I, Garak

BY : Cyrelia_J
Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9
Dragon prints: 1129
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters. i'm also not making any money off of this.


Part of me really could write a separate fic for just the potential note alone. There are actually quite a few things I'd really like to say about a lot of the specifics and concepts here, but I'll try and be brief. "O, Julian" was written initially as a stand alone and if you're happy with that then you can absolutely pretend this doesn't exist (I'm not gonna lie, I've done that before myself). If you think you'd like to read more but have a specific idea of how you'd like it to play out or if you have any objections to the tags so far I really do encourage you not to read this whole thing since the tags aren't used lightly. That being said, on the note of the tags/warnings, I know a lot of people who've read the first wouldn't have any objection to certain themes here. I also want to I don't know disclaimer or what have you on the matter of rape/non con tag. There is absolutely no consent whatsoever from Julian to let Dukat screw him- and Garak points out perhaps somewhat hypocritically that Julian is incapable in his current state of consenting to anything.

Now this story is written with the intent to titillate playing to that kink. So while I do not in any way advocate the behaviors and situations portrayed to play out in any fashion in real life, I'd be lying if I said that there aren't elements of what I've written and what I'm going to write that I don't find arousing. There are some who would say that's all well and good but why share it at all and leave myself open to that censure? Simply put, human beings aren't quite as unique as we like to think, and whether it's a small number of people or not, there are definitely others who share my kink in this and my enjoyment of these types of stories. In addition to that I'm a writer with an ego. I enjoy sharing these things with like minded people knowing they'll be appreciated.

That's not to say I'm not open to criticism on any technical points, execution, characterization, or even any civil debates on the morality of character's decisions. But I'm too self centered when it comes to my free time to spend it arguing with anyone who doesn't seem to have any goal besides arguing, trolling, speculating on my personal life/history, or venting their anger at something that offended them. I do also want to express appreciation to those who had commented in my defense (This is on AO3) in the last story. I don't answer comments like that but it's nice to see that people understand where I'm coming from.

So thanks to my readers, thanks to anyone who's slogged through this obscene note, and of course, your thoughts are always welcome :)

    “You wanted to see me, Commander?” Julian Bashir stands curiously in front of the large desk before his shift is set to start. He lets his attention move to the baseball on the desk so as to resist the temptation to read over any material on the desk that he knows he shouldn’t be able to.

“Yes. I wanted to let you know that I may have some good news for you, Doctor.” Julian perks at this, having his suspicions as to the source of said good news. Yes, thank you father, for surely you didn’t intend your meaningless offer of assistance, of “anything I should require” to be accepted, but for once the cosmic joke is on you. Julian smiles, looking expectantly, not quite daring to hope but-

“Yes, Commander?” He cannot contain the excitement from seeping into his voice, weight shifting eagerly. Is it about the ah...” Julian trails off, a sudden self consciousness arising. Really, Julian, you’re a doctor, you’ve discussed all sorts of race specific ailments, biological processes, injuries without judgment, surely you can address your own idiosyncrasies with the same clinical dispassion. 

    Of course that sounds all well and good in theory but in actually, Julian just coughs and looks off to the side with a scratch to the back of his neck. Mercifully, Commander Sisko saves him from further explanation.

“It is. Now, I’m not making any promises. We’ve been going back and forth between Starfleet and the Bajoran Government for some time with this but I think with this information we should be able to complete the requisition.”

“Then they understand. They understand the... necessity. You know this is not for any sort of recreational use, for God’s sake, it’s a standard non prescription field medicine-”

“I know.” Commander Sisko holds up a hand, but his look is not unsympathetic. “I’ve explained several times that it’s absurd to expect you to have to take a leave every three months when the solution is so simple. However, Doctor, while I understand your feelings about the situation, this could have been avoided if you had been more forthcoming when applying for this assignment.”

    Julian sighs, knowing that this is part of the necessary ruse, that this is the best that he could do given the circumstances and the completely mortifying situation which led to some sort of explanation to begin with.

“I understand, sir. I’m very grateful even so that this is being considered. It’s not ah... an ideal situation but I’ve been able to manage.” Julian swallows, thankful that his complexion has never been prone to blushing even when his face feels hot. “Mr. Garak has been em...” Been what, Julian? A good sport? A happy participant in your quarterly degradation? A kind and gentle master? Julian trails off quickly changing the subject. “Did Starfleet say when the... shipment would be available?” Julian knows he sounds far too hopeful, knows there’s no way that he’d receive the loperamide in time to break the next cycle, but even the thought of there being an end in sight is enough to relieve his burdened mind. And you need to break it. You’ve let this go way too far. weekly lunches, dinners, looks, touches, dreams...

    “I’m afraid the shipment, if the requisition is approved, wouldn’t arrive for another few weeks.” Commander Sisko at least looks sympathetic to his visible deflation as he takes a look at the duty upcoming duty roster. “Will you need the time next Thursday?” he asks with blessed discretion. Julian considers it briefly but shakes his head. “No, Friday should be fine. I know you said not to push it,” he’s quick to add to the measured look that he receives. “But I assure you, sir it won’t be a problem I’ve ah... gotten the calculations down rather precisely and as long as it’s not the late shift I can certainly manage.” He shifts from one foot to another, unable to hide his exasperation. He knows that it’s close, his patience shorter than it normally is, the heat a manifest of a few brief flashes of emotion.

“Doctor, Julian, no one here thinks any less of you for taking the time that you need-”

“Commander,” he interrupts mentally chastising himself even as he does. “Please don’t read me the Starfleet policy on reasonable accommodations for the disabled.” Because I really don’t think I could take it right now.

    Commander Sisko nods, making the adjustment to the schedule. 

“We all know how hard you work doctor. Just relax,” he adds with a smile that somehow seems more ominous than reassuring. “Everything will be fine.”

    Elim Garak is a patient man. More often than not, that patience is not the result of choice, but rather of circumstance. He watches his hand on the stylus as he draws the lines, long, neat, the curve of the model’s bust almost an afterthought as he decides that the waist really ought to be higher, below the breast. An empire waist, they call it in Federation Standard and he quirks a small smile at that name. Perhaps, Elim, it is the closest to an Empire that you will ever come. He glances at the sheets spread out on the large table, several other models dressed in clothing of a more Bajoran design, but today Garak has decided to put his attention home, adding the beading, a faint splash of color to the low neckline, a faux wrap around the shoulders sewn in. Yes, today is a fine day to be a Cardassian, isn’t it? 

    He considers that as he signs his name to the bottom corner, carefully laying the sketch on a growing stack of dreams that will likely keep piling up until they reach the ceiling. Garak envisions stacks upon stacks of them one day crushing him in a myriad of tiny stinging paper cuts leaving nothing but the feebly twitching artist’s hand reaching out for someone to save him. Garak shakes his head at the thought. These are not the lurid imaginings that Julian teases him about, but they are, sadly, the ones more frequently at the forefront of his thoughts. But speaking of the good doctor... Garak takes stock of the time, debating whether he ought to move his midday break from the back of his shop to the replimat where dozens of lively conversation and people will flit about, all his to observe from behind a glass of rokassa juice and a rather interesting datapad Julian had dropped into his lap.

    Garak looks down, drawing it back to the forefront of his attention. Five hours and thirty three minutes until the end of his shift. Really, it’s tempting fate as the humans would say to cut it this close but then again, Julian is too young to have properly learned your caution. Garak’s eyes roam once again over the saved transmission, carefully copied for his perusal and presented quite lovingly with a slap to the counter and a glare that was already beginning to morph from that usual smoldering resentment to hot heavy heat. Garak blinks a few times at that memory reminding himself that he does still have that rather nice chunk of time to pass until it will be advantageous to actually entertain those thoughts. 

    “I, Richard Bashir, do affirm under oath and understanding the penalty for perjury that the following is correct and accurate to the best of my knowledge...”  Ah, and there are the scans of the documents, the birth certificate, the affidavit, all the necessary paperwork to back up the claim that should at the very least hold up under the first one or two layers of scrutiny. It would appear that someone owed someone else a rather large favor indeed. The missive bears the truth of that statement as painfully, pointlessly long as some would find it but in truth it paints a rather interesting character study of one half of Julian’s genetic makeup. Julian has spoken little of his father, none of it flattering, except perhaps his natural gift for talking. Garak is sure that Julian must have been terribly desperate to reach out to “that self aggrandizing old sod,” to arrange such an elaborate ruse on his behalf.

    Yes, desperate to escape this unconscionable arrangement as he so endearingly put it. Because he doesn’t love you, he said. Because it is so terribly unhealthy to be engaged in this sordid arrangement of convenience for this period of time and wouldn’t you rather a partner utterly devoted to you heart and soul? Garak chuckles softly to himself remembering how Julian quite smugly set the PADD down swearing that it was gospel truth, just daring him to say otherwise. Garak had merely smiled politely and congratulated him on escaping his foul reptilian clutches. Julian’s stammering objection, that apology to any offense given was a perfect study opportunity. And then it came. Julian leaning in, holding his hands tightly, breathing hard, looking in his eyes while Garak remain still, silent, not making a move. He watched Julian’s face close in impulsive, automatic, and where he once would have brought himself back under control and pulled away almost violently, he didn’t. And Garak lets himself indulge in the memory of Julian’s tongue lapping at his mouth playfully, panting, leaning over the counter, his head tilting with a soft “sorry” whisper pant between them..

    Garak finishes his reading, taking a sip of warm sticky sweet tea. That was nearly a month out now, wasn’t it? At the start there was little outside the cycle time but now objectively it’s say only a few weeks without him initiating physical touch, teasing, still apologies but likely that will fade. He really cannot believe that bringing the cycles under control will suddenly cease nearly three years of learned behavioral patterns does he? Garak hardly thinks so but far be it for him to cruelly stomp out that foolish optimism before it can be yanked back to reality. But even should that be the case, Garak has always been pragmatic about the fickle nature of relationships and has made his peace with that possible outcome. Peace, and a determination to savor the next few days to the fullest. Garak considers the time again finding his attention woefully wandering. Five hours give or take. Five hours until three months of dreams, frustrated adolescent fantasy masturbatory sessions will be replaced by one very hot, needy doctor panting, begging, crawling all over him. Yes, Elim Garak is a patient man. He knows how to wait.

    Dear God in heaven, I’ve never been a religious man but if I can get out of this with my dignity intact... Julian kneels in front of Jadzia carefully treating the wound on her hand wondering why of all the stupid things to be stubborn about he had to chose this. Oh but you just had to prove to Commander Sisko that you’re capable, that this disability does not define you, good job on that one, now you’re stuck here starting to go into heat like the strays that Aunt Eleanor used to feed when you could’ve been safely in your room with- Julian blanches at that thought tamping it down lest it start any unwarranted reactions prematurely. He shoots Jadzia a smile that’s meant to be reassuring but probably comes off looking like some sort of intestinal discomfort as he practically runs out of the pit as far away from any human or even alien contact that he can manage. Of course they’re all aware in a blessedly vague way of the nature of his quarterly quarantine but it’s a far different thing to actually have to be near it as Palis complained at him once upon a time. What was that she said now? It had an aroma of ferret crossing cat urine? I suppose I ought to at least thank you father for not trying to bottle it and sell it as an impotence cure like some ancient traveling huckster.

    At least Jadzia has the decency not to say anything, so help me father if you think for one second that we’re even close to being “squarsies”... Ah, and now we have neurocine gas about to be pumped into the habitat ring, there’s your famous luck, Julian, now all we need is another fluctuation with the wormhole or Q or a tapdancing unicorn and you may be able to honestly say it’s the worst day in your entire life. Julian listens to Kira, to that damned recording as he takes a deep breath telling himself that’s it’s all overdramatic nonsense, that he can surely find from his adolescent to adult years any number of comparable days that are equally “the worst ever.” He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling his stomach growl, feeling an almost touch of vertigo as he tries to pretend that he’s the only one there. He even tells himself that if he hides behind the damn console he might be able to keep some semblance of his dignity. Julian can just feel Jadzia’s sympathetic gaze turn from her own plight to him. And then, wonder of wonders, he hears Garak’s voice and prays once again to the Wormhole aliens or whoever else might be listening that it is only his imagination heating up from the promise of a torrid liaison after his shift.

    Julian opens his eyes, a bit of a blur to the focus just in time to catch one Elim Garak inexplicably in the flesh giving him a small smile that’s painfully empathic. Correction. Now it is officially the worst day of his life. Julian takes a deep breath, turning away, focusing on the railing, realizing dumbly that it’s now the railing that he’s clutching and he’s already moved a few feet to close that distance. He holds it tighter, knowing that he cannot think about Garak, cannot see Garak, cannot do anything but start counting slowly in his mind. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he hears Garak begin and he nearly laughs. Yes ironic. Ironic that just when I thought there was a chance in hell I could get through this... Julian feels the sweat beginning to pool beneath his palms and that heat that he’d felt earlier begins anew with ferocity, a full bodied flush that he swears he can feel all the way down to his toes. He curls them tightly, body a coiled spring, knowing that if he cannot relax then he needs to lock every bit of that waiting tension to hold him still even if it kills him. But the one thing that he cannot seem to do even as he counts every tiny porous part of that rail is block out Garak’s voice as he continues to talk to Kira.

    “I’d like nothing better than to-” fuck me... shuttup Julian shuttup you shuttup body brain whatever he’s not here for you. He’s not he’s notJulian bites the inside of his cheek arms locked tight as if he could will his body to a complete folded implosion on the spot. “Several times...” Yes... several... over and over please I need... 

“Tss....” Julian bites harder feeling pain blossom out, eyes his blinking more rapidly those words filtering to what his quickly fevering brain is warping them to be. And then he is aware suddenly that there are eyes on him from the entirety of ops and that attention makes his head clear just enough to stare at the forcefield behind Garak’s head as the pieces of the conversation slam him to the present.

“Garak, do you have any idea how we can stop the neurocine gas?” He can feel the blood pounding in his head in release as he releases the rail, letting the tension out, knees nearly buckling when in that moment of inattention he slips, that eye contact coming to Garak’s and it’s all he can do even with that warning look not to throw himself forward like an animal.

    Garak licks his lips, surely unconsciously, surely not deliberately, not to make him have to wipe sweaty palms off on his uniform, over his thighs. Julian’s hands stay there, just imagining for a moment, a flash of Garak’s hands over his thighs, squeezing, making him-

“Julian!” His entire body jerks with that sharp sound of his name, attention focusing through that haze to Kira, staring at him almost in stunned disbelief. His mouth is dry, it almost hurts to swallow. He really needs water as hot as it is, but his head nods almost comically, an exaggerated bob up and down, not daring to look at Garak. She is aware, intellectually, in some vague way of his condition, but he can only imagine the reality of seeing versus hearing and he grits his teeth with a tight apology.

“Yes... s-sorry...” Yes, sorry surely some part of you thought I was making this up for a few days off to shag my spoonhead lover is that it? He grimaces, pushing that thought aside knowing that Kira has to know him better than that after all these years.

    He practically blanches at the quick wrinkle of her nose, self consciously knowing that surely that must be starting; that release of pheromones, that heat that- God, turn away, Julian. He breathes out hard, forcing himself to focus on the problem. Gas... the gas... c’mon Julian you can... can... God...

“The only way to do that is to destroy the life support system,” Julian hears Garak say as he tries to redirect his attention to the open panel where Jadzia had been working. It doesn’t work.

“The life support system?” He practically whirls, advancing, every centimeter closer drawing him in like a dark inky well of black beautiful heat and somehow he envisions the entirety of ops dogpiling on him to hold him back. They don’t, however, and he is aware on some level that he should have been more up front, more forthcoming with the exact details of his... condition. Never in his wildest dreams would he have envisioned- “That’s insane, even for you, Garak.” Julian sees the warning in those eyes as they stare back at him- to remain at arm’s length, to not get any closer.

    It wouldn’t be the first time or even the first inopportune time that such a madness has seized him, his desire to obey at such violent odds with his need to be-

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” he all but hisses, seeing that lust darkening dawning of the color of Garak’s eyes starting to mirror his. There’s a sharp draw of breath as he’s close enough to touch, close enough to beg silently, his focus starting to narrow at an alarming rate to one and only driving need. “Are you that pitifully desperate to keep a hold of me that you’d-“

“Julian…” Garak warns, though the warning in that tone carries the undercurrent of a danger manifest in a hard furious pounding. He holds up a finger, one of a few signs devised between the both of them to train and train some semblance of control to those overpowering instincts. As time has progressed, they’ve both found that it Julian doesn’t always obey as quickly when directed not to touch him, that drive increasing in its intensity to  mate. But the sign works. Julian is stayed only by that most stringent of training, a meter shy of that contact. “Back…” Garak says with a hard swallow and Julian knows that Garak is reacting to that heat as well; and not just those pheromones but that biting baiting that Julian has learned utterly inflames him.

    “No, that’s it.” Jadzia’s voice comes at him, circling like an underwater sound wave pulsing past him. He tries to turn his attention to her instead, but he can feel every muscle of his body locked down tightly, just waiting to be told to move, to come. He can hear her continue to speak as the roar of that wave grows around him, his mind trying to process the sounds of her speech, hearing nothing but the faint increase to Garak’s breathing as he keeps his eyes trained on Julian. Why… you want me… why stop… why… Of course he knows why. Of course Julian Bashir Chief Medical officer standing in ops during a catastrophic situation on Deep Space Nine understands intellectually why Garak is keeping him at bay. Of course that higher mind understand, accepts, prays that they make it through this entire situation without casualty. But it isn’t that higher self that’s in control. If anything it’s that self being dragged back to hell by the beast that dwells in the abyss, by that primitive DNA sequencing, ribboned around his own human chromosomes like a damn viral envelope. Alpha there… want… need… please…

    Twelve hours… That’s all the time remaining in the world. That’s all it understands, twelve hours until death and where he might understand that’s twelve hours to regain the station, that sexual slave, that Omega only understands there are twelve hours left in the entire universe for a successful coupling. God you can’t be… Three years, it’s been three years you stupid stupid little chromosomes, you’re male he’s male there will never be a successful coupling! Julian can feel his respirations increasing, can feel that sweat down the side of his neck, underneath the fabric of the universe as he tries and will that halting finger down. He doesn’t speak. He knows not to speak while It’s up, while it silences him, and the moment that Garak begins to talk, straining to sound composed, Juilan is hyperfocused, waiting for that command, waiting for Garak to-

“Believe me Major, It’s the only way to save those people...” Another swallow, eyes turning from Julian to something off behind him. Julian clasps his hands tightly behind his back wringing, nails digging into the backs of his hands as if the pain might bring him back to at least an illusion of his normal self. And then Garak drops that hand thoughtlessly, pointing to some console. “I believe life support is controlled from over there.”

    He dropped the hand. Julian swallows, inhaling, nearly swallowing his tongue in the process as his hands come up, hiding his face, another attempt to try and keep himself under control. He feels his knees lock, knowing that he has to keep fighting it. Hand dropped… come… now… Yes! Garak closes that distance, hands on his shoulders, Julian knowing that his body is working overtime, secreting, sweating, wanting, but knowing to keep his hands to himself. Touching is a privilege… Garak’s words echo, always echoing when Julian wants to climb him, rub his scent on him, bathe in that growing Cardassian musk. Julian isn’t yet to the point where that conditioning fails. He sees Garak looking past him, a sharp bark of “down” reaching his ears, legs giving before he thinks to question. There’s phaser fire above but he barely notices it. Garak is on him. Garak is on top of him heavy weight pressing his back to the ground as the console explodes, as that control explodes. Julian’s arms go automatically above his head wrists crossing, legs twisting, squirming until his knees hug Garak’s waist and he tips his hips feeling that press, feeling the hard draw of breath as Garak’s attention remains focused to something that’s not him as the lights go off.

    There’s another voice in that darkness but it has no meaning to him. “Warning counterinsurgency program level two has been Interrupted… “ It has no meaning until- “two hours until…” That’s what catches his attention. That’s when he hears a gasp from Garak. That’s when he sees those blue eyes pupils dilated, elongated slightly in the center like the eyes of a hungry snake. Yes… yesplease… notime…  That twelve hours has been cut down to nothing. They only have two hours… two hours to mate, to satisfy that urge, that fear of death ramping the animal up as it never has before.

“Two hours? They surely didn’t account for the time a man of your years needs to fully evert himself.” The words. Garak likes the words. Words, taunting teasing promising words like that. That’s what excites him. That’s what Julian needs to do. That’s what Julian does. And  the way Garak’s nostrils flare, the way his lips are parted, looking down at him, breathing hard, the way his hands clamp around Julian’s wrists slamming them hard to the floor he may as well have spoken the filthiest come on imaginable.

    “Should I met any of them in the afterlife, I’ll be sure to pass along your pointed protest. Perhaps, my dear, you might put your years of medical training and expertise to better use than the seduction of one aging Cardassian Tailor and check on the Lieutenant’s injury.” Garak doesn’t let go even as he chastises him. He squeezes tighter, He presses his hips forward, Julian feeling that pressure against his furious fully hard cock. “Focus,” Garak hisses at him, seeming to be saying that as much to himself as Julian. He forces himself to let go, holding that finger up again for Julian to stay as he extracts himself. Garak carefully steps back once, twice, that finger lowering, Julian sitting up, watching only him. Focus… He is focused. He’s focused on Garak, but he puts his hands back, taking another breath, understanding, as he tears his attention away that he needs to. Jad…zia… right… doctor… stupid do your damn job… Julian bows his head, exhaling, slowly pushing off the ground, turning away from everyone watching him.

    “Is this what you’ve been doing to him this whole time?” he hears Kira practically growl to Garak.

“I assure you Major, I’ve very little choice in the matter but I’m afraid I don’t have the time to regale you with all the sordid details... And right now as much as I’d love nothing more than to give into these insidious Spoonhead lusts as I’ve heard some Bajorans around the station cache them, I’d much prefer to see us through this unfortunate incident alive and unscathed.”

Julian shakes his head, mortification at the situation warring with that insistent need to shove through every last one of them trying to keep him from his… Focus!

    “I…” Julian’s throat is dry, the speech difficult to manage when it’s not that heat driven imperative taking the reins. “I’m sorry for this… Lieutenant…” he walks backwards, blindly feeling searching for his kit as he does so that he can at least continue first aid treatment. Right. You can do this… breath in… out… not so close to him…. Though he has little choice in Ops; he can sense Garak, smell him, every bit of that desire making him practically shake as he kneels in front of Jadzia, hunched over to try and hide that evidence of his arousal. “Sorry,” he rasps as he takes her hand. He ignores the fact that everyone else on the bridge has given him as wide a berth as they can. Julian licks his lips anxiously, cringing at the empathic smile she gives him.

“Its fine Julian,” she assures him, looking over to Garak working at her terminal. Julian redoubles his focus on her hand. Nothing but her hand. Skin, layers, Epidermis, Dermis, tissue, blood, nerves…

    “Any luck?” Kira asks Garak with a sigh, to Julian’s relief looking resigned to shelving what promises to be a rather interesting dressing down for a later time. Julian looks down, realizing that he’s done all that he can and there’s no possible way he can draw this out any longer.

“I can’t… I can’t do much else,” he says, starting to twine fingers around the neck of the uniform, clutching it tightly. He tries to fan himself as he stands up looking for the darkest corner that he can stand away from everyone else.

“You’re fine, Julian,” Jadzia assures him and he can see the concern. He sees it when he looks at Kira as well and he isn’t quite sure how he feels about that. It’s hot. It’s getting hotter. Whether that’s the life support systems, his nerves or… something else though…  

“Plenty,” he hears Garak answer, attuned, honed back to that voice, looking at him again as that wave comes crashing to the shore fast, violent, burying him. “Unfortunately all of it’s bad.”

    “Julian…” Jadzia warns reaching for him. He dances out of the way, staggering to where Garak is seated, hearing his voice. Voice… you…need… Julian catches another warning look from Garak. He needs to stop. He can’t come any closer. But he can see that warning in those eyes dying down as Garak speaks to Kira, not taking his eyes off Julian. He looks at Julian’s neck. Julian knows how Garak loves to put his mouth on his neck. How he loves to bite that delicate human skin, put his hand around it, squeeze until Julian’s eyes flutter closed, gasping, coming hard and… And Julian tilts his head as he approaches, tilting his head, subtly, showing that neck, that skin, Garak’s eyes watching it, forgetting to tell him to be still, to be good, not to move. “The only person who can disable the security program is Gul Dukat,” Garak says as Julian circles behind him not touching, very careful not to touch. His hands take hold of the back of the seat as he pushes against it with a squirm.

“Are you saying that Gul Dukat would be more capable than you in this situation?”

“Dukat has his uses,” Garak answers and Julian can sees his fingers start to curl to fists. “But his… capabilities and mine are hardly comparable where it matters.”

    Julian lets go of the chair slowly stalking around, head bowed, breathing hard. He knows that Garak can sense how badly he needs this. He can smell Garak’s own desire, can almost taste it just like a Cardassian, a flick of his tongue to that air around him making him pant harder. No time… needplease…

“Julian!” Kira barks his name now snapping his head up and he wishes he could make her understand. He thinks Jadzia is talking to Garak now. He nods his head furiously. Taking a step back from the seat, looking up at the ceiling, the dark. He’s too close but he can’t seem to move any further away.

“Please…” Julian breathes out to that stifling air around him. He bends over, hands on his knees, trying to regulate his breaths as they talk about… about… the sensor? Something? His head is too foggy to concentrate until he hears it. That voice, that tone, Garak asking Jadzia if she eats breakfast and his head snaps up his entire body a bowstring drawn back as he wildly looks between the two of them.

                “Breakfast?” She asks and Julian thinks he might stare a hole right through the both of them as he reaches up again tugging on the hot uniform that just won’t breathe.

“My lunch calendar is currently full and they do say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. However it seems my lunches may free themselves from my domineering despotic grip after all.” Garak doesn’t need to look at him for Julian to sense that cutting dig. It only makes him need Garak all the more badly. 

“I know you’re not going to leave me hanging when you need  those… lunches just as badly as I do,” Julian growls at him.

“Do I?” Garak murmurs with such offhanded disinterest that Julian can feel panic seize him, can feel that takeover that need. No never... never leave... please...

“Can you disable the sensors?” Julian asks to the back of Garak’s head in one fleeting moment of clarity vicious pushed aside again. He needs them all to get away, to leave, to leave them both alone.

    Julian hears some faint something about the bulkheads as Garak begins working, dismissing him, making him bring a hand up, biting his finger hard, sucking in a wet breath as that darkness continues to exacerbate his need, his sense of smell. But it’s the heat that’s the worst. He can feel his cock bunched in his underwear beneath the uniform straining, as he puts a hand behind his back so as not to shame himself by rubbing, by putting his palm to that ache to try and relieve it. It won’t relieve. He knows that. Need Alpha… That’s what he needs. That’s what Garak needs and he knows beyond all reason that he needs Garak to give it to him.  

“Garak…” Julian exhales hard around those fingers. He knows his voice climbs an octave, near begging. Garak doesn’t leave him hang. Never. Not this long, not like this. If they were alone. If it were just the two of them he would have already taken him. He’d have already pushed him over the console, already held his head back, held his hips, pushed the breath from his body and-

    “Not now, Julian,” clipped, more like an entreaty itself underlying that harsh command as Garak’s fingers fly over the keys hard at work.

“I can’t imagine what use it is for a tailor trying to save us. I don’t think entering the Commander’s inseam is going to avert a crisis, do you?”

“You’d be surprised what a few good measurements… what a few good strokes can achieve, my dear.”

“Do you really think that your skillset is up to par, Garak?”

“Perhaps it is not my skillset in question so much as your patience, Julian. Consider perhaps the edge on which you now dance, that need, that ache just beneath the surface so close, the longer you wait, the more you need, that anticipation building to a fever pitch until you cannot stand it and then…” Garak trails off, Julian hanging off his every soft spoken work nearly falling over when he stops, noticing that Garak’s fingers haven’t stopped moving over the console. If anything they’re moving faster, the speed, the skill of those hands making him bit his lip, want to clamp a hand over them and-

    “Down,” Garak says suddenly, two fingers raised in between frantic typing blink fast, and Julian obeys with a drop, knees hitting the floor perhaps painfully, but he hardly notices. “Here… Guls I can smell you, you licentious little hominid…” is whispered breath soft and Julian crawls to him immediately. “Under here…”

“You cannot be serious!” Julian hears from Kira and feels that Garak is tense, but God he can taste that arousal, that sex as he shoves himself into that small space head buried between those legs, between those strong thighs, his mouth to the source of that heady desire and he can feel where he couldn’t before the   

“It might be more appropriate to direct any censure to Gul Dukat, Major. The subroutines keep asking for constant authentication and it’s all I can do to keep up especially with our delightfully depraved doctor in these rather unique circumstancesss...” There’s an extra sibilance to that last word as Julian presses, feeling even through that thick fabric what Garak cannot help to hide any longer.

    Julian can feel the push of that hard thick cock pressing to his face as he mouths it, as he breaths out hot, warm, knowing that just that fabric separates his mouth from tasting him. Moreyespleaseneed… he can’t think anymore. He can’t process. It’s so close, it’s too close and he wants it, he needs it. His hands fumble with the fastenings, muscle memory taking over, his face moving just enough to accommodate them. On his knees Julian bounces, shakes, the faster he works the sooner he can taste it. And as soon as the velour like fabric is moved aside he can see the strain increase, that large head pushing that thin cotton out already soaking the fabric, getting bigger, harder the more he breaths over it. Julian puts his mouth to that bulge and sucks, tasting that slick wet with a moan. He can feel the faint buck of Garak’s hips, feeling that iron control wavering  And not just that, he sees the open fly front, that style that Garak only usually wears when he’s ready for him. At these times when he wants to be able to take Julian any time anywhere. That should annoy him. That should bother him, he knows in some back corner there’s an indignity knowing that Garak now plans his wardrobe around Julian’s cycles as he if owns him, but on his knees hurriedly parting the fabric, hands trembling as he shifts on his knees, it doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be obstinate now. That desire doesn’t exist. More… That’s the driving desire- to please the one that can give him what he needs.

    He doesn’t linger, he doesn’t hover his mouth coyly as he might with a true lover. Julian has considered that in some darker part of his mind, in moments of lucidity when he’s lain awake at night, what such a thing might be like. He’s wondered when he’s felt restless- the sort of normal human restless that can be settled by taking himself in hand- what it might be like to go to Garak without that mindless drive. He’s wondered how it might feel to look in his eyes, to tease, to bite the inside of his thigh and make him squirm. He’s considered whether he could break that control without that biological drive, without chemistry, with nothing but himself. Julian also knows on some intellectual level that those thoughts too aren’t born from himself but rather the insinuation of that DNA, of that foreign invader encroaching upon every aspect of himself. He has to keep reminding himself of that because if he doesn’t, he’s terrified that he’ll forget. He’s forgotten all of that now as he feels Garak’s cock hitting the back of his throat, his head turning so he can take as much as that length in before it fills his throat so thick that he chokes. 

    “Level 4 security triggered.” There’s a distant part of Julian that hears those words and considers them only fitting for what’s come to be known as the undeniable, unequivocal, worst day of his life. Julian has no idea, how true that thought is about to be.

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