A/N: It's been so long! But here's a bit of a crack-fic concerning our favourite DS9 people! The lyrics mentioned further down are from Dean Martin's 'That's Amore'. Great song. I've no idea where the inspiration for this story came from, but, oh well. As always, I'll welcome reviews and such. :) Enjoy.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, of all species and genders!" Vic Fontaine shouted happily, clapping his hands together. He surveyed the holosuite, a smile on his face. His delightful words were met with equally joyous cheers and whoops from his audience, all of whom were stood, waiting for a signal. A signal that would come in the form of the wave of a conductor's wand or the powerful chord of a piano.
Vic walked to the edge of the large stage and returned carrying a small object, a microphone. He tapped it twice, satisfied that it was working. Holding it to his lips, he nodded to his company, and the band waved back at him.
"Now then," the crooner began, clasping the microphone to his lips. "Let's get this do started. I hope you'll all have a great deal of fun." He smiled as his audience applauded him. "And may I announce the arrival of some new dancers?" He gestured to the back of the room, just as the gilded wooden door shuddered and revealed itself to be the inner patchwork wall of a holosuite. "Ah, Weyoun, Damar and Gul Dukat. Very exciting company." He paused, noticing the withering glare that Kira Nerys gave the newcomers. "And, let's all be nice to one another."
Vic clicked his fingers and tapped his foot in time to the beat as the cellist began strumming the large string instrument. The saxophonists came in next, rocking back and forth to the tune. After a few bars, Vic had began to sing, and the dancers had located their partners, and were swinging and jiving happily.
Captain Sisko had his arm around Kassidy Yates, and both of them appeared to be having a wonderful time. Sisko was glad to move on, after the terrible events of Wold 359 all those years ago. And he was glad for his son's involvement, so he naturally cast an appreciative glance over to Jake, who looked as bored as Nog. The two boys were busy trying to persuade the barman to serve them something other than lemonade.
The whole company looked the same, in black and white suits and dresses, swirling about the dance floor in time. All, of course, except for Jadzia Dax and Worf, who had opted to don full Klingon battle garb. Not that Vic minded one bit. Across the room from the Klingon and the Trill, Julian Bashir and Elim Garak looked as if they had jumped right out of a James Bond novel, the pair of them both wearing pristine white suits. Bashir was attempting some sort of dance move, to which Garak could do little but stifle his laughter.
Leeta and Rom looked to be very much loved up in the corner, whispering things into each other's ear and holding one another close. Quark was stood to one side, his gaze partly distracted by Jadzia.
Odo was watching his partner warily, his smooth face slightly contorted with a frown. "Nerys, you haven't stopped staring at Dukat since he came in," he said gruffly.
Kira cleared her throat and adjusted her hold around Odo's shoulders. "I haven't?" she repeated, frowning. "It's just... Ugh, never mind. He keeps looking at me. But I won't look at him again. It'll spoil the night."
Dukat's grey eye ridges had almost knitted together in contempt when he first caught sight of Odo and Kira's perfect dance moves.
"Sir?" the Cardassian's second in command began impatiently. "You wanted to come tonight." And you had to drag me along, he thought, annoyed. "So try and enjoy yourself."
Dukat nearly glared at him, but he knew that Damar was, as always, trying to look out for him. He smiled wanly. "You're right, Damar. But, oh-" A grin - a highly mischevious grin - fell over his face. "I think you may have company."
Damar smirked and slicked his hair back, but his face fell a hundred miles when he saw who that company was. "Ah," was just about all that he could manage.
"Damar, will you dance with me?"
Damar cleared his throat and blinked. He turned around, searching for Dukat, but could not see him. He scowled, becoming more annoyed when he noticed a beautiful Cardassian woman with her hand on the Gul's arm.
"Hello, Damar?" came that singsong voice again.
The Cardassian looked down at the little expectant Vorta, who had made no effort whatsoever to change his clothes.
"Ahah," Weyoun chuckled, looking down at his own apparel. "You see, the Vorta-" Damar rubbed his temples wearily.
"Yes, I know. Have no sense of aesthetic appreciation."
Weyoun blinked. "Yes." He opened his mouth again, but Damar managed to shut him up in time.
"And, no, I will not dance with you."
The Vorta's bottom lip quavered, and he gained a pitiful expression. "Oh, why not?" he pressed.
Damar cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. Wow, his uniform felt tight. "Because I... might get a better offer."
Weyoun stared at him and rolled his eyes. "Might."
At the opposite side of the swinging room, Bashir had hushed Garak's amused snorts and had pointed him over to where Damar and Weyoun were sparring.
"I've never cared much for that Damar," Garak muttered to the Doctor. "But I don't hate him enough to wish for him to dance with Weyoun."
Bashir elbowed him, scowling almost. "Come on, Garak. That's hardly fair, is it? Stop being so cruel to Weyoun."
Garak raised a curious eye ridge and said no more of it.
Unaware of their newfound audience of the Doctor and the tailor, Damar and Weyoun were continued their heated discussion. Weyoun was trying to come up with reasons for Damar to dance, and Damar was cursing Dukat.
Vic cleared his throat and grinned. The song was coming to an end. A few bars later, and it did.
The audience cheered and applauded happily; the musicians nodded gratefully and prepared themselves for the next piece.
Vic smiled genially. "Now this is a classic from one of the greats: Dean Martin. You fellas from the twenty fourth century need to visit the twentieth!" And with that, the song began.
Vic began to sing: "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore." He paused. "When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore."
Weyoun grinned at Damar when 'too much wine' was sung. "What's so funny?" Damar muttered, glaring at the Vorta.
"I don't understand," Weyoun replied, his voice soft and annoyingly innocent.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of me," Damar quipped, glaring at Weyoun from under his lashes.
The Vorta shrugged his shoulders, his pale purple eyes shining. "You know me too well, Damar, to think that I would intentionally hurt you. You, on the other hand..." He shook his head, disappointed.
Damar spluttered a defence.
"No." The clone held up a hand. "I've heard you telling that ridiculous Dukat how much you'd like to toss me out of the nearest airlock."
"Weyoun, look," Damar began slowly. He snatched up a glass of wine, which a smartly-dressed waiter had been carrying on a silver tray. "If you spent as much time with yourself as I do, you would know why I said what I said." He swigged his drink and made a face. It wasn't quite kanar. "About the airlock."
Weyoun made a face of uncertainty. "It stands to reason that I would spend more time with myself than you do," he muttered. "But, I do realise that Cardassians are not exactly brilliantly furnished in the brain department."
Damar shook his head. "You seem so detached from reality, Weyoun, so engrossed in worshipping your Founders, that you can't spend much time with yourself."
"How poetic," an annunicated voice rang out.
From Weyoun's irritated look, Damar knew it to be Dukat. He turned to his commanding officer and gave him a pleading look. "I trust you two are playing nicely?"
"Oh, Dukat," Damar murmured. "You don't have any kanar, do you?"
But the Gul only sighed and shook his head. "I'm going to get an early night. This song really is delightful, isn't it?" He gave Vic a nod of appreciation.
Damar stared, open-mouthed, as Dukat led his newfound love-interest out of the holosuite, and his hand balled into a fist.
"But the Founders have always taught we Vorta to be thankful," Weyoun could be heard whispering thoughtfully to himself. His eyebrows cocked, confused.
Damar raised an eye-ridge and cast his gaze over to the clone. "I'm sorry?"
"Was that an apology?"
The Cardassian crossed his arms. "It will be if you can match it," he replied stiffly.
Weyoun nodded gleefully, holding out his hand. Damar shook it, but realised that Weyoun meant it as an invitation to take to the dance floor.
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella, lucky fella