The taste of raktajino was still heavy in my stomach as I made my way through the winding passages that constituted the gargantuan habitat ring of Deep Space Nine. I pressed the panel outside my personal quarters and entered. Yawning, I began to get ready for the night. As I wandered into the sleeping section of the less than roomy quarters, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Not again, I thought in sheer desperation. I wasn't exactly sure what I should be saying - or doing - at that precise moment. I decided it would be best if I took some time to consider my options. Calling security would work, I supposed, and I guessed that the problem would probably be solved. Maybe. Then again, the humiliation would stick to me like glue. Superglue. There was no way I would ever be able to live that one down. The security officers - unless the stoic Klingon Worf was part of the accompaniment - would surely go off babbling to other fellow crew members. Then, of course, the news would reach the Promenade. And, once news reached Quark's infamous bar, there was a slim chance of anything ever returning to normal.

Also on the agenda, I considered, was to run away. However, running away wasn't in my blood. There was absolutely no way I was going to flee from my very own quarters. Definitely not that option.

As those and a few other useless ideas got considered and then tossed into the metaphorical bin, another thought crossed my mind. Perhaps I could just talk? Why not? What did I have to lose?

Stepping forward and rubbing my weary temple, I said, "What are you doing here?"

He smiled at me. God, that smile. There was... something about it. I couldn't tell whether or not it was adorable or infuriating. Perhaps it was both. Snapping out of that little reverie, I concentrated my attention on the matter at hand.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" he countered. Looking at his expression, deeply though it was, I could deduce nothing worth telling. His facial features, as cherubic as they were, gave nothing away. The stony face of a diplomat.

I made a sound. I'm not quite sure how to really describe it, but it sure did sound pretty derisive. "No," I told him sternly. Exactly where I had managed to acquire such an authoritative voice, I did not know. "These are my quarters. Answer my question first."

He frowned, a slight crease forming in his brow. I presumed that he was rarely disobeyed; rarely talked back to. I could tell that it angered him, even if he didn't give all that much away. He folded his hands in his laps and looked down at them, before his violet, mesmerising eyes retained their attention in my direction. "I don't like to be questioned." His gaze bore into me.

Shifting uncomfortably on the spot, I sighed. Thinking. "I didn't ask what you liked," I retorted, looking straight at him.

He laughed. It was such an oddly... nice sound. It sounded like a child laughing. He was so easily amused. But, I realised, not quite so easily led on. The sound of his laughter amused me, in turn, but it also sent some sort of chills tingling down my spine. Could it be that I actually enjoyed his laugh? What else did I enjoy? Oh, no. Please, no. Unknowingly, I winced.

As he sobered from his little giggling fit, he gained composure. I couldn't help but wonder exactly how long that sustained composure could be held by him for. "Oh?" he exclaimed. "From what I remember from last night... which is rather a lot, I gathered that you enjoyed asking what I liked."

I growled at him. Really? I growled? Anyway, I had an intense desire to slap him across the face. Right there and then. As if reading my mind, which I'm sure the Vorta cannot do, he got to his feet delicately. He was a short man, that I could quite clearly see now. The only other times I had seen him, he had been either guarded by dozens of angry-looking Jem'Hadar with guns poised; sat at the barstool at Quark's; or, dare I even think it again, lying down.

Nonetheless, he still stood an inch or two above me. He stepped closer to me and appeared to be... scrutinising me...?

Realising that this apparent staring contest was probably going to continue going on for quite some time, and seeing that he looked to be quite comfortable with the sustained, watchful silence, I decided to speak. "I have had enough of your sarcastic comments," I quipped, my teal eyes fighting to maintain their steadfast gaze upon his face.

His lips twisted into an innocent smirk. My eyes landed on his mouth. "I was only speaking the truth," he declared simply, politely, his tone of voice relaxed and almost... seductive...? No, I forced myself to think. He is a clone. An alien clone. He is part of the Dominion. For Christ's sake! He practically leads the Dominion. I'm from a Federation planet. A Federation founding planet. This would be wrong. But, I felt other thoughts flood my mind. Conflicting thoughts. We've done it before, so why not again? That, I found even more compelling. Even more convincing.

Lifting my gaze off his lips, and back into his odd but beautifully purple eyes, I paused to consider. The politeness of his tone, the innocence of his actions, his strangely attractive appearance. It wasn't a sin. And, despite the uncomfortable situation at Quark's earlier on, despite Damar's amused but contemptuous expression, I still felt weirdly compelled to want to continue.

"Weyoun," the word fell out of my mouth, as if it somehow sounded right. My heart raced and my brain kicked into action. Oh, God, I moaned internally. This can't be happening. Our faces were so close. Our bodies were practically touching. I could feel his heat and I could make out every single deviation in his facial features. I was positive it was the same for him.

Whether it was unwittingly or not, he had somehow gotten me against a wall, my shoulder blades pressing hard against the metal hull. Perhaps, I thought, I was too wrapped up in my own considerations to even notice what was going on. He had, by now, taken in all of my appearance. Of course, I knew he'd seen it all before. Twenty six hours ago. Last time, though, I didn't remember any of it. Someone should've warned me about Romulan Ale before it was too late. Not one little tidbit had remained in my memory. Slightly, I frowned, trying to recapture some of that information, but it was a vain attempt.

Before I knew it, one of my hands was on his face, my slender fingers gently touching his intricate, oddly-shaped, interesting ears. Maintaining eye contact with me, he let loose a little giggle. So, that was what pleased him so much. I didn't know what exactly to think next.

"I must say," he announced softly, in between numerous pleasure-induced giggling fits. "That is quite delightful."

A smile crept across my lips, and I didn't let it disappear. What it was that made me do what I did next, I have no idea. I was attracted to him, in spite of his social awkwardness; his innocence; his leadership of the Dominion; his smugness; our past... meeting. My hands found their way around his neck and he stared at me. Curiously? It could have been, I supposed. The Vorta were, apparently, curious species. And, from what I could be bothered to recall from Weyoun's conversation with the Cardassian named Damar, Weyoun was especially interested in interspecies mating rituals and experiences. His intrigue seemed to know no bounds.

I found myself pressed further against the wall, our foreheads touching. His lips crept forward and then they reached mine. This, I realised, would likely be a new experience for him; initiating such a thing. Going on what I already knew about him, I guessed he would probably be getting very, very excited soon. The last time, no matter how much I hated to think of it and consider it, I gathered must have been majorly initiated by myself. That thought would never cease to send shivers of disappointment, surprise, intrigue through my small frame.

As memories of past experiences came to kind, I felt his hair with my grossly intrigued fingers. His mouth was pressed against mine, his lips working lyrically and methodically against mine. He definitely is skilled, I couldn't help but think. That, at least, along with those eyes, was something that the Founders had managed to get right in the artificial cloning process.

My mind was clouded with a myriad of thoughts of different kinds and different magnitudes. My hand was on his pale cheek, caressing it softly. His arms were apparently wrapped around my waist, as he pulled me away from the wall. As I too broke away, my eyes wandered over guiltily to the background. Gleefully, he nodded, and directed me to the sleeping quarters.