By Sadie Maxwell

Doctor Julian Bashir settled into his seat in the back of the runabout, allowing his glance to rest comfortably on the nape of Major Kira Nerys' neck. Instinctively, he knew that the object of his attention was dangerous at best; but the adventurer in him enjoyed the sheer defiance of the act. Kira preyed on fantasy like a lion stalking the African veldt; she ripped any unseemly imaginings in her teeth like a doomed animal in the jaws of death. Still, Julian Bashir found her fascinating--in a purely theoretical sort of way. A challenge, if you will. And Bashir thrived on challenge.

It also had more than a little to do with the fact that the trip to this sector of the Gamma quadrant had been desperately, mind-numbingly dull. He'd spent hours reviewing the survey data on Caldecor, brushing up on his Starfleet diplomatic policy manual, calculating the amount of cordium needed to begin processing the antitoxin for shipment to the Liberty Six colony. And he was still crashingly bored.

Bashir allowed ennui to force his eyes downward from the back of Kira's head, caressing the curve of her neck, sloping between her shoulder blades, letting his imagination fill in the blanks. Even the stiff fabric of her uniform could not conceal Kira's physical attributes from Bashir's eyes. In addition to his considerable knowledge of anatomy, Julian Bashir possessed the greatest legacy of all Mediterranean men--the ability to judge the woman beneath the clothes. In a culture where women's fashion had gone from mantillas to twenty-second century sackdresses, this ability was as much a survival instinct as was the ability to locate food and shelter. And Bashir's Mediterranean blood told him that beneath that bulky uniform lay the body of a woman, lithe and animalistic and conquerable. Definitely conquerable. Julian Bashir let his mind wander, let it delve into areas of fantasy a man with less courage might consider...off limits.

"Four minutes to planet's orbit, Doctor."

The sharp voice connected to his fantasy's satisfied Amazon shocked Bashir out of his musings. He snapped his eyes away from her, straightening into his most official posture. "Ah, excellent, Major. Please signal to the planet's government that we shall be arriving soon and that we are most looking forward to establishing relations with Caldecor."

Kira shot him an impatient glance, her dark frown furrowing the already wrinkled bridge of her nose. "Thank you, Doctor. How fortunate to have you here to brief me on diplomacy! Why, without you, I would have just beamed down and started mining the cordium with my bare hands."

Bashir ignored the sarcasm in her tone. "Major, may I remind you that cordium, when processed, produces the only antidote to Fraga Syndrome? And might I also add that the colony on Liberty Six is currently experiencing the worst outbreak of Fraga Syndrome in over a decade? There are thousands of lives at stake here, Major; please keep that in mind." He was gratified to see her expression soften. Even Major Kira, when faced with the medical facts, couldn't argue that Bashir was the best man for the job. "I suggest that, when we reach Caldecor, you let me do the talking."

Then again, perhaps, at the moment, that was not the best comment he could have made. Kira stiffened again, her catlike expression turning sour. She pulled her hands purposefully from the runabout controls, smiling her most acerbic smile. "Of course, Doctor. Anything you say, Doctor." She swiveled her chair to face him fully, challenge apparent in every muscle of her body. "And if you'd care to establish orbit, we can get on to your brilliant diplomatic skills."

Bashir blanched. Although technically, as an officer, he had been trained in shuttle navigation, it was never something he'd taken seriously. He had never really tested his skills as a navigator, and he had no intention of testing them now. He smiled. "Ah. Understood, Major. I do apologize."

Kira, damn her, refused to budge. "Oh, no, Doctor. I would never stand in the way of all those lives. You go right ahead." She nodded to the console.

"Major--"

"Prepare to initiate orbit," the computer's bland voice accused.

Bashir's gaze shifted from Kira to the abandoned controls and back to Kira. "Major..."

"No, I insist." Kira nodded in feigned obsequeience.

"Planetary orbit in three minutes," the computer voice droned on, oblivious to the position it put Bashir in.

"You'd better do something quick," Kira added helpfully as she stood, stretching. "If you take too long establishing orbit..." She cracked her shoulders, driving a kink from between the blades. "We could burn up and die."

"All right, Major. You've made your point. I can't establish orbit; I need you; I can't do it without you." The rush of words only stung for a moment, salved by the overwhelming relief as Kira opted against stubbornness and sat back at the commands. Bashir released a breath of air. Groveling, while embarrassing, was still infinitely preferable to an early, fiery death in Caldecor's atmosphere.

Kira flashed him a sly smile, then began clicking in the commands to get them safely in orbit. "Establishing standard orbit... Doctor."

Bashir sighed, easing himself back into the seat. It was going to be a long mission.

*****

"Ah, Doctor Bashir!" A pudgy, middle-aged man in flowing robes pushed his way through the crowds to greet Kira and Bashir. He was followed by a demure young woman, dressed only in gauze and modesty. "I'm Prefect D'Nir; how good of you to come." He inserted his hand into Bashir's, nodding happily. "I've been practicing your Earth custom of shaking hands; have I got it right?" He pumped it vigorously, almost pulling Bashir's shoulder out of his socket.

"Oh, yes, Prefect. Excellent." Bashir tried with some difficulty to make eye contact with the Caldecorian prefect, but his gaze kept wandering over to the man's companion. She was small, finely built with coal-colored hair, olive skin and almond eyes. The sheer ruby gauze sari did little to conceal her firm body; the gold jewelry she wore in the most strategic locations only added to the effect. At Kira's meaningful prod to the small of his back, he quickly nodded in the Bajoran's direction. "May I present Major Kira? She will be--"

"Of course." D'Nir dismissed Kira with one appraising look, then took Bashir by the shoulders, effectively blocking her from the conversation as he led the doctor off. "The administration building is in this area. I apologize for the breach of hospitality, but we will want to meet with the Parlement of Prefects before showing you to your quarters. They are all eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Kira, who had been walking more or less patiently behind them with the almond-eyed beauty, eased around Bashir's side, smiling her best diplomatic smile. "We are all eager to establish a beneficial trade agreement between our two worlds." Her face fell as Prefect D'Nir and the woman both stopped short, horrified looks contorting their faces. Kira, obviously uncertain how to proceed, plugged on. "With the wormhole trade between the Alpha and Gamma quadrants, we hope that..." Her words trailed off as both Caldecorians continued to stare at her in shock. Kira darted a quick glance at Bashir, who shrugged.

Bashir, for lack of anything better to do, picked up the abandoned thread of her sentence. "We hope that any agreement will work not only to our mutual economic advantage, but the medical advantage of all those affected by Fraga Syndrome."

There was a pregnant pause as the prefect directed a rock-hard glare straight at the center of Kira's forehead, then relaxed, acknowledging Bashir. "Of course, Doctor." He allowed one more pointed look for Kira, then continued in the direction of the administrative building.

Bashir shrugged to Kira, who fell defiantly back behind the two men. He could feel the dagger between his spine clearly; an icy bead of sweat trickled down his neck as the weight of her anger pierced the barrier of silence between them.

Prefect D'Nir continued chatting until they reached the door of the massive administrative building. It jutted upwards from the ground like sandy shards of ice, a geometric fortress carved from a single block of sandstone. The party was dwarfed by the mammoth doorway, through which Caldecorian men hustled to and fro. D'Nir paused at the doorway, turning for the first time to the almond-eyed woman. Placing a single finger on her pouting chin, he lifted it to his lips, kissing the point as he would a child's forehead. The olive-skinned beauty smiled, eagerly pressing against him, capturing his lips with a warm kiss before retreating once more to a respectable distance.

"Weeda, you will bring..." He forced a smile as he acknowledged Kira. "...Kira to the Central Residence. If she wishes, she may access some of the games, or perhaps..." Again, a discerning look at the Bajoran's outfit. "...you could take her shopping." For the first time, he addressed Kira directly, his voice taking on a forced patronizing air. "Would you like that, Kira?"

Bashir had the good sense to insert himself between the Bajoran and Prefect D'Nir before Kira could respond. "I believe, Prefect, that there has been some misunderstanding. Major Kira is my associate and will be attending all meetings."

The doctor could feel the Prefect's shock like a tangible thing. There was a long moment where he actually thought D'Nir would forcibly detain Kira. Finally, the piggish man sighed heavily, nodding. "It would seem our cultures are somewhat different. Still, in the interest of diplomacy, I will allow you to bring your female with you--provided she remains quiet and does not interfere with silly questions."

Again, in the name of prudence, Bashir cut off Kira's response. "Minister, Major Kira is the liaison officer between the Federation and Bajor; she is highly qualified to--"

D'Nir ignored him, turning instead to Weeda. "Return to the Prefectory Adjunct and have him move Doctor Bashir to a larger apartment. Then have a few of the women from Central Residence bring suitable clothing to the doctor's lodgings." Weeda nodded obediently, stealing startled glances at Kira throughout the instructions, then slid quickly into the crowd.

Bashir turned to Kira, who was in the middle of a quiet slow burn, then back to D'Nir. "Ah, Prefect, I believe there has been another misun--"

"The meeting is beginning, Doctor. Please follow me."

Any further discussion of the living arrangements was halted as Prefect D'Nir was swallowed by the hulking doors of the Administrative building.

*****

The meeting droned on for too long. Too long for Bashir's nerves, too long for his comfort, and too long, he suspected, for Major Kira's patience. The Prefect's rule of silence for her had been strictly enforced, all exchanges screeching to a halt at her slightest utterance. Bashir cursed their lack of preparation. Had he known about the male-oriented culture, he would have asked Chief O'Brien or perhaps Odo to accompany him. As it was, Major Kira had put him in an unenviable position. Despite all obvious evidence, she insisted on stubbornly inserting comments into the discussion whenever she felt like it.

"...and it would be of significant good to the upper plains areas, where most of the cordium has been found," Prefect Ja'i'hir was explaining, his golden-orange robes fluttering in the slight breeze which stirred the otherwise stifling meeting room.

Kira nodded, saying, "We would, of course, wish to hire local--"

"Prefect D'Nir, can nothing be done with this obnoxious female?" Ja'i'hir protested loudly amid a dull ocean of assenting groans.

D'Nir sighed, turning to Bashir. "Doctor, cultural tolerance is one thing; but if you cannot control your female, then I believe--"

"Control?" The tenuous thread of Kira's patience snapped. Bashir watched in horror as the Bajoran stood, leaning onto both hands with a resounding slam. "I am no one's property to be controlled; most of all, not his! I will not sit here and--"

"Doctor Bashir!" The blood was rushing to D'Nir's face now. "You will silence this woman or all discussions are off!" He wiped a trickle of sweat from his face with a ruby silk handkerchief. "We have tried to be tolerant of your culture's oddities, but if you cannot even handle one unruly female, why should we trust the mining of such an important mineral to you?"

Bashir whirled on Kira, a desperate plea contorting his features. Throwing the future to the wind, he affected the most domineering posture he could muster. "Kira, you will return to our lodgings at once. Your behavior has been abominable." He begged her with his eyes to play on, hoping against hope that her sense of duty would supersede the unmistakable blood-lust in her eyes. "There are thousands of lives at stake," he added pointedly.

Kira bore through him with a look that could melt pure tritanium, then squared her shoulders, affecting a haughty lift of the head. "As you wish, Doctor."

The meeting fell back into a more or less calm routine once the Bajoran left, but Bashir had the sinking feeling he'd thrust his head in the lion's...lioness's mouth. He kept reminding himself that there were lives at stake, thousands of lives. Thousands of lives versus one...his own.

*****

She was sitting on the plush white sofa waiting for him when he returned to their sumptuously arranged lodgings. Bashir suffered her cold stare for only a moment before launching into a full-scale attack. "Do you know what the symptoms of Fraga Syndrome are, Major?" Without letting her speak, he continued angrily, "Muscle spasms, nausea, mind-searing headaches, dizziness, loss of sleep, complete dehydration, then death. That is what we're fighting, Major. I don't care about your pride; I don't care about your ego. I care about the colonists on Liberty Six who are dying as we speak." He paused to breathe, caring little about her startled expression or any possible repercussions. His voice was tired as he added, "I don't like this anymore than you do, Major. But the longer it takes to secure the rights to that cordium, the more people will die on Liberty Six. Please. Please, I beg you, just play along with it for now."

Ice wouldn't have melted in Kira Nerys' mouth at that moment. "As you wish, Doctor."

*****

Julian Bashir dragged himself down the hall to the door of the room he and Kira were sharing. Two days of haggling over everything from land rights to the name of the mining facility combined with two nights of sleeping on the not-as-comfortable-as-it-looked sofa had left him stiff and irritable.

Kira, for her part, had been amazingly compliant once the gravity of the situation had been impressed on her. She spent her days either holed up in their quarters analyzing the notes he brought back from the meeting, or aboard the runabout, relaying the information back to DS9 via subspace messages. When Bashir was about, however, she regarded him with only the coldest of courtesy.

Bashir sighed. It wasn't his fault this culture had a thing about aggressive women. If she were more adaptable and less stubborn... He sighed again. If space were made of oatmeal and stars giant raisins, he could have breakfast in bed. He shook off his annoyance, determined to make the best of this situation, and entered their quarters.

"Kira?"

There was no response. He looked around the enormous living room. Information disks were scattered on the sofa, along with the portable reader Kira had been using earlier that day. There was a glass of Martukian tea on the low coffee table, half drained with beads of water clouding the sides. A hidden entertainment system was playing soft Caldecorian music in the background.

"Major?"

"Your female is not here, Doctor."

Bashir whirled to see Weeda, the almond-eyed beauty who'd been so attached to Prefect D'Nir, draped across the entrance to the bedroom doorway. She stretched languorously against the rounded frame, a rapacious half-smile curving her full lips.

"Weeda...I...er..."

Weeda undulated perfectly toward him, the shimmering gossamer of her sari concealing nothing from his eager eyes. Beneath the gauze, she wore ornamental jewelry, elaborate silver and gold spiderwebs which enhanced more than concealed, titillated more than clothed. "Your Kira is in the Central Residence, on Prefect D'Nir's request." At Bashir's look of controlled dread, she added, "Oh, she's perfectly safe. Only women live there. The Prefect thought you would prefer a night free of your woman's grasp." She locked her fingers in the fabric of his tunic, inching nearer and nearer to him as he inched farther and farther back.

"Er...I don't believe...I mean, it's very generous of the Prefect to..." The leg of the coffee table interrupted Bashir's protest as he tumbled backwards onto the sofa.

Weeda, taking his clumsiness as invitation, fell on top of him, wrestling into his arms and planting her lips firmly on his. Bashir struggled in vain, knowing that at any moment, either Kira or D'Nir would walk in and his career would be over.

"Weeda, please. I'm very flattered, but..." Her tongue in his mouth cut off the attempted compliment. Bashir felt the young woman's hands roaming freely over his body, felt the soft web of gold and silver as she placed his hands firmly on her rounded buttocks, felt the uncomfortable evidence of his arousal straining at his trousers. He forced himself out of her grasp, his breath abnormally quick. "Weeda, what about the Prefect?"

She stared at him in stunned confusion. "The Prefect sent me. He was concerned that your woman..." She lowered her eyes demurely. "Meaning no disrespect, Doctor, but there are women such as your Kira on Caldecor. They rule their men obscenely, denying them even the smallest pleasures, hiding their beauty, granting only crumbs of kindness for the greatest of deeds." The woman's face twisted in contempt. "Women like that are fools; if you'll forgive me, sir, the men who keep them are no less fools."

Bashir was growing more and more uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "I'd like to speak with Major Kira," he insisted gently.

Weeda's face softened in understanding. "You needn't worry about her, Doctor. She will be well treated."

"Still, I'd prefer to--"

"It is no shame to love a woman, even if she treats you poorly. But Major Kira's treatment of you is unforgivable." She looked down on him, a slow kitten-smile brightening her face. "Prefect D'Nir thought that if you could experience a true woman, you might be more apt to control her." Bashir blanched, and she continued quickly. "You mustn't feel guilty about it. Kira's behavior is a cry for help. A woman who isn't controlled is adrift; when you aren't firm with her, she does not feel your love, only your indifference."

"Oh, dear God." Bashir let his head drop onto the cushions, wondering how in hell he'd ever gotten himself into this situation.

Weeda took this as an invitation, leaning forward to lay her entire body weight atop him. Bashir moaned as she eagerly placed soft biting kisses on is ears, neck, throat and chin. He made one more half-hearted attempt to remove her, but gave in as she ran her fingers under the hidden seam of his tunic, her long fingernails only barely scratching his exposed skin. By the time she had exposed his chest and was nibbling her way down his torso, Bashir was already too far gone to fight. He wrapped his fingers in her coal-colored hair, closing his eyes as she tugged at the fabric of his trousers with her teeth. He could hear the magnetized fibers ripping apart at her insistence, felt the cool air of the apartment on his steaming flesh.

With one quick flash of her huge eyes, Weeda had his pants off and tumbled in a pile at the back of the sofa. She flicked her tongue across his hard abdomen, tickling the muscular flesh with rapid, teasing strokes before venturing lower to where the dark line of hair marked his pubic region. Another tug, and his shorts lay on the floor besides his trousers.

Bashir moaned as Weeda took his hardening shaft between her delicate fingers, his breath quickening as she first tightened, then released her grasp on him. A quick dart of the tongue against the head, and Bashir was moaning in earnest, begging her wordlessly to take him in her mouth. Weeda didn't disappoint him, wrapping her soft lips around the head slowly, flickering her tongue against the sensitive opening. With amazing control, she slowly began caressing the head with the flat of her tongue, swirling it gently back and forth. Bashir tightened his grip on her hair, nudging her further down on him. She complied eagerly, taking his shaft deeper into her throat, never ceasing the maddening caresses of her tongue. As his moans grew louder, she began sucking, first delicately, then with increasing strength. Bashir felt the orgasm building in him as Weeda continued her tantalizing oral caresses. Never ceasing the exquisite pressure on the head, she stroked the shaft fiercely with her tiny fist, bringing him over the top. Bashir felt the concentrated energy, the rushing blood, the focus of all his nerves centering on that one point between his legs. He cried out as the first spurt of orgasm was released, watching in erotic fervor as the beautiful woman swallowed every drop, licking the head clean with the tip of her tongue.

When she finally released him, Bashir fell back onto the cushion with a sigh. Weeda laughed throatily. "That is how a real woman treats her man." Bashir opened his eyes lethargically to see her stand next to the couch. With a suggestive grin, she began to remove, bit by bit, the sheer gauze which covered her shapely body. It swirled to the floor in a shimmering haze, only to be followed by the tinkling metallic tumble of the mesh jewelry to the floor around her feet. Weeda stepped out of the pile of cloth and metal to place a lingering kiss on his lips.

Bashir caught her wrists in his hands, rising from his lounging position to wrap her into a fierce embrace. He no longer cared who walked in--too many days of stress had left him little strength to fight the passion growing within him. He covered her lips with his, forcing his tongue between her soft lips. She gasped as he invaded her mouth, a soft laugh escaping her as she pulled playfully out of his grip.

"So. She has not completely castrated you, has she?" she taunted, pulling him down atop her as she lay invitingly on the couch.

"Hardly," Bashir snarled. His cock was straining now, urging him towards union with this delightful nymph. He curled his fingers into her hair, tugging gently until she revealed her smooth throat to his wandering mouth. Weeda's hands traveled the length of his torso, her fingernails grazing slightly the crisp curls at the top of his crotch. With an amazingly firm hand, she grasped his pulsing cock and guided it into her moist sex, lifting her legs to welcome the sudden intrusion. Bashir gasped as her body welcomed him, blood pounding like a sledgehammer in his veins. He groaned, forcing his length into her again and again as she writhed beneath him. A sense of vertigo hit him as Weeda's first orgasm shuddered between them. A long, low howl snaked out of the alien woman as she sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. Bashir felt the concentrated pressure at the juncture of his thighs, felt the energy pulsing through his entire body, the tidal wave crashing in his veins playing counterpoint to the animalistic howl Weeda was still emitting.

Bashir collapsed atop her, his breath coming in ragged heaves, spent. Weeda, to his amazement, was still undulating in intense orgasm, moaning loudly with every movement of her sensuous body. Bashir smiled, covering her mouth with his own, swallowing that sound until it cursed through him like fire. Weeda continued her thrashing, rolling him onto his back, laughing as they tumbled to the narrow space of floor between the sofa and the table.

"Weeda--" Bashir began, but the woman was not listening to him. Her hands prowled his body like a thief, taking his flaccid penis in her hungry hands. "Weeda, I think--"

"Don't think," she moaned. "Just fuck me."

"Weeda, perhaps we should call it--"

The olive-skinned beauty grinned up at him, a rapacious showing of teeth which reminded Bashir uncomfortably of a Lotharian she-hound, just before it devoured its mate. "The Prefect wants you properly satisfied," she insisted.

Bashir realized to his consternation that the person who was going to have to be satisfied before he was released from this sensuous slavery was Weeda. He gulped as she pulled him down atop her again, this time not nearly as gently as before.

*****

Bashir rolled over, wincing as he did so. How in hell he ever wound up in bed was beyond him. He vaguely recalled Weeda guiding him, on all fours, across the living room floor--by his hair. It was all a hazy, frightening memory now. The next time anyone said anything about the submissive women of Caldecor, he would gladly rip off his uniform and show them the scars.

He patted the pillow next to him, searching blindly for the demure little carnivore. When his hand met nothing but pillow, he cracked one eye slowly open. A blinding glare of daylight assaulted him, and he shut it quickly again.

"Oh, god," he whimpered. Again, he tried, this time prying the other eye open by sheer force of will. A little better, but still nauseatingly bright for this time of day.

Time of day! He slammed himself awake, rolling with a pained groan into a sitting position, willing his eyes to focus on the chronometer next to the bed. He was supposed to be in a meeting twenty minutes ago. With Herculean effort, he rose, tripping over himself to find his Starfleet uniform. He was only half-way into the trousers as he stumbled into the living room.

Kira was seated quietly on the very sofa which had been the site of the previous night's amorous Olympics. Fortunately, the back of the couch was between her vision and his half-clothed body. All he could see was the close-cropped russet hair tapering into her neck as she huddled over a computer readout. He fastened his uniform quickly, before she could turn, then allowed an impatient snarl. "I was supposed to be at the Parlement half an hour ago. Why didn't you wake me?"

Kira barely acknowledged his presence as she continued to pore over the readout. "What? Big, strong, man like you doesn't know how to set an alarm?"

"Major, need I remind you yet again--" As he turned the corner to retrieve his boots from the place Weeda had unceremoniously dumped them the night before, his voice stalled in his throat at the sight the Bajoran woman presented. "Good Lord, what are you--" At her withering stare, he rephrased his sputtering words. "Where did you get--" Yet another icy stair. Bashir opened his mouth impotently, words failing him finally and completely.

With a look that might have stopped the entire Cardassian fleet dead in its tracks, Kira slowly rose to her feet. Laying the readout on the table, she nailed her gazed directly into Bashir's horrified face and said quietly, too quietly, "One comment, Doctor."

Bashir, unable, unwilling to move his gaze anywhere but directly into her eyes, sputtered, "M-major?"

"One single comment. That's all that separates you from life..." she paused to let the sound of that very dear word sink in, "and slow, painful death."

Even if Bashir had been able to speak, he would have been hard-pressed to find adequate words to describe the sight before him. Major Kira, the terror of Bajor, had been completely made-over in the fashion of a proper Caldecorian woman. Despite every effort not to, his eyes traveled slowly down inch after inch of her body. Gold-braid chains as fine as angel's hair spiraled down her neck, curling around her breasts to form tight clamps over her protruding nipples, then plunging down the flat surface of her belly where they met the finest gold mesh panties. A sheer russet gauze the very color of her uniform wafted over her, lending an even deeper hue to the shimmering metal. Twin snakes of gold wound from her shoulders to her wrists where they tapered into filigreed bracelets. Her face had been painted heavily in earthen tones, a cosmetic sunset widening her eyes into the same almond-shape he'd found so desirable in Weeda. Her lips glistened with sparkling russet lipcolor, fuller and more inviting than any Bajoran lips should be. Large golden hoops hung from her earlobes, stark contrast to the clipped locks of hair which only barely brushed the burnished metal.

Bashir stared at her for a full moment longer than he knew was safe. Whatever it was he could possibly have said to make this easier on her vanished as he remembered the time. He smiled for a scant, uncomfortable moment before leaning over to grab his boots. "I'm late," was all he said before he rushed out of the room.

*****

"And that, gentlemen, is that." Julian Bashir tried valiantly not to heave a relieved sigh as the last ridiculously minute detail of the agreement passed the vote. He leaned heavily on his hand as one by one, the prefects of Caldecor patted him on the shoulder, congratulating him in the traditional manner.

Prefect D'Nir pressed through the huddle of bodies to place a hand firmly in Bashir's grasp. "Excellent job, Doctor. I believe both the people of Caldecor and the Federation will benefit from your fine work here." He wrapped one arm around the younger man's shoulder, leading him towards the door. "I trust," he murmured conspiratorially, "that my gift was well-received."

Bashir blinked hard, still fighting the drowsiness which had plagued him all day. "Gift? Oh, yes, that gift." He smiled wanly, uncertain as to where diplomacy left off and pandering began. "I, er--"

"You needn't thank me, son. Weeda is a fine girl; she's kept me young." He laughed at Bashir's pale grin as they exited the conference room into D'Nir's private office. "Obviously not as young as she kept you last night. With a fiery little female like your Kira, you should have more endurance than that," he scolded jovially.

"About Kira--"

"Not bad-looking, once we got her out of that straight-jacket. The girls did a wonderful job with her, don't you think?" The Prefect motioned to a seat, which Bashir gratefully accepted.

"Yes, lovely. But--"

D'Nir wiped his sweaty brow with a cloth, then turned to one of the crystalline compartments behind his metallic desk, pulling out a glimmering flask of green liquor. "Brensic?" he asked, nodding to the bottle. "Fine vintage. A toast, if you will, to the success of our joint venture."

Bashir nodded tiredly, not really caring one way or another. At this point, he would gladly chugged a glass of yamek sauce diluted by turpentine if it meant going home and getting some sleep. He accepted the glass, raising it in salute as he sipped the liquid. Despite the chill of the glass, the brensic was warm on his tongue, fiery in his throat. It tasted vaguely of cinnamon, but his eyes widened in shock as the afterkick of ethanol hit him full-force. "This is alcohol," he said, as if it weren't already apparent.

"What did you think it was?" D'Nir grinned widely. "Children's juice?"

"Well, I thought it was some sort of synthe--"

The Caldecorian ignored his protest, replacing the tiny portion Bashir had consumed with an equal amount from the bottle. "I suppose any race which lets its females participate in government would be a bit overwhelmed by a man's drink," he teased expansively, his spirits lifting with each gulp he swallowed. "Come, Julian. Show some testosterone."

Julian Bashir eyed the green liquid, slowly calculating the amount of brain cells he would have to sacrifice to save face with this man, decided it was worth the loss, and downed the glass's contents in one, manly gulp. After which, he proceeded to choke for several long moments. Finally, he managed to offer the glass for a refill, croaking intrepidly, "Smooth."

*****

It was a fine Caldecorian night. In fact, it was the finest night there ever was. As far as Dr. Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of DS9 and salutatorian of his graduating class at medical school, was concerned, it was the finest night in the history of all the finest nights that ever existed. It was really good. He felt really good. He saluted the door gamely as his feet wafted him through the doorway into his living quarters.

"Woman of the house!" he called into the darkened room. "I have returned." There was a rustling in the other room as he stumbled for the lights. He was still looking when Kira, still dressed in that Caldecorian outfit, poked a befuddled head out of the bedroom and passing her hand quickly over the light sensors. "AH!" Bashir grinned. "Man reigns triumphant again! Not only did I, Julian Bashir, singlehandedly save the entire population of the Liberty Six colony, but I have also brought light to the universe. I am invincible."

"You are insane," Kira grumbled as she stifled a yawn. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Ah, dear, sweet, silly little Kira," the young doctor continued, oblivious to the affect his words were having upon his audience of one. "What is time? What is the mere passing of minutes, seconds, when one holds life within one's hands?" He crossed quickly, scooping the unsuspecting Bajoran's hands in his ardently. "My actions today have saved thousands of lives. I'm a hero." He planted a quick kiss on her clenched fists, then leapt over the arm of the sofa. He landed on his back with a soft thud, his long legs dangling over the padded arm. "I think that calls for a celebration, don't you?"

"I'm going to bed."

"Bed? Surely you can't be sleepy?" He rolled off of the couch, heading her off at the entrance to the bedroom with a boyish leap. "We got the agreement; the mining begins tomorrow. That at least should be of some importance to you."

"Not at this time of the morning. Get some sleep, Doctor." Again, Kira tried to side-step the arm he'd draped across the doorway, but he pulled her jovially towards the kitchen.

"Come on. You can fix us a bite to eat, and I'll tell you all about my brilliant performance in the negotiations today."

Kira froze at his paternal tone, her face setting in a dangerously sarcastic mask. "Oh?" she breathed.

"It was remarkable. Sometimes, I even amaze myself."

"I'm sure you do."

Bashir, in his celebratory stupor, did not catching the frigid warning in her tone. A haze of ethanol-induced euphoria stood between him and common sense as he continued to blither on, oblivious to the danger of his words. "You could learn something about interpersonal relations from me."

"Doctor, I've had enough--"

"Well, of course you've had enough of all these negotiations." Bashir laughed unevenly. "You've been stuck in this room all day with nothing but charts and figures to keep you amused." He patted her cheek. "I'm sure you must be bored to tears with all of this official nonsense. You just leave the business to me; I'm sure we can find something more appropriate to discuss."

And there it snapped. Kira wrenched herself out of his grasp angrily. "Oh, of course, Doctor. Maybe we could discuss cosmetics. Or shopping. I had a lovely conversation on the horrors of a bad manicure the other day in the Central Residence. Would you like to know how to remove stains from gauze?" She was practically shouting at him now, her nerves wound taut by too many days of having to choose between complete isolation and the insipid life of the typical Caldecorian woman.

Bashir let his eyes, then his grin, grow wide at her raging tone. "Prefect D'Nir was right. You are a fiery little wench, aren't you?"

There was a long pause as Kira swallowed that comment, her face a swirling hurricane of anger and shock. Bashir leered drunkenly at her, slipping one hand around her slim waist to finger the golden chain encircling her waist.

"You really must bring one of these outfits back to DS9, Nerys. It's much more flattering than that bulky old thing you--"

He never finished his commentary on her everyday fashion choices, for at that moment, Kira Nerys's brain finally cut through the fog of anger surrounding it, sending an immediate message to her right hand. She lifted it with lightning speed, arcing back until it was fully cocked to deliver a powerful slap across his face. With reflexes neither knew he possessed, Bashir caught her wrist mid-swing, clamping tightly around the delicate circumference with amazing strength.

There was a tense moment as Bajoran and Terran stood motionless, poised in a seemingly endless stalemate. Finally, blindly, Bashir tipped the balance, tugging fiercely on the arm he still held viselike between his fingers. Kira, off-balance, stumbled into his waiting arms, unprepared for the hard kiss he gave her. Before she could react, he had wrapped her fully in his arms, his entire body beckoning her further into a mindless swirl of heat.

It was a full moment before either of them realized what he had done, and by that time it was too late for Bashir to back down. He plunged further in, probing between her painted lips with the tip of his tongue, waiting for the death blow to fall at any moment. He gathered a handful of gauze in his fist as slowly, amazingly, Kira began to relax in his embrace.

Suddenly very aware of what was going on, Bashir continued to press his advantage, easing one hand down the slope of Kira's back, curling his finger beneath the solitary chain that connected her collar to the panties. As he gently tugged, Kira gasped loudly, pressing herself even closer to him, wrapping her arms around him as she buried her face in his shoulders. Bashir pushed his outspread fingers under the thin material, following the length of chain as it disappeared between the firm white globes of her buttocks. She moaned as his fingers probed between her legs, finally realizing what was causing her agitation. The chains linking the front and back portions of the jewelry met at the spot just above her clitoris, and were joined by a soft, velvety pad. Every movement, every swing of the chain caused an agonizing friction, the softest of caresses on that sensitive spot, thus leaving the female in a constant state of sexual arousal.

"Kira," he began gently, suddenly embarrassed by his actions.

The Bajoran looked up at him with the same rapacious gaze that had characterized Weeda's entire personality, and Bashir had the sinking feeling he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this one. "Yes?" she murmured in a low voice. Her eyes held every bit of the challenge he had seen in D'Nir's when he handed him that first lamentable glass of liquor.

"Nothing," he whispered as he slowly removed the gauze from her shoulders, watching as it formed a russet cloud around her feet. He lowered his feverish lips to kiss the flesh of her shoulders, grazing his teeth across the smooth, satiny skin. Kira worked her long fingers into the seam of his uniform, prying open the fabric with impatience. The heat of her fingertips brushing his chest ever so slightly was maddening, and Bashir led her haltingly toward the sofa. She was tugging on his uniform, now, her hands ripping at the fabric like wrapping paper on Christmas morning, only the prize waiting beneath this package was not for children.

Bashir sat down on the sofa, kicking off his boots and the tangle of uniform with them, then began the work relieving Kira of her jewelry. First, he carefully peeled the panties from her hips, careful not to cause unnecessary agitation to the chain. Once free of the cloth, he tried unsuccessfully to remove the chain between her legs. Clumsily, he fumbled with it, searching in vain for the clasp. Finally, he turned a helpless expression to Kira, whose face was contorted in a curious mixture of embarrassment and arousal. "How do you--"

"I have no idea. Believe me, I've tried."

"Maybe if you--" Embarrassed, Bashir stood, physically directing her onto her back on the soft cushions. Carefully separating her thighs, he examined the small pad above her clitoris, turning it until he located the tiny clasp. It took several attempts to unhook it; each attempt brought his knuckles into contact with Kira's swollen clit, eliciting gasps and wiggles from the lithe woman.

Finally, in exasperation, he said, "Hold still, please." She managed to keep still long enough for him to release the catch, and the chain slid down onto her belly, exposing her moist sex to his gaze. Bashir caught his breath, planting a kiss on the soft skin of her inner thigh before lowering his lips to the tiny knob of flesh which had suffered so much abuse in the past few hours. He kissed it gently, brushing his lips only slightly over the sensitized nerves, then cupped his tongue to lap slowly all around it. He was rewarded with a low moan from Kira, who arched her hips upwards to urge him on. Stretching her long legs over his shoulders, he continued to gently lick and suck the exposed flesh, delighting in her lightning responses to his every action. As she reached her first climax, Bashir sank his tongue into the valley between her legs, tasting her nectar on his lips and tongue. Her body contracted and expanded in an electric rhythm, beating counterpoint the low moans she was emitting. As the tempo slowed, Bashir lowered her legs, sliding up her perspiration-soaked body to press his hard cock against her thigh.

He needed no prompting to know she was ready; his cock slipped easily into her, warmth surrounding his engorged flesh. Her hands gripped his hair, his arms, anything in a desperate attempt to have him completely inside her. Bashir lost track of time and space as he sank into her, their bodies joining and separating in perfect sync. When the climax came, it seemed an eternity of energy coursing through him, empowering him with superhuman strength, only to leave him weak and exhausted as he collapsed down onto Kira's slick body.

He lay heavily on her for a long moment, hearing the pulsing of her heart beneath him, feeling the warm breath on his skin. Finally, too soon, he lifted himself wearily onto his hands. "Kira, we'd better get some rest."

There was a salacious smile which widened the smooth curve of Kira Nerys's cheek. "Rest? I've done nothing but rest since I got here," she purred. "Too much rest isn't good for you, Doctor."

"But--"

She laughed throatily, rolling him hard on his back. "I've got energy to spare," she said, swinging one long leg to straddle his slim hips.

"I was afraid of that...." Bashir closed his eyes as she began lightly scraping her fingernails up the tight muscles of his chest, her fingertips tugging gently at the fine hairs circling his nipples. "Major, perhaps this is..." Her fingers played against the tiny buds of flesh, teasing them into firmness. "Oh, dear god..." he moaned.

Kira lifted herself onto her knees, easing downward until she could lean down to take one taut nipple in her teeth. Bashir gasped loudly as she rolled the sensitized flesh between her lips, sucking gently, then hard, pleasure mixing with tantalizing pain. With a low chuckle, she released the abused nipple, blowing a quick burst of cool air on the moist skin before attacking the other with equal fervor.

"Oh, dear god..."

"You said that before," she murmured into his chest, the tip of her tongue flicking snakelike against him.

"Oh, dear god..." was all the response she got. Bashir curled his fingers in the short locks of russet hair, and she eased back upwards to kiss him. Tongue met tongue in an energized tug-of-war, and Bashir's fingers clamped tightly together, pulling her lips even harder against his. She flattened atop him, wriggling against the semi-erect cock nestled between her thighs. "Oh, god-"

"Say something else," Kira ordered, biting gently on his lower lip as she reached below to slip the head of his cock into her.

"Sweet Jesus..." Bashir whispered.

Kira rolled her eyes and began slowly riding him, muscles tightening reflexively as she claimed and released her prize. Her toes dug into the plush carpet, body rising and falling like the slow breath of a caged animal. She pushed down onto him, inch after inch of his length stretching and pulling at her warm, moist channel. Body slick with perspiration, she pressed hard onto him, devouring his mouth, his skin, his thickness with her very being.

Bashir gasped as her body contracted around him, arms and legs matching intensity with the strong muscles of her sex. He thrust upwards, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her shoulders, struggling with the urge to buck like a wild animal. With a dangerous smile, she shook her head, slowing his pace with the very weight of her body. "Patience, Julian," she flirted. "After all, I'm only a woman."

"Right," he gasped, flooding his mind with baseball scores, pharmacological data, anything to keep him from coming like a schoolboy inside of her. With little regard for his predicament, she began a slow undulation, an erotic dance which did nothing for his self-control.

Finally, unexpectedly, she contorted her face in ecstacy, a soft cry escaping her open mouth as she pounded downward, arching backwards as she impaled herself on him. Bashir lost control, roughly rolling her onto her back, thrusting into her with animalistic abandon. They came together in a heap, falling again into the plush carpet.

After a moment, too long for a man of his age and health, of recuperation, Julian Bashir smiled down at her. "I think, now, we need a break. Why don't we retire to the bedroom?"

She smiled warmly up at him. "Whatever you say, Julian."

He placed a quick kiss on the bridge of her nose. "Tomorrow, we'll tour the mining facility and then it's back to DS9."

"You're brilliant, Julian," Kira purred. "We could have never done it without you."

Bashir frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I completely misjudged you from the start." She wrapped herself sweetly into his arms. A look of pure adoration softened her features.

"You-you have?"

"Of course," she cooed. "After all, you were salutatorian of your medical school class. And you have saved countless lives. How could anyone possibly not think you're wonderful?"

"I'm wonderful?"

"Brilliant. Simply brilliant." There was not a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Bashir breathed heavily, releasing her. "I've heard enough." Bashir rolled onto the sofa, disgusted. "Computer, pause program."

At his command, the holo-Kira froze, mid-adulation.

"Discontinue Kira simulation."

"Simulation discontinued," the computer agreed, and Kira vanished in a smokeless puff of holodeck wizardry.

Bashir quickly tugged on his uniform, tapping his communicator. "Bashir to Quark."

"Yes, Doctor," came the obsequious voice.

"Come in here now."

Quark arrived almost immediately, falling over himself in an attempt to placate the doctor. "Was there something wrong with the program, Doctor?"

"I specifically said I wanted accurate characterization."

Quark's eyes widened in recognition, then salacious approval. "My compliments, Doctor. Very few of my clients make it to the second level."

"Second level?"

"Weeda is usually enough to satisfy most hew-mons," Quark leered, with a quick brush of his ear. "No one has ever managed to seduce the Bajoran, though." His eyes gleamed with admiration. "I'm impressed."

Bashir, caught, fumbled for words. "Seduced--I tell you, Quark, I came in here to brush up on my interpersonal skills. And to do that, I needed a Kira who was in character...NOT a sappy, driveling, submissive, Stepford Kira."

Quark nodded placatingly. "Of course."

"And your insinuation that I would ever--"

"Oh, I would never insinuate such a thing, Doctor--"

"Ever sleep with a holographic version of one of my crewmates is--libelous." Bashir grunted in righteous indignation. "That's what it is. Libelous."

"I see. So you didn't sleep with her."

"Absolutely not."

"And you were upset with her uncharacteristic behavior?"

"Yes."

Quark grinned and put a hand on Bashir's arm, leaning to whisper conspiratorially. "I'll let you in on a little secret of the trade, Bashir. There's only one thing that can trigger submissive behavior in this particular hologram."

"One...thing?"

"Yes, Doctor. One thing only. And if your Kira was acting submissive, then you must have activated that particular subdirectory."

"Subdirectory?"

There was a flash of amusement in the little Ferengi's face as he patted Bashir's arm. "You wouldn't lie to your friendly bartender, would you?"

Bashir paled, then coughed. "I think I'm due in the Infirmary now."

"I'll charge this to your account," Quark said helpfully as the human doctor beat a path to the door. "Oh, and Doctor, remind me to show you the new Dax program I had installed last week!"

The End