NOTE: I know, it's been a while. Real Life took over for a while. Everybody watching DS9 on Spike? Indiscretion was on last month.

Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews and all the encouragement! Here's Chapter 11.

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THE AGREEMENT

By The Collaborators

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

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The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake. The dynamic had changed. The balance had shifted. But... he didn't care. For this moment, he had regained everything he had lost: his title, his station, his office, his quarters... most importantly, his soul. His earlier effort to push her away, to ignite her blazing fury, tap into those old arguments, and dredge up every animosity between them which would irrevocably separate them, had utterly failed. He shouldn't have been surprised. He was losing every battle he fought lately. Yet this defeat did not sting as harshly as the others. It did not mock him for his failures and short-sightedness. Oh, it burned... but it was a different type of fire. A different type of flame. It was one he had forgotten. One he cherished. One he missed. One he desired. One he now had. He would never admit how badly he needed this to anyone; weakness such as this was not part of the Cardassian mindset. For this moment, he was alive. For this moment, he was living. For this moment, he was whole.

Matters of the state were inconsequential. Matters of the quadrant were minuscule. Matters of his soul, however, were paramount. They were Bajoran and Cardassian. Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat. They could not escape that reality. Most importantly, they were.

The kiss... it was different than before, more assured, more determined. A reminder of everything which made her her. Her hands moved to his chest, the delicate rosebud still cupped in the palm of her hand as she touched him. His fingers came to rest gently on her back; the tips of her impossibly high-heeled boots touched the tips of his regulation, duranium-toed boots. Her scent seared his senses. Her lips parted, caressing his gently. He held back; he could not devour her as much as his body demanded he do so.

His experiences with Bajorans in this manner had been pleasant; hers with Cardassians... he was unsure.

He had to let her direct the pace. She had to feel comfortable with him. One wrong move and a torrent of memories could overwhelm her, make her withdraw, curse him for every sin imaginable, and damn him to every known incarnation of Hell in the Alpha Quadrant.

He wanted to live. Here. Now. Not in the past, not in the future, but now.

In the past, his soul was tarnished, damaged, pummeled, wounded....

In the future, it would be trampled, tortured, shredded, lifeless....

In the present, however, his soul shone and thrived like the rosebud she held against his chest.

She was his redemption. She became more insistent, demanding that he respond to her. She would not settle for his languid movements. She knew him far too well; she understood the smiles and the gazes and the lilt of his tone over these years did not culminate in such a meek response. Intensity matched intensity. The rosebud fell to the floor. Her hands slid up his chest, thumbs following the center ridge to the hollow just below his throat, where the ridges of his shoulders and his chest met, and her fingernails somehow scraping his scales through his undertunic.

Electrifying.

He had no idea of her dalliances with Cardassians, whether this movement was instinctual or from experience.

He didn't care. She was with him, sharing this with him, being with him.... She flattened her palms against his neck ridges, starting at his arms and slowly sliding her hands up to his jaw, again raking her nails along his bare skin. He groaned.

He felt her smile. Such a tease. He forced himself to be patient no matter how badly he ached. She pulled away, staring at him with wide, luminescent eyes. She searched his features, lifting her right hand and brushing her fingers gently against his cheek, echoing his gesture from that fateful meeting in which she propositioned him. Her lips parted, her breathing was labored, but he refused to make any sudden movement, such as to crush her to him and kiss her. She wanted to say something, to call to him perhaps. With all the intelligence reports, he was sure she knew his given name yet she hesitated to use it.

He reached up, brushing her cheek as she had his. Did she know what this meant? Did she understand? Her eyes widened at his touch. He placed his thumb on her lips. He could not call her Nerys. It would only jolt her, make her recall the circumstances which had led to this moment, bring forth reality in a place and time where such things were not welcome.

"Narailari," he whispered. Her hand dropped from his face to encircle his wrist. She almost smiled. She did not have a formal education; her Kardasi vocabulary probably did not include the more romantic endearments of his language. Curses, yes. Affectionate names, no. She hesitated. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she understood what he was doing, offering a semi-neutral term for them to address each other by.

He wondered how she would respond. Spoonhead? Not in the least bit romantic, but he supposed he could live with it. Cardie? A Terran slur, but it wasn't too bad. He'd heard worse, all in her native tongue.

"Narailari," she repeated, right before she kissed his thumb, gently biting the tip.

He automatically closed his eyes, the moan trapped in his vocal chords. Tempting woman! Sensual. Tantalizing. Her lips were warm, teeth nibbling in an odd rhythm as if hinting her plans for other parts of his anatomy. She released her hold on his wrist; her teeth played along the pad of his thumb. Then, fingers latched onto the waistband of his trousers. His eyes snapped open and he stared in disbelief. Her eyes shone with passion and amusement as she stopped the assault on his finger and a roguish grin touched her lips. His hand settled gently on her shoulder. She pulled him closer, teasing the waistband and tugging his tunic. He offered no resistance, both hands now on her shoulders to facilitate the removal of his clothing. She touched the bared scales of his lower back. It took every ounce of control not to tighten his grip, capture those lips of hers in a forceful kiss he hoped would leave her breathless. He thought he let out a hiss, but he wasn't sure. All he heard was the slight chuckle from her as she began massaging his back. So intimate.

How long had it been since this had been so... intense?

Alive.

They were gloriously alive.

It was as if she were waging war against his dour emotions, using every bit of cunning she could muster to drive back the darkness, to repel the force of depression, to make him live with the passion she knew he had. She edged his shirt up as she worked her way up his back, digging nails into his spinal ridge, and she watched him closely for his reaction. If she couldn't tell by the damp heat radiating from his groin, surely she could recognize the lust in his eyes. She pushed the tunic up, clearly wanting him to help her remove it. He pulled it over his head and flung it away, not caring where it landed. The gasp was unexpected as her eyes dropped down to his bared chest; his confidence was shaken. Her approval became everything to him... to be accepted... to be loved for this little time... before their paths diverged... before they had to admit that Bajoran and Cardassian, Major and Gul, Kira and Dukat would never coexist as they were doing right now.

"Narai...." she breathed, her hands now touching his chest scales.

Did she know what it meant? Did she realize narai meant "beloved"?

Was she laying claim to a term considered too sentimental by modern Cardassian romantic standards? Or did she simply truncate the word, making it her own to use specifically with him?

She traced the ridges and outlined the scales with a touch which was driving him mad. His skin was now flushed the deepest gray, broadcasting his arousal. Her arms wrapped around his back; she pushed forward, settling her lips on the hollow at the base of his throat. His hands dropped to her waist, fingers dancing along the base of her spine. Her tongue flicked out, teasing the scales on his throat, as her fingers dug into his shoulder blades. He could stand no more. He pressed her hard against him, making her feel the extent of his arousal. She did not protest. It was her turn to moan, her breath blazing against his neck.

Her earlier words echoed: "I am not leaving you. My place is here."

She had spoken them in that determined way of hers, with such confidence and conviction that it was impossible to dispute. Wanted. Needed. Desired. Loved. The weariness of his soul was retreating. Exhaustion fled his system, replaced by coursing heat, intoxicating touches, and intensely dizzying scents. She wasn't asking for his surrender. She was simply demanding a truce, simply offering a time and a place for him to love her unconditionally.

Oh, he was still worried about frightening her away with the depths of his Cardassian passion, but with that stubborn resolve which had kept her alive during the bleakest of days, she conveyed she could easily match him, easily overwhelm him with her own desire.

"Narailari," he whispered.

She lifted her head and met his kiss. Permission had been granted. His fingers slid along her waist, mimicking her movements before. She was impatient. She pulled her tunic up and over her head and shoulders, throwing it backward before wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him in for another assault upon his lips. Insatiable. Determined. Conveying that she wanted to erase every last morbid, brooding trace he had projected when she first came into the room. His hands roved across her back, sliding under the edge of the material covering her breasts. He recalled how he had admired her on the shuttle back from Bajor, his musings on her preferences for undergarments. It seemed now he had his answer.

Again, she broke their kiss and reached to remove the offending article of clothing. His hands covered hers; she was far too impatient. He had been waiting for too many years, dreamt too many dreams, envisioned too many fantasies for her to simply tear off her clothing. No. This was not something he was going to give in on.

Amazingly, she understood. She simply gazed at him reassuringly. Gently, he flattened his palms against her back and slid them forward to her belly, angling his fingers to touch her rib cage and glide upwards. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Such a display of passion. Such a display of trust. He could feel her heartbeat and the shuddering breaths she took. Slowly, he pushed the material up, covering her breasts with his palms, his thumbs touching, and allowing her to adjust to the feel of him. She bit her lower lip as she raised her arms. He was reluctant to move his hands; for now, he was content to feel warm, smooth skin beneath his palms and his fingers splayed intimately against her.

He was mesmerized.

She made a small noise, one he thought could be from frustration since her arms started to bend slightly, ready to reach down again and pull the garment off. He continued with his upward movement, pushing the material until it was over his knuckles before he finally slipped it off her, trailing his fingertips along her arms. Her eyes were now open, her head tilted as if waiting for his reaction and her arms still raised above her head as his were; he gently cupped her wrists and then slid his hands down all the while meeting her gaze. His hands settled to her sides, thumbs gently stroking the curve of her breasts. She dropped her arms until her hands were resting on his shoulders and she pressed against him. Smooth, unadorned skin against his. This time, there was no mistaking his hiss. Oh, she was enjoying herself. He could tell by the glimmer shimmering in her eyes... that odd combination of lust and confidence he had only dreamed about. She was going to drive him insane; he was sure of it.

Was this what she did to the others? Bareil? Shakaar? Was this the reason those men, after only a few months of association with her, seemed to become withered husks of their former selves? Only after she and Shakaar had broken off their relationship had the First Minister suddenly became more energetic, more authoritative than before.

Teeth nibbled his center chest ridge; hands slid around his waist, around his back and then down. He growled. It was the only sound he could make now. He couldn't pick her up, take her to the bed, strip off the rest of her clothing, and taste every inch of her until she writhed beneath him, wanting and needing him completely.

If he did... if he gave into his instincts, she would panic. He knew she would. He would have to be at her mercy.

Then again, he had always been at her mercy.

He moved his hands over her breasts again, teasing and brushing his fingertips against her until she moaned and lifted her head, arching toward him for a kiss. He bent his head, lips touching hers. Her tongue darted out just as he parted his lips to caress hers; it was a Bajoran custom, a Terran one as well if he recalled correctly, and implied a certain level of intimacy and trust between partners. He simply responded. That was, until her fingers went from massaging and tracing the ridges along his hips through his trousers to actually wriggling her fingers past the waistband and then cupping and pulling his hips hard against hers.

His hands... he couldn't recall quite what he was doing with his hands when she brazenly ground herself into him, but once she did that, he did the same to her, right down to burying his hands inside those tight rust colored trousers, inside her underwear.

Their kisses grew more insistent, combining nibbles, nips and moaning, until he knew that any moment, he'd drop to the carpeted floor of this room next to that discarded rosebud, taking her with him. She pushed against him, this time moving her feet between his legs and nudging him backward. The bedroom. They didn't break their kiss or the tenacious and intimate hold they had on one another. They simply scooted backward until he felt the edge of the bed press against the back of his legs. Her fingers now latched onto his hip ridges, moving from behind forward, and her thumb rested on the fastening of his trousers. He moved from kissing her lips down to her neck and shoulder; she unfastened his trousers. His breathing became more labored as he struggled to maintain some sort of control. She was deliberately doing this to him. He knew it. He allowed it. It was simply becoming exquisitely unbearable. She was feeling him through the fabric of his underwear, as if gauging and weighing him, before her hands dived back into the garment.

This time, she gently yanked the cloth down and exposed him. The cool air hit his slick, bared skin. He gasped, almost toppling backward.

She began to explore him. Gently. Curiously. With a sort of fascination he had admittedly missed.

Her hands were so warm. He didn't want to have to say it. The teasing was almost becoming too much. She had won. He surrendered to her, standing unashamedly half-naked before her. She had succeeded. She had lured him to her side, convinced him of the futility of his darkest thoughts, brought him out of the dungeon of self-hatred to this place and time.

He straightened to his full height, even as the sensations demanded he drop to his knees and devour her right there.

"Narailari." She only nodded as she slid his trousers and underwear down, hands running along his legs. He had to sit; there was no other way to gracefully remove his boots. He was about to stand again when she reached forward, placed her finger on his lips, and then moved back. He was naked before her, noting how her gaze slowly traveled over him. He stretched out slightly, affording a better view of his person, and indulged himself in a certain amount of pride about his physique. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. He waited.

She chewed her lower lip. She met his stare again.

"Narai." He reached for her, gently hooking fingers into the waistband of her trousers and realized this style had no clasps. She moved forward so she was standing between his parted legs, her knees touching the edge of the bed. He slowly peeled down the two layers of fabric, bent forward, and began placing kisses first on her belly, then her hip as he slid the clothing to her feet. She wound her fingers in his hair almost as an encouragement; occasionally her hand would stray to the back of his neck or his neck ridges and tease the scales. The pheromones were overwhelming. He tasted her skin as his hands roamed her thighs and firm... She pinched a neck ridge.

It was too much.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down until his back was flush against the hard mattress and her bodyweight pressed her breasts... her everything to him.... Their knees to their feet, hers still tangled in pants, underwear and boots and his completely naked, were the only parts of their body not on the bed. His lips captured hers urgently, his hands roaming restlessly over her back down to her hips. He wondered if she was aching as much as he.

Given her scent... she had to be.

She shuffled against him; he grasped her arms as she did simply because the movement was near torture for him. He then realized she was divesting herself of the rest of her clothes. Did she know what that particular movement was doing to him? She had to. There was a bit of mischief in her eyes. She rolled to the side; he made a surprising sound of disappointment. He had quite enjoyed having her pressed against him like that. Her hands were back on his chest; her eyes focused on his scales. She met his gaze; an admission that they, Bajoran and Cardassian, Major and Gul, Kira and Dukat, were together. She was exploring again. He closed his eyes, enjoying the softness of her touch, such a contrast to their usual exchanges. He threatened her; she threatened him. It was the way they were.

He reached up, brushing her shoulder with the back of his fingers. She pinched a cluster of chest scales, the twelfth and thirteenth down from the triangle at his throat, and he gasped as his eyes snapped open. She had moved closer to him to stare at him, but she didn't smile at his response.

Ah. He understood.

She wanted him to know exactly who he was with, to watch her, to see her, to acknowledge it was she and not anyone else but her. No ghosts, no past lovers... just her.

She gave him life. She gave him hope. She wanted him to remember this always. As if he could possibly forget.

He propped himself up on one elbow, turning so he lay on one side facing her. She moved closer. Her hands caressed him delicately and he could detect the hesitancy in her movements. Was his bold and daring Major worried she was not "tending to" him properly? She was teasing the ridge along his hip, casually stroking and rubbing, and observing him intently for his reaction. He was curious as to just what shade of gray his chest scales were now. The color of that Terran gemstone hematite...? Or where they black? It had been too long since someone had done this thorough an examination of his person.

Her lips brushed his forehead, placing dainty kisses on his eye ridges. His hand settled on her hip and then slowly slid to her ribcage; he waited for any sign of distress. There was none. He delighted in the soft, smooth feel of her skin... such a contrast to his own. He ducked his head down, nuzzling her neck as he edged toward her, angling himself so that more of them would be on the bed than hanging over. Her hands now played along his back, gliding along his scales as if she were trailing her fingers in the waters of a fountain. He pulled her closer, forcing her to shift with him as he repositioned them so that they were on the bed completely and she could rest her head on one pillow.

She gave him encouragement to continue, to become a bit more aggressive, to trail kisses from her collarbone down, to ease her completely onto her back as he began teasing her the same way she had teased him. The only sounds she made, aside from speaking the endearment, were sharp intakes of breath, soft chuckles, a few hisses and an occasional growl.

He nibbled. There.

Her back arched as one hand grabbed a handful of the sheet and the other latched onto his hair.

It was pleasing to know his memory of Bajoran erogenous zones had not failed him.

As she had assaulted him with her hands, he returned the affection with his lips and tongue. After all, it was only fair. He reached her hip. She became still. He looked up. Dark eyes glittered.

There was uncertainty... she had no clue what he would do next.

There was passion... she knew whatever it was it would be pleasurable.

There was curiosity.... the fact he paused the moment she froze seemed to baffle her until he saw the glimmer of realization.

"Narai..." she breathed, dragging out the last sound as it turned into a quiet moan.

He returned his attention to her. Hands caressing and massaging her thighs while his lips nibbled her hip bone. His hand strayed to her inner thigh, coaxing her to relax and succeeding. Her breathing was becoming more rapid, more desperate. He idly wondered if she would yell at him in frustration or if they would stick to the two word means of communication they had established between them. A kiss here. A caress there. A taste....

The next thing he knew, her fingers had gone from pulling at his hair to clawing his neck ridge. If he had been Bajoran or Terran, she would have drawn blood. Being Cardassian, a surge pounded through his system. It only encouraged him to continue, to see how far he could drive her, to see if he was still as good as he once had been or if he were simply a Legend in his Own Mind when it came to that department.

"Narai," she growled. She didn't have the strength to move him to where she wanted him to be no matter how hard she dug her fingers into his neck ridge. Just a few more moments...

She twisted, hips arching, knees bent, nails almost tearing into his flesh. He reached up with one hand, capturing her breast and using his thumb to tease. He could feel the tremors running through her body as he continued tasting, exploring, calling upon every bit of his skill to elicit her responses. She gasped and writhed then suddenly became still.

"Narai."

It wasn't the word; it was how she spoke it. Almost tearful. Almost frightened.

The sense of security he had endured to create was rapidly fading. She didn't understand. As much as he was unused to having someone explore him... she must have been as well. Pride again bathed his soul, knowing that no other had ever driven her to that particular peak. He obeyed her request, but kissed his way back to her shoulders, to her neck, to her cheek, to her lips, to her temple while his hand gently caressed her side. The fact she allowed him meant she had not been angry but just unsure. Her hands were upon him again, this time wrapping around him and stroking, nails dragging against those scales. As if he need even more encouragement.

He sought permission, gazing into her eyes... had he ever seen them so lustfully dazed? He noted the near smile of tenderness. She appreciated him. She trusted him. She healed him. She loved him.

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake.

The moment they joined... he knew he was damned to every Hell in the universe.

She moved with him, arching her back while hands pinched and rubbed scales and ridges on his chest and back. He'd forgotten just how athletic she was, how she could effortlessly shift her weight and match his rhythm. Her responses beforehand were only a hint of her true passion. She understood this, enjoyed this, needed this as much as he.

Together they were vanquishing his enemies.

Together they were soaring....

This was to be their first. A series of events, the cascade of emotions, had lead them here.

Oh, a moment like this would convert any non-believer to the way of the Prophets. It was one hell of a baptism.

Their movements were frenzied... thrust... arch... moan... as if they were wringing every last micron of energy from this act. This was to be their last.

Why else would she declare, "I am not leaving you. My place is here."

For these moments... this shared passion... his one last blessing before his universe collapsed, he was whole again. His spirit danced with hers, their voices mingled in cries of passion, their lips met hungrily, their bodies sung together....

Their mutual teasing had brought them closer to the edge than they had realized.

"Narailari."

"Narai…"

This was to be the only time.

She would deny this moment forever. They were Bajoran and Cardassian. Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat.

They were enemies, after all.

He was a soldier. He understood.

There was no reason for him to believe at all this moment would ever be repeated.

Yet she gave him life. She renewed his soul. She healed him. They were one.

They were Bajoran and Cardassian. Major and Gul. Kira and Dukat. They were.

They spoke the same words, the same language. They were.

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake. She had given him his life back. He had given her his soul. They would never be again.

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TBC