Kelas savored the taste and scent of Ekor's release still lingering in his mouth and nose. It wasn't a necessarily pleasant taste and yet Kelas did not want to forget it or see it fade away just yet. It was all a gift—every bit and as he rested against Ekor he also savored his warmth, his strength, the lingering jerks and tremors from his pleasure, the safety of Ekor's limbs wrapped all around him. How incredibly wonderful it felt to be cocooned into another person. It seemed across such a great distance now that Kelas had once pulled away from this dear mans' gentle touch when he had been unused to being handled with care. It was still new—very new. But Kelas nuzzled closer and pressed a gentle kiss to Ekor's shoulder just below the thick scales of his ridge.

It is your-ehs, Jasi,” Kelas said quietly, “I giff myself to you.”

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth and waited with Ekor's fingers coiled tightly in his hair. He longed for Jasi to take him now. As Kelas gave, Jasi would give too; and when Kelas created space for Jasi by abandonding himself, Jasi would fill it—with direction, with sensation, with praise. More literally as well as Jasi tugged him down, and Kelas' mouth was filled once more with the delicious gift of Ekor's cock.

The trickle of pre-cum was smeared over Kelas's tongue and the end of Ekor's cock hit hard at the back of his throat. The suddenness caused him to gag a bit though the noise was muffled since his mouth was stuffed full.

His first attendance with his mouth to Ekor's cock had been very deliberate and practiced. But now that too was abandoned—forcefully--and there would be little of his own control now over his reflex not to choke. It was in Jasi's hand to control him now, to push his head down, to thrust his hips forward, to measure the speed, the force, to allow him a break or to hold him in place with his throat full.

Just when Kelas had thought he could not reach a deeper place in his new submissive space he was plunged deeper. The realization of how far gone he was, how much was given, and how he completely trusted this man not hurt him... it wasn't reckless. It wasn't the usual form of self-abandonment when he ceased to care what his partner did to his body. In this space he cared more than he ever had, and he trusted.

Kelas rested his hands on Jasi's thighs and tried to focus on his breathing through his nose. He felt blissful as Jasi shoved him down, as he choked as the pace grew more intense, as drool slid down his chin and foam came out of his nose at a particularly explosive cough. It burned the back of his throat and through his nose too but it didn't matter. The blanket beneath him was dampening from the spit dripping from Ekor's cock and his own chin, and his own slit dripping too. How he wanted to touch himself for a selfish moment—but he gripped to Jasi's thighs more tightly to refocus himself.

The pace was kept up hard, and fast, and then in a moment of pause Kelas's face was pressed flush against Ekor's chuva and lower belly. Ekor pulled him forward and held him there. For a moment Kelas began to count the seconds but then he understood that even that was a secret way to grasp at control over the situation and that he did not need it. Jasi was in control. He allowed the numbers to fall away as he was held there. It didn't matter how long—if Jasi held him there forever he would stay and not press back against his hand.

He opened his eyes and peered up at Ekor. They were wide, wet, bloodshot, and full of surrender. Kelas wanted Ekor to see that he would stay even though it was becoming difficult to breath, though his throat and jaw were aching, he would not push back against his Jasi's hand.

And then he was tugged off. Jasi's cock pulled out so suddenly that he made a small noise of surprise, and gasped for breath. It was both a good feeling, and a bad feeling; pulling air into his burning lungs, a break for his throat, and yet he preferred to have his mouth full anyway. He made to move forward, but Jasi stilled him with a palm to his forehead.

At first Kelas didn't understand. Ekor had already been close. It must be difficult to hold back now. As his breathing began to come more easily it occurred to him that Jasi was holding back for Kelas' benefit, to give him a moment to breath, to care for him. The realization was overwhelming and cause new silent tears to drip as Kelas graced Jasi with a small, close-lipped smile, and tilted his head in a reverent 'thank you'.

Jasi patted the side of his face.

“Jasi... you... you take my breath away,” Kelas said, his voice a bit shaky from the deep emotion he was feeling, and a bit croaky from use of his throat, but he managed to work it anyway.

Kelas could not guess what Ekor was thinking, looking at him the way he was, but he it was a way that no one had ever looked at him before and it made him tremble even more. For a moment it seemed that Ekor might want to say something. He cupped Kelas' chin and smoothed his thumb over the subtle ridges there. Now instead of pull away as he once had, Kelas pressed his chin eagerly to the gentle caress, and Ekor's thumb slid wetly into the dip bellow his lower lip, then over them, and towards his nose.

“And if I... were to take your breath in a more... literal way...”

Kelas understood what was being asked. How he wanted to burst with gratitude that Jasi cared enough to wait, to pause, to gain his consent.

“Yes, yes,” Kelas agreed, “puhleasssse. I give all—I am your-ehs now, Jasi.”

Kelas meant that in this moment, perhaps for this night... but in the back of his mind as Jasi filled his mouth again, and he waited for the spit-slicked fingers to pinch his nose closed and to take even more control of him—he knew that he would belong to Jasi long after this night was over. In Kelas's mind, whether it made sense or not to belong to a man he barely knew, he did belong to Jasi.

Never had he felt so completely that he belonged anywhere; anywhere at all. But here there was no question. As the pressure came to his nose, as the dark backs of his eyelids began to swim with silver specks, as his throat tightened and he forced himself to be still anyway, it felt as though he was floating in some sacred place that he could only discover in this way. It was made only for these moments, for Jasi and atsi, for when so much was given away there was nothing left to tether him to himself and yet the space left was not empty. It would never be empty now and that was the difference, that was the true ache that needed to be filled—not his hands, or his mouth, or his ajan no matter that it wanted. The ache had always been deeper and until this moment no one else had ever touched it.

In the very distance of his mind he heard laughter, he felt the hands of ghosts try to clamber at him, but Jasi's hands were real and strong and so the grasping hands of the children who had once hurt him fell away. Their laughter died too—for it no longer mattered. They had only touched his sex, after all. They had never touched him in the deepest places, in the places that mattered the most. Those places had remained his even if others had not, and now he had given them of his own will; no one had taken too much from him after all—despite all the times he'd been fucked like an object on a dirty club floor—those men had not defiled this place. It amazed him to find that he still had a place, a part of himself, that no one had taken from him, damaged, or hurt.

Had he been able to understand the gravity of everything sooner, he would have realized that it was perhaps too much responsibility to give to Jasi, who did not know so many things about him. But it happened before Kelas had understood it, and now there was no stopping it—he did not want to draw back and away. As his lungs began to burn, to ache, to struggle against the instinct to want air—he wondered how he could ever be the same again. Ekor could not possibly know the depth of what he was doing, and should Kelas tell him, it might be too much.

So for now he let the thoughts go. Usually this was an insurmountable task. When thoughts persisted in his mind, they did so ruthlessly, and often left him exhausted and with little defense to fight many of them away. But in this special place he could let them go as though a child opening their hand to let balloons fly high into the sky, until they were specks, as though they had never even been.

And then he was let go, emptied, and the breath rushed in suddenly. He was dizzy with the unexpected fullness of his lungs. His head ached, his throat ached, his chest ached; but it was all so good. One could not have the blessed relief of the air again, the feeling of the desperation racing away to be replaced with ease, without first having been denied. Oh, Kelas wanted more of this—of everything Jasi had to offer, and of everything Kelas could discover to give—of all the precious things they could find together and all the incredible places they could take one another.

Kelas swallowed hard with effort to concentrate. To listen. To do as he was instructed. Jasi's breath came hot against his ear. It seemed to penetrate right through him and twist down his spine. The fingers inside were driving him mad—the catching claw, the stretching. Kelas whined as his prUt slipped forward a bit in his sheath and he just couldn't contain it any longer. There was a brief undertone of embarrassment that felt like a warm buzz in his scales but he was mostly too far gone into the moment to think or feel much other than the pleasure that was building and then coming--

His small prUt pushed at Ekor's fingers but there was still room for them in the opening even after it was everted. The pressure of Jasi's fingers then was just overwhelming, and he had barely enough time to process that he was everted, before his cock was leaking and his body was overtaken by his orgasm.

He grasped onto Ekor as if to anchor himself. There was a bit of desperation in the action as the pleasure spasmed through his body. He buried his face against Ekor's neck ridge and barely avoided to bite down on it out of instinct to clench onto something.

As the spasms began to subside Kelas' mind was still hazy, but he realized he need not hold on so desperately. Ekor's arms were strong around him. His nose fit just nicely below one of Ekor's large neck scales, pressed into the softer flesh there, his lips against the hard slender ridge of Ekor's freckled collar bone.

He nuzzled there for a moment taking in the feel of their bodies being so close. Jasi's scent was so strong. So delicious. He couldn't recall, through the haze, that he'd ever had his face so close to a man's body if it wasn't to suck his prUt, that his head had been cradled this way; such care taken while pain and pleasure were given.

Had the pleasure of his orgasm not made him feel so warm and good his thoughts could have spiraled into darker places—that perhaps he did not deserve this. But even before that could whisper to him he reminded himself that Jasi was in control now. Jasi wanted this—wanted him—and wanted to handle him specifically this way.

“Thank you,” Kelas whispered. He could hardly find his voice at all.

His compulsion was to pull away now, to make himself small, to bow his head low and ask to pleasure his partner well—for in Kelas's mind his own pleasure was secondary and if he was given that gift then he surely must give even more pleasure to his partner; surely it was owed.

He reigned in the impulse sensing that that sort of behavior was not truly the way he needed to show his submission and desire to please. He must listen. Jasi would instruct him. A feeling of relief washed away at the pleasure and brought his senses back to him. His urgency was satisfied, and there was no sense of anxiety that he had come too soon, or that Jasi would be displeased with him somehow; punish him for allowing his own pleasure to come first.

Kelas did not move. He stayed where he was tuning his breathing to the rise and fall of Jasi's chest, feeling his warmth, letting his scent wash over him. He knew that he should keep waiting and give his trust to Jasi, to obey when Jasi would have him move or reposition himself or do something more: But his desire to obey in this new way was being pushed at by his old feeling that he did not deserve such gentleness and care, even if it was something he truly craved.

"Pleassse, tell me what to do, Jasi,” Kelas said, a certain pleading tone to his voice.

Mira is Kelas’ room mate (and friend) in his last year at University of Culat. She’s studying neurology and she’s pretty cool. Măgath - common type of snake.

-x-

Kelas scented the air as he waited for Mira to meet him at the boardwalk. It smelled of street food and the salty tang of seawater which seemed very enticing. 

This section of boardwalk along the bay was usually an area for a nice walk, even a decent place to do some thinking (though Kelas preferred a few favorite spots on the beach), but today it was alive with vendors and merchants and swarms of people–students from the nearby campus, vacationers, and families who had come out from deeper within the city to celebrate the summer festival.

What sort of Cardassian did not want to be out of his house and enjoying some of the hottest days of the year with food and socializing? Kelas sniffed again. 

Mira had better hurry or he might have to sample something without her.

He glanced around until he finally spotted her among the crowd and heading his way. He waved as though doing so would summon her more quickly.

“I thought you’d never come,” Kelas said, giving his hair a little toss, “or did you have trouble finding me? I gave impeccable directions from your lovers–”

“She isn’t my lover,” Mira interrupted, flicking him on the bicep.

“–building and still you’ve pained me by being…” Kelas paused to check his pocket-PADD, “seventeen minutes and twenty-three se–”

“I’m surprised your aptitude test didn’t peg you for drama instead of medicine,” she rolled her eyes.

“-conds late. Couldn’t you spot me?” Kelas tucked his PADD away while Mira crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a long-suffering gaze.

“If I couldn’t pick you out of a crowd wearing that hideous mess of a tunic-dress and those red beads in your hair then I think I must need those glasses on your nose more than you do,” Mira said.

“Don’t flirt with me, Mira. I’m not your type,” Kelas said.

“Correct, Kelas. I don’t like people who insult me without a romantic context,” she said.

They stared at each other for a moment, as if each was angry with the other, and then both chuckled.

“I won’t be late next time,” Mira promised.

“I won’t invite you next time, dear,” Kelas said.

“It is a cold, cold, heart beneath the bodice of that ugly, ugly, garment,” Mira said.

Kelas chuckled again.

“Alright, enough about my clothing before I really begin to worry that I look terrible. I wouldn’t want to offend, after all. Hm,” Kelas sniffed again. It was difficult to pinpoint which direction to go as there were delicious scents assailing him from every angle it seemed. “Mm, I’m very hungry. So hungry I could eat a legate!”

Mira raised a brow ridge.

“An entire legate, armor and all? Do you have the teeth for it?”

“Well… at least a part of the legate,” Kelas smirked, “I don’t think he’d like the teeth…”

“That’s disgusting. I hate hearing about cho’ch, stop it!” she cried, “And don’t be vulgar in public people will throw us into the bay, Kelas Parmak!”

“I didn’t say cho’ch,” Kelas answered, “you have a dirty mind. But I’m not worried. I can swim.”

They headed down the boardwalk keeping close to one another. The crowd was thick and it could have been easy to become separated. 

The summer heat was wonderful on Kelas’s face and neck scales and he began to wish that he’d worn something that would allow for more of his skin to be exposed. How silly he found it that people had no problem at all with nudity if it was on a proper beach that allowed for basking, or a public bath house–no one would bat an eye. Yet if one was to wear a collar cut just a bit too low in public it would be considered improper and scandalous. 

Here and there they paused to sample offerings from various food carts or to watch a street performer dazzle and thrill. Here was a stall selling trinkets, and here was another offering to paint Union sigils onto the cheek or back of the hand in bright blazing colors for a small fee. The line was long for that one–of course every child and adult would want to be patriotic, even if they day itself had nothing to do with celebrating patriotism. Every day was a day for celebrating nationalism in the Union. 

Kelas and Mira decided to pass by the painting station and as they moved further down the boardwalk the scent of the foods began to stay behind them, and the scent of the sea grew stronger. Here there were more stalls selling items for celebration, poppers, streamers, noise-makers, banners that streamed behind laughing children as the catapulted themselves up and down the boardwalk. 

There were stalls for games as well: watch the pit of the arati fruit disappear beneath a cup, then the cups are moved all around, and see if you can choose the correct cup which has the pit beneath it! Try your aim at a target which causes miniature guls on riding hounds to race along a track–the first to the end wins a prize! Guide a fake vole through a maze–figure the maze correctly on the first try and win a prize! Knock over the bottles painted to look like various aliens–extra points for hitting the Klingon on his forehead! 

Most of the games were centered around solving puzzles which was always a favorite of any Cardassian young or old. Here a section of the boardwalk had been drawn in with chalk to create a life-sized kotra board and people could stand in as the pieces and others could guide them to victory–if each team had the patience to stay with the game until the end. Another area was roped off so children could play tag with plastic military phasers that shot water instead of particle beams. 

Kelas felt a bit lost watching the children run and play, as such things had never really related to him even as a child, but some of the puzzle games seemed intriguing. Still, he seemed a bit hesitant to indulge. The adults around him were having fun and laughing just like the children–their faces alight–and it was a good sight to see. But Kelas didn’t often feel playful unless he was in a very good mood–it just didn’t come naturally. Still, he wanted to be a part of the festivities. Would it be strange to ask for one of the colorful banners? Was it odd to wonder why only the children were allowed to fire the water guns? 

Kelas nibbled at one of his claws in contemplation.

“Only you could be nervous in the midst of such fun,” Mira scolded lightly, “stop chewing your claw. Last time you made your lip bleed.”

Kelas gave a little noise of irritation at being scolded. He only really enjoyed scolding from one person, and that person was not Mira.

“Let’s play a game,” she said, tapping his elbow, “which one?”

“Would you win a prize for me?” Kelas asked, perking up a bit at the idea.

“Why wouldn’t I want to win a prize for myself?” she said, “or are you paying for me to try? In which case why wouldn’t you try to win it on your own?”

“You ask more questions than the Bureau of Identification. Would you like to extract one of my molars as well? I’d really prefer to keep them but if you insist–”

“Kelas, I’m a neurologist, not an odontologist. Close your mouth you look absurd,” she said.

Kelas closed his mouth with a click. She gave him a fond little smile.

“I’ll win a prize for you–ridiculous thing,” she said.

“I think this one,” Kelas said, pointing to a certain game stall.

It was covered with a little canopy of blue and white stripes and the line to play was shorter than many of the other games.

“Toss the măgath eggs into the vole holes,” said the gangly man who was running the game. “Each hole is worth a certain number points. Reach the designated number of points, and you can be a winner–hmmm?” He juggled a set of balls which were painted to look like round măgath eggs–though the eggs of the măgath would never be hard like a ball, they would be leathery, and delicate.

Kelas traded the man several coins for several ‘eggs’ and then handed them over to Mira.

“Well, here we go,” Mira said, and she took a deep breath, and began to toss the balls.

Kelas stood to the side and watched her intently, and then the game, and then back to Mira. The balls were clattering onto the table, making a terrible noise, and missing every hole.

“Could you at least -try- to aim?” Kelas suggested.

Mira had tossed all of the balls rather quickly as if giving no thought to strategy, no patience to think about the force behind her toss, or the distance from her standing behind the line to the this hole or that hole. She didn’t even seem to be trying for any hole in particular–not the easier ones near the front of the table, nor the ones for more points at the bag of the table. She was just throwing them.

“Try again?” the man offered when all balls had been expended without success.

Kelas gave him more coins.

“Slow down,” he advised Mira, “think about the holes first–”

“Someone is speaking and distracting me from my game,” Mira said, and she tossed a ball which hit the edge of the table with a ‘clink!’ and ricocheted off.

Kelas pouted.

“That wasn’t even ON the table…”

“Be quiet or I’ll toss you onto the table,” Mira said.

She tried several more rounds at Kelas’ expense. He had gone quiet instead of bothering her, but he was growing antsy, and agitated, and worried that he was ruining her fun by holding her hostage at this game to win a prize for himself. It was a selfish thing to do and he felt bad for it after having invited her here to have a good time.

“Do you have any more coins?” Mira asked, “I’ll try once more. I’ve started to get some of the balls in. Just not enough. Maybe I could get them in next time.”

Her score was fairly low and her improvement had been only mild. Kelas was certain she was just poor at aim and would sooner have a sore shoulder than a prize.

“Let me try,” he said, still hesitating to partake in the activities. But aside from worrying that Mira wasn’t having fun, he was also going to ruin out of coins at this rate. Already he had probably invested more than the little prize itself was worth.

Kelas stood behind the line with an armful of eggs cradled against his chest and surveyed the table from this angle and distance. It seemed that the holes in the very back which would bring the greatest amount of points were actually smaller than the holes in the front and middle rows. Perhaps too small for the balls to fit through. Aiming for the ones in the back would then be pointless and only an effort to distract those who were not paying close enough attention into wasting their time and money. 

Even if Kelas should sink all of the balls into the front row of holes that would still not add up to the amount of points needed to win. But many would probably try to aim for those because they seemed easiest to hit. The object was to aim for the holes in the middle row of the table. They were a bit smaller than the first row, but larger than the last; they still appeared the right size for the balls to fit in. The ones to the center were less points, the ones to the outside were more. A combination of outside shots, and center shots, should reach the goal. For one to aim simply for the middle would be too easy.

Kelas tested the weight of the ‘egg’ in his hand. He wasn’t particularly physically gifted, in fact his build was rather slight, but if he put his body behind the tosses instead of just throwing with the arm it should help to propel them far enough. Though if he misjudged and swung his body too much this way or that way it would throw off the aim entirely.

This is a game of balance, Kelas thought–balancing position, the weight of the ball, the amount of force–it is a puzzle solving game just as much as the others. But it is designed to seem far more simple. That’s probably why the line was so short–people were drawn to the games which seemed more complex.

Kelas decided he liked the game and he hadn’t even thrown a ball yet. How wonderful it was that it should be far more challenging than it would appear.

Now it was time to win a prize.

The first few balls were off but he managed to find the sweet spot of force and position, of wrist movement, even breathing which seemed to help too–and the last few balls hit the marks he was aiming for perfectly and that put him over the goal mark by three points. There was a little jangle of a bell which signaled he had won. Kelas stood behind the line unsure how to react–what was the appropriate reaction?

He noticed that Mira was simply staring at him. The operator of the game was gathering the balls and he motioned Kelas towards a pegboard hung with little prizes. He allowed Kelas to choose one.

And that was it.

Kelas returned to Mira with a small sack in his hand and regarded her sheepishly. He was still unsure of the entire thing.

“You allowed me to waste my time trying for that prize when you could do it all along?” she poked at the little sack with one of her claws. “What is it?”

“I… well I didn’t know that I could,” Kelas said, “anyway, I enjoyed the thought of my friend winning a prize and gifting it to me,” he gave her a small smile. “Should I win one for you as well?” he teased.

“You just hush and open it. I want to see what it is,” she said.

Kelas tugged the drawstring to open the sack.

Inside were a few little sweets–miniature grass crickets suspended in dyed honey, a few candied yellow gildaberries, a confetti popper, and a tiny plushmăgath curled into a little coil that sat just perfectly in the palm of Kelas’s hand.

Kelas gave the popper to Mira, and as they walked along towards the beach he shared the candies with her too. 

They left their sandals in a cubby where the boardwalk ended and padded out onto the warm soft sand that sloped down to the beach. There were children about building or digging in the sand, and people basking, and napping, enjoying the rare day of celebration and leisure.

When they reached the seaside the sand was damp and packed firmly, littered with tiny polished stones, and shells, and fragments of shells. The waves rushed up to kiss their toes and the water was cool. It just barely brushed the rolled cuffs of Kelas’s leggings. He took a deep breath of the tangy sea air–refreshing as always. The plush măgath was coiled against Kelas’s chest with its head peeking over the top of his collar.

Mira snapped the popper over their heads and a rain of bright confetti fluttered down around them, and caught in their hair, as she laughed and their upturned faces soaked up the happy warmth of the late summer sun.