a second pair of hands finds its way up your back and to the hidden zipper at the top of your uniform. A warm pair of lips presses itself to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses. Your attention fades from Keevan’s ravenous kissing to Weyoun’s licking and nibbling at your flesh as he pulls the zipper of your uniform slowly down, revealing the bare skin beneath. The jumpsuit falls to the floor, leaving you in only your underthings, but the two bodies pressed against you prevent you from feeling very cold or exposed.

Weyoun’s hips press into your backside and you sigh softly at the feeling of his desire pressing into you. His hands grip your hips, guiding them to rock back and forth between the two Vortas, grinding against both of them in turn. Keevan moans his approval and his mouth leaves yours; in the split second that follows, Weyoun swiftly pulls your sports bra over your head, and Keevan wastes no time cradling one of your freed breasts in his hand and dousing the other with a quick series of kisses and nibbles. He takes your nipple between his lips, sucking at it gently and teasing it with his tongue, and as you arch into his touch, Weyoun takes it upon himself to grab you by the chin once more and force your head back to meet his lips. You release soft sounds of pleasure into the kiss that grow in intensity as Weyoun’s free hand slips down your belly, across your hipbones, and beneath your waistband – finally wedging itself between your cunt and Keevan’s cock.

Your knees grow weak as he strokes your clit, first in soft, circular motions, then in long, harder ministrations. Leaning back into his comforting presence, you break the kiss to allow your head to loll back onto Weyoun’s shoulder and exhale your approval in quiet whines and moans. Each time he moves, the back of his hand also strokes Keevan’s aching cock through the fabric of your panties, and the Vorta rocks his hips in time with the motions – growling lowly against your breasts.

In what feels like no time at all, Keevan’s impatience gets the better of him, and he shoves Weyoun’s hand violently away in order to replace it with his mouth. Falling to his knees, he yanks your panties off your hips and presses a lingering, breathy kiss to your pubic mound. Weyoun – sensing your unsteadiness – holds you firmly against him and backs the two of you up to the bed in Keevan’s cell. Lowering onto it, you settle gently down into his lap.

Keevan follows and positions himself eagerly between your legs. One of Weyoun’s hands slide up to your chest; the other falls to your inner thigh where it meets your groin. The Vorta uses the gentlest brush of his fingers to coax them further apart and you comply helplessly.

“Good girl,” he breathes, husky, into your ear - and you practically melt into his arms. Keevan, nipping at your thigh, reaches the outer lips of your cunt and presses long, lingering kisses along them – never quite reaching the spots you want him to. Squirming, you reach over your head to grip the back of Weyoun’s shirt tightly and turn your head into his neck, burying your soft protests there.

“We don’t have all day,” Weyoun reminds the other Vorta impatiently. His breathing is shallow and quick in your ear; you sense perhaps a hint of jealousy under his irritated tone. Keevan’s attention ceases for a long enough moment that you open your eyes and glance down to see the two Vorta fixing each other with an adversarial glare – but it is over as soon as it started and Keevan’s tongue is lapping over you as though you are the best meal he’s ever tasted; Weyoun’s hand covers your mouth tightly and pulls your head back against his shoulder, and you rock your hips into the mouth pleasuring it and you cry out into the hand silencing you and you feel the world around you spinning as a pair of teeth sink sharply into your shoulder –

And then, just as you are positive you can’t keep from falling over that edge anymore, the sensations all stop at once. Keevan sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; Weyoun presses a soft kiss to the bruise he’s left on your shoulder, his arms having wrapped themselves around your waist. You close your eyes and pant hard for a moment, legs shaking as you back away from the edge. Far more patient with you than they had been with each other, both Vorta allow you to collect yourself before moving on. Your eyes open to the sight of Keevan, leaning back on the floor now, jerking himself off slowly and staring wantonly back at you. A short chuckle resonates from behind you: “Look at him. So desperate. Can’t you tell how badly he wants you, Y/N?”

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t told Weyoun your first name.

Your thoughts are cut short as the Vorta pushes you firmly off of him, only to turn you by the hips around to face him. Pulling you down, he directs you to your knees, never once breaking eye contact. As you settle and begin to breathlessly undo the Vorta’s slacks - half terribly nervous, half insatiably eager – Keevan sidles up behind you, his grip tight as he pulls your hips upwards and into his own. The movement forces you mostly horizontal, arching your hips up toward him, and your face is now inches from Weyoun’s still-clothed crotch. You find it difficult to concentrate as Keevan grinds into you, and your labored breathing hitches as you slip the Vorta’s cock from his trousers. He shifts beneath your gentle touch, aching, but you are too fascinated at seeing this alien anatomy up close to give him what he wants just yet.

Weyoun’s cock is – while girthier than Keevan’s – still only about the average size of a human’s. It tapers from a thick base into a soft, smooth curve at the tip, which sports a concave indentation leading up to the slit (currently beading with a pearlescent drop of fluid). Ridges much like the ones on Vorta ears decorate either lateral side. Engorged, it shows the slightest hint of veins bulging from beneath the delicate skin, violet blood pulsing visibly. You are fascinated to find at its base a smooth parting of the skin concealing a slit, rather than a pair of testes; perhaps the Vorta were intersex. You suppose it would make sense.

“Are you just going to stare at it?” Weyoun prompts sternly, cocking his head at you as you glance up. The expression on his face does little to soothe your nervousness.

“No sir,” you find yourself murmuring, and with a deep breath, you begin your work.

Bracing yourself on Weyoun’s thighs as Keevan presses the tip of his cock against your slick opening, you take the base in one hand and drag your tongue slowly up the Vorta’s length, savoring the taste – not salty like a human’s skin, but muted and sweet. He groans approvingly as you take the tip into your mouth and stroke at the base, swirling your tongue around the strangely-shaped organ. And just as you slide your lips down the throbbing shaft, Keevan’s cock plunges smoothly inside of you, burying itself completely into your cunt in one smooth motion.

You and Weyoun moan in unison. He slides a fist into your hair and pulls your head up – shoves it back down. Your cheeks burn red hot as Keevan matches the rhythm, sliding almost entirely out of you and pumping back in in time with Weyoun rocking his hips up to meet each bob of your head.

You’re not sure how long you can hold out against this feeling of being absolutely, completely filled. Of being used by the both of them, at both ends.

Keevan has picked up the pace, pounding relentlessly into you – you hear his breathing hitching, feel his grip bruising your hips. Every thrust floods you with ecstasy, with pure, blinding pleasure. Gasping, you fight against Weyoun’s hold to break free from his cock and pant heavily. Your hips slam back into each thrust, and you let out a helpless moan into the Vorta’s thigh; his muscles twitch, and, fearful of what will happen if you abandon him altogether, you wrap your hand more firmly around his member and stroke. Zealously. He relaxes somewhat - and then, as you relocate your other hand to the slit at the base of his cock, he relaxes completely.

You notice the opening is slick with lubricant, and after a moment of teasing, you slide two fingers inside with ease. “Kaa’li…” you hear Weyoun murmuring despite himself, and you glance up to see his head falling back, eyes drifted shut. Stroking in time with the thrusts of your fingers, you work the Vorta into a positive frenzy; he squirms beneath you, arching, grasping the bedsheets, unable to keep composure. It’s enough to distract you from the sensations of the other Vorta fucking you - allowing you to hold out that much longer.

“Ah…” shudders Keevan from behind you, his moans growing louder, more urgent. He slows to a drawn-out, steady rhythm, pumping hard into you, and – trembling – you twitch back against him as he pulses inside of you, filling you with hot, viscous cum.

The immense feeling of satisfaction gives way to a flash of panic as you realize what has just transpired. But when you look up to Weyoun, he’s anticipated your concerns and reaches down to stroke a finger under your chin. Through his breathlessness, he remains articulate.

“No need to panic, my dear,” he assures, and you gasp at the sudden emptiness as Keevan slides out of you, “Vorta are not capable of passing on any genetic material. Nor...” You are whisked up into Weyoun’s lap, and you straddle him, holding tight, “...are we capable of transmitting disease.” He pulls you close with a hand on the small of your back, and the other guides his cock to align it with your waiting entrance. Before you can lower yourself onto it, he paralyzes you with a penetrating stare, holding your gaze fast and purring: “You can fuck me quite guiltlessly.”

You slam your hips into his, unable to wait a single second more. Weyoun gasps, tenses, holds you tighter; you begin a desperate, rapid rhythm, moaning like a Vulcan love slave as his cock fills you over, and over, and over. You quickly reach that fateful edge, the tension in your belly growing, heat filling you, pleasure blinding you – and when Weyoun’s deft fingers slide down to massage your clit, you can contain it no longer.

“Fuck – Weyoun – I...!”

Tensing up around him, you cum hard, wave after wave of euphoria racking your body. A long, low, choked groan tears its way from the Vorta’s throat as he reaches his own orgasm, and he clenches his teeth around a tender spot on your neck to muffle the sound, holding you to him until the ecstasy subsides.

You both pant hard, lying still, even as you feel the warm liquid they deposited beginning to leak out of you and drip down your thighs. You aren’t sure of Keevan’s whereabouts after his exiting the foray, but at the moment you can’t bring yourself to care; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath. After what feels like an eternity, Weyoun’s hand brushes your arm, rousing you.

“I’m afraid our time is nearly through, Lieutenant.”

Fuck. Fuck!

Scrambling up, you search for your clothing. “Computer, how long have the three of us been in this room?”

“It has been thirty-seven minutes, twenty-three seconds since you and Visitor 1B entered this room,” chimes the computer.

You swear under your breath, trying clumsily in your haste to zip up your uniform, when two cold hands swat yours aside and complete the job for you. You turn and meet Keevan’s smug gaze inches from your face. Though still as insufferable as it’s always been, you sense it’s changed somehow, in some small way. Softened.

The Vorta, dressed again, tilts his head as he regards you. The thin smile on his lips spreads into a grin, and that familiar unsettled feeling you get under Keevan’s sinister gaze settles back into the pit of your stomach. “I look forward to our continued working relationship,” he teases, not breaking your gaze as he steps backward into the open cell. Weyoun, having collected himself, rejoins your side. He stands upright and proper, all smiles once more.

“Well. Following this interview, I am now more than satisfied that the Federation is caring for Dominion prisoners to the best of its ability. I hope it will continue to do so.”

He regards you pointedly, and it takes real effort to tear yourself away from his stare and reinitiate the forcefield. Your hand shakes.

When you turn back, Weyoun beams, one arm extended towards the door.

“Shall we?”