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I, Garak	By : CyreliaJ Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 2005 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters. i'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
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Note: Keeping it short. Definitely shady ethics/morals/rationalizing of bad behavior. The smut... is totally coming soon! The plot-y stuff turned out longer than I was expecting. I already had this half started so it got a bit of an early update. Thanks to tinsnip and Vyc for their awesome Cardassian dictionary that helped me cobble together the made up word here. Anyway, the scene is officially set so thank you everyone for reading and of course C&C is always welcome.

   “Level 4 security triggered.” Those are the words Garak hears when time runs out. There’s some perverse part of him that’s relieved that he can stop messing with the console, that he can let his hands drop to Julian’s head, that he can twist fingers in short hair and thrust into that dirty human mouth as deep and as hard as he desires. That thought lasts only as long as it takes the replicator to activate and produce a phaser that immediately begins firing at everyone in Ops. Garak’s reactions are dulled. Under any other circumstances he would’ve already been moving, been thinking of the next solution, of the next series of variables in this monstrous scenario. But he hasn’t been. Julian hasn’t either, but there is the unique and unusual condition of his causing that uncharacteristic disregard for the life of everyone there. It’s caused a disregard for anything but Garak’s prick in his mouth which might be quite enjoyable under different circumstances- Oh who are you kidding, it’s still enjoyable- that’s exactly the problem. That problem being that Garak is also effected by that heat of Julian’s. That scent, that tangible tang of arousal contagious like Pottrick Syndrome. And not just the olfactory, but the visual as well.Those long fingers splayed on the insides of Garak’s thighs, pushing them apart so that he can work is- Well now that’s unfortunate…
   Garak catches just out of the corner of his eye as one of the Starfleet officers is incinerated by the phaser and only then is he shocked into enough action to yell for Julian to get down again. The fact that Julian interprets that bark as an order to throw himself on his knees presenting his backside doesn’t help matters. Garak throws himself on top of him, half dragging them both beneath the console as best as he can. Julian pants in response and continues that wriggle; it makes it almost impossible for Garak to think clearly. And the damnation of it is that he wants it. He needs it just as badly as Julian, everted, hard, wet, that shock of adrenaline only spurring him on that much harder to drive it in. And he considers it. He seriously Guls damn considers it. Could they really think any less of you at this point, Elim? You already ordered him to pleasure you under the console in the midst of this insanity and if Major Kira doesn’t already think that Julian’s predicament is something that you’ve taken evil insidious Cardassian advantage of…
   Okay, so that last part perhaps isn’t entirely a lie, but he’d certainly like to see any of those proselytizing Starfleet or Bajoran hypocrites make a different choice in his identical circumstances. They won’t see anything anyway. Five minutes... ten minutes… He’ll want you to drill him all night if he has his way about it but at least that would offer some reprieve. That might satisfy him enough to be halfway back in his right mind. At least that’s what Garak tells himself as his fingers reach up for that zipper on the back of the Starfleet Uniform.
“Please…” Oh, that please. That completely beyond any foreplay teasing mood setting “please” nearly makes him groan. Perhaps he does. There’s enough of a conflagration that he very well might be panting with his mouth slack as badly as Julian is. He’s only dimly aware, now that he’s out of the line of fire, of what everyone else is saying. For all he knows that phaser has blasted someone else into atoms while he’s tugging the zipper caught on some loose thread. It nearly makes him rip the entire offensive garment off. Julian pushes back against him again and turns his head giving a delightfully degrading rub of his face to the hard cold floor. Garak revels perversely at the sight of the vaunted Julian Bashir laying beneath him, writhing, begging to be mounted like an animal. Yes, five minutes... just five Guls damned minutes...
   “Let me guess… someone tried to duplicate my access code.” No. It could not possibly be… Garak stills that motion, the zipper halfway down, a lance of ice through him. He notes that Julian’s undershirt already is sweat soaked and clinging to his back.
“Dukat what the are you doing here?” Garak hears Major Kira shouting at him and under any other circumstance it would be enough to completely crush that need, that arousal. But of course, these are most certainly not normal circumstances and he can hear Julian redoubling that frantic pleading, not understanding why it is that Garak has stopped. Those boots walk heavily around Ops. Garak’s hand is still on that zipper, still automatically tugging down one millimeter at a time thinking that he needs to tug it right back up and take care to fix his own clothing. His mind is a whirl as Dukat blathers on about the chain of events which brought him here. That quirky hand of fate that seems to govern Garak’s life as well in some sadistic fashion. The footfalls grow more distant, Garak breathing slowly, that small space, the heat of Julian’s body making his hips rock involuntarily. He ducks his head with a soft groan to Julian’s neck. Garak pushes. He pushes again, another buck of his hips, an eager whine back from Julian meeting it. He almost cringes. No matter how poor Cardassian hearing may be, if Julian gets too loud there’s no explaining this in any manner that will salvage his crumbling dignity.
   “I see the self destruct program has begun. You are in trouble,” Dukat gloats in characteristic fashion before beginning to drone on about Commander Sisko. Garak shoves two fingers in Julian’s mouth. That of course, was not the original intent, the intent was a hand over his mouth but right now quiet is quiet. Garak finally musters enough self control to wrench his hand off the zipper of Julian’s uniform just as it reached the end of its course at the small of his back. But Julian’s tongue works, his mouth teases, urging him to play this little game. Garak complies in spite of his better judgment, feeding him those fingers which Julian lathes, sucks, slurps. Quiet. You’re just keeping his quiet. By the State, tell yourself that a few more times and you might even start to believe it. Garak plays with that tongue back, bringing himself to an even greater aching hardness. Perhaps Garak might chose this moment to convert and beg the Prophets to suck Dukat into some infinite swirling vortex where he can spend an eternity hearing nothing but his own self aggrandizing speeches. Garak jams his fingers in deeper, in frustration, feeling the hitch of Julian’s body, not certain if he’s choking or climaxing. Either image doesn’t help.
   Oh it helps the noise, certainly. What it doesn’t help is that push back, that shift of long legs as Julian scrambles to give him exactly what he thinks Garak desires. He’s hardly off the mark. Julian shutting his eyes with that high hot flush to his face sorely tempts to Garak just say the hell with it and pound him hard enough to make Julian scream his name without care for who hears him. He’s rarely had cause in his life to curse the immediacy, the vivid recollection of Cardassian memory but their current position is certainly giving it to him. There are no less than several dozen interlaid recollections of Julian’s writhing body, of Julian throwing himself back onto Garak’s prick while Garak remains still marveling, reveling in that mindless loss of control. He can taste him as well. As always he can taste that musk, not just that sex starved sweet salty secretion that he can suck off Julian’s feverish skin, but the air itself is thick and heavy. Every breath makes his legs tremble. Every flick of his tongue out, even to wet his suddenly parched lips, only drives home just how badly that little vine’Uja needs it. Yes, that’s the word exactly. Garak would be hard pressed to think of another word that translates properly in Federation standard and every equivalent he’s attempted to create with Julian in his normal state has never gone over well. “Bitch” in particular- if one were keeping score- went over about as well as the Occupation. As for a literal translation of the word... No, “low born seed receptacle” doesn’t quite have the same ring in Federation Standard. A pity, translator really misses the nuance of the possession, a million other particulars that Julian wouldn’t understand anyway.
   There’s some other exchange between Dukat and Major Kira ending in another blast of phaser fire that Garak frankly couldn’t care less about right now if he tried. He is aware, as is she, that Dukat is their one chance on this station, but Dukat is the last thing that he wants to think about right now. That is until those boots start his way again and he at least manages to yank his fingers from Julian’s lovely mouth to try and mitigate some of the debauchery of what one would surely behold coming over them. He cannot imagine the sight he must present, one hand on Julian’s hip, straddling him, the two of them likely resembling two hounds in heat. He supposes he could try and move but at this point it would be more of a spectacle to disengage; again, like two hounds knotted together in some primitive mating ritual. Tolan once advised a spray of bitter root to keep a good stud from wasting his seed... By the Ancients why is he thinking of that now?! Perhaps, Garak thinks trying to calm himself, if he remains like this there’s at least a chance that he can avoid shaming himself further.
   He hears another blast of phaser fire- it had gone quiet while Dukat was making himself at home with a cup of tea- and surely enough it would seem the plucky Lieutenant Dax was attempting to check the defenses of the system.
“Lieutenant…” Dukat’s smug tone annoys him and he lifts his head just enough so it doesn’t quite appear that he and Julian are frantically trying to merge into one being.
“Stay,” he hisses to Julian, another whisper, another protest, Julian’s hands curling into the floor, knowing that he cannot touch Garak without that express permission. That doesn’t mean that he needs to be still. Even silent he undulates with his head slightly back, and Garak knows by that motion that he’s pressing that obscene human length against the floor, seeking relief by whatever means necessary. That image, like a million others, is also not helping Garak’s composure.
“What do you want, Dukat?” Garak hears Major Kira ask that and he decides that he might as well chance trying to somehow tuck himself back into his clothes as painful as that’s going to be.
“You’ll find I don’t respond well to that tone of voice, Major,” comes the voice over the top of the console and Garak has the sinking feeling that he’s missed his chance.
“And what do we have here? Perhaps Garak groveling in a corner?” Dukat feigns a gasp. “Taking the opportunity to assault Doctor Bashir in the midst of a crisis. How very like you, Garak. Ah, the sight of you on the floor, trying to stuff your shame back into your pants more than makes this trip worthwhile.”
   Garak just barely resists the urge to growl at him, surprised at that savage internalization. Oh of course it has to be him, Elim. He swallows down a grunt of discomfort as that terribly sensitive everted length is unceremoniously thrust back behind velour and cotton in a nasty little ball. He catches the obvious flare of Dukat’s nostrils, as if the oblivious cretin didn’t pick it up earlier. The entirety of Ops is full of it, and as those beady little pupils narrow, he has half a mind to irrationally lunge at him. Garak is standing up growling at Julian to stay down before he even realizes it. It’s insane, really. He’s well aware after such recklessness that he could very well join ensign Paradis on his way to the other side- which now that he thinks about it means that those alterations are just going to sit unpaid collecting dust. But that attack doesn’t come and Garak realizes that the system wasn’t built to target Cardassians. Dukat seems to notice it as well as his eyes start flickering between Garak and Julian. Garak takes a step forward lest he get any ideas, glancing at the phaser in the replicator poised to attack anyone else.
   “A shame, Dukat. It would seem you won’t have the pleasure of being rid of me that easily,”
“If you’d been on this station at the time I would’ve made sure to set it for targeting you as well.”
“You’ve always been shortsighted,” Garak fires back nastily. “It’s held you back over the years. As I recall, your father had the same flaw.”
“My father’s only flaw was trusting you,” Dukat answers him with a dangerous look. Dukat has always been one for posturing, but there is an aggression in that stance as he draws himself up that Garak can sense as he too looks down to Julian.
“Funny, at his trial, your father said his biggest flaw was that his ambition outweighed his patriotism.” Garak’s voice drops lower as he fixates on Julian possessively. He recognizes the irrationality, of course. He’s not so far gone that he cannot see how ridiculous that this is. That still doesn’t stop the desire to tear Dukat’s throat out with his teeth. Then again, Garak imagines the line of men and women who share that sentiment to be several kilometers long; no pheromone induced rage needed
“Maybe you two should settle this another time!” Now that grounds his murderous desire back to reality. At least it reminds him for the moment that there are others present and that he needs to calm himself.
   “You’re right, Major,” Dukat answers thickly. “And believe me, Garak, that time is coming.” He’s stepped closer. Garak is about to retort snappily back when he feels Julian shift. He doesn’t understand what’s going on at first when he sees Julian on his knees suddenly sitting back, looking up past him to Dukat, eyes bright and wide. And then Garak knows exactly what is going on. Even with nothing more than the reluctant little tidbits that Julian’s shared with him, he can piece the logical cause together easily enough. Well of course from a purely biological standpoint a younger arguably more physically fit specimen might be the optimal choice. Although it isn’t as if you’re past your prime, Elim, far from it. It’s that stupid primitive self that doesn’t seem to realize... It’s nothing personal, you know that. Still, he cannot help the irrational affront he feels when Julian turns the full force of that lustful gaze to Gul Dukat. If it were anyone else he might almost feel bad for them. Their shared biology leaves them uniquely vulnerable to that heat which seems to do little else but repulse the remainder of the station. Add to that Julian on his knees, looking up, a hand around his neck accentuating that long enticing column, covered in sweat, panting, begging for it and there’s little chance for resistance. For a man with even conventional restraint it would be a difficulty. But for an amoral hedonist like Dukat...
   “And speaking of what you’ve got coming Garak,” Dukat steps around him looking down at Julian not even attempting to hide that leer. “I take it this here is the reason for your embarrassing indiscretion.” He reaches down, pausing only when Garak’s voice clipped and strained half hisses at him.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Dukat. Doctor Bashir is not exactly in his right mind right now, and whatever you’re thinking I promise you that Starfleet will not look kindly on an egregious assault on one of its officers.”
“Assault?” Dukat scoffs, petting Julian’s head like he would a dog. “You see how he likes it, Garak? Perhaps he’s merely starved for the touch of a real man.” Garak’s lips are tight, a thin line, knowing that there’s only so much that he can divulge for Julian’s own sake. He doubts Dukat would understand the science or care even if he did.
“Yess…” he hears Julian breathe out, infuriated that Dukat would dare take such familiarities with what is clearly not his, and terribly inflamed by that breathy tone at the same time.
“You’re disgusting, Dukat,” Garak hears Kira practically spit at him. “Do you think anyone in their right mind would want your hands on them?”
   “Maybe you don’t understand humans, Major Kira. Maybe that’s been my issue with Commander Sisko. I haven’t taken a firm enough hand with him.” I’d like to see you try. Garak thinks to himself with a snort.
“That isn’t normal human behavior, Dukat!” He hears Lieutenant Dax’s voice and he considers whether either of them can reach the phaser on the table. Somehow he doubts it. And even so, the infuriating fact remains that Dukat is the one holding all the leverage with the timer counting perilously down and their options for salvation pitifully short.
“Oh don’t let that air of innocence fool you, Lieutenant,” Garak says cheerfully. “Dukat is well aware of what he’s doing.” He looks at Dukat again wearing a smile that could freeze a man’s blood. “As he’s equally aware of our positions here.” Garak swallows hard as he tries to consider any alternative than what is very clearly about to become an unforgivable bargaining chip.
   “So help me Dukat, if you even think about laying a hand on him…” Kira snarls echoing his sentiments exactly. Garak really could kiss her right now.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Major?” Dukat brays like an ass as Garak considers the phaser and carefully measures whether Julian’s dignity is worth the lives of the entire station. Yes, Julian’s dignity, how noble of you Elim. And how concerned for his dignity were you when you took him that first time? When you suggested he let you bend him over his own desk, when you made him crawl after you on his hands and knees? What you should be saying to yourself is whether or not allowing Dukat to lay his hands on your precious pet is worth the lives of the entire station. Well either way it ought to be completely unacceptable.
“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Kira answers so sweetly that Garak doesn’t doubt such an action would be met with a knife blade to the genitals. He really wishes that Dukat would comply.
“I’m sure he would love to Major,” Garak answers pointedly, “But as you might imagine a man with his myriad of charms could not possibly stay unattached for long. Our great Gul Dukat is a married man, after all.” Garak practically spits that last bit at him like a rock being aimed precision with a slingshot. Yes, Dukat is far easier to direct that anger to than himself.
   Dukat spares him a brief, withering look, a dangerous crack in that genial mask. Well if it comes to blows Garak certainly isn’t about to play fair. The eyes. He’s definitely going to go for those lecherous eyes that are back to undressing Julian’s shaking body.
“Perhaps instead of worrying about your pet you might consider that the station only has an hour and forty five minutes until it self destructs. And here I am,” Dukat declares grandly. “A few keystrokes from being your savior.”
“How could I have possibly forgotten…” Garak starts to say, watching intently as Dukat moves that hand, raising it like he would training a beast. He’s about to scream at Julian to get back down. He’s even about to block Julian’s body with his own, but much to everyone’s shock, the phaser doesn’t fire on him. Garak files that away knowing that now he absolutely needs to get to the bottom of the mystery of Julian’s genetic makeup. But for now that relief that Julian isn’t going to be blasted into atoms wars with something else entirely as Julian follows that gesture, standing up, hands climbing up Dukat’s chest as he does.
“Yes, you do have him trained well, don’t you?”
“I don’t think I need to tell you the danger you just put a Starfleet Officer in for the sake of your silly posturing. Perhaps I’ll command him to bite you next.”
   “I don’t think he’d listen to you right now, Garak. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he has much of a care for that phaser as well, as much as he desires me.” Dukat barely pays Garak any attention, instead clearly enjoying Julian’s pressing into his hip as he clamors for that raised hand. Garak’s beginning to regret relying on those gestures so heavily to teach him to behave.
“Might our… savior, kindly tell us his surely magnanimous terms for coming to our rescue?” Garak watches as Julian’s eyes finally dart to him, a brief glimmer of recognition. He almost looks like he wants to say something, taking a breath, before quickly turning away. Garak can’t even begin to fathom what’s going through his head. Dukat has dropped that hand deciding to gently stroke under Julian’s chin eliciting a soft deep purr as those hands paw back at his chest. Julian has learned quite quickly that the no touch rule doesn’t apply to the new end exciting stranger; the new and exciting stranger in fact is doing little more than hungrily undressing Julian’s body with his eyes while he pretends to consider Garak’s question. Clearly Dukat has no intention of trying to exercise any common decency in this situation. Garak decides he’s going to start with his left eye. He’ll enjoy allowing Dukat to watch him crush it beneath his grip before he puts out the other one.
   “I had initially thought to demand control of the station be relinquished to Cardassian command-“ That’s interrupted with a loud scoff from Major Kira. “But I seem to have found something much more… enticing.”
“You don’t say,” Garak can imagine peeling the sharp smile from his face and slicing Dukat’s throat with it. Surely, that’s the cause for the red that’s tinting his vision right now. It couldn’t possibly be Garak seeing Dukat’s thumb brush Julian’s lower lip. Nor could it be the fact that Julian licks it with his eyes half closed and another breathy moan. Garak’s sure that’s not it, just as he’s sure he hasn’t just had a spontaneous brain hemorrhage watching Dukat’s other hand already easing the uniform from Julian’s shoulder.
“Oh yes… Yes, just that look alone, Garak makes the thought of taking your little vine’Uja worth a thousand Terok Nors.”
“At the risk of sounding cliché, Dukat-” Garak grits out with as much pleasantry as he has left in him.
“Like hell you will!” Garak’s smile is tight as he hears that interruption from Kira.
“You took the words right out of my mouth, Major.”
“There’s no way you’ll get away with this, Dukat,” This from Jadzia, the pain still lancing through her voice. “And if you think Benjamin or Starfleet, or any of us will let this go unpunished…”
   “Such strong words,” Dukat admonishes, “Surely, we can ask Doctor Bashir what he’d like to do can’t we?”
“What?” Garak sees Julian’s eyes blink as if he might actually be lucid enough to tell Dukat just where he can go and what he can do to himself when he gets there. “What do I…” No, he hardly sounds it, Garak thinks, just barely keeping his expression from turning unpleasant. No, you know he can adapt, he can mimic anything when he’s in that state whether he wants to or not. You know you can’t ask him anything, he won’t tell you anything useful, he’ll tell you whatever he needs to in order to get you to take him and little else. And that’s when he’s not too far gone to talk at all.
“You cannot ask Doctor Bashir, Dukat, because Doctor Bashir, as anyone can clearly see is not able to consent to anything you might ask of him.” Garak’s voice is soft, honey sweet as he speaks that statement, as he attempts to make a final appeal to Dukat’s dwindling sense of reason. And he is aware on some bizarre visceral level that it is not the reaction that Julian needs in this state to let go of the oily refuse that he’s currently clinging to. No, he’s sure that the sight of him and Dukat rolling around on the floor in some primitive fight over mating rights is the only way to settle this in that odd reptilian brain to the current Julian’s satisfaction. But Garak at his core, is nothing if not a civilized creature. A civilized, calculating creature who is beginning to see that the only way out of this might very well be that unthinkable blow to his ego... Yes, because your ego is far more important than Julian’s bodily autonomy. He drags that thought out to the desert to die.
   Julian’s look to him, that disappointed expectation that no, he’s not going to throw down the gauntlet and charge is the first thing that’s almost enough to make him rethink that course of action. Dukat’s thoughtless pawing from his shoulder, around the small of his back is the second. Dukat’s mouth, whispering that question like a lover instead of a morally bankrupt rapist is the third. Garak takes a step back, subtly moving towards that phaser. Surely there will be enough of Dukat’s DNA remaining once he stuns and eviscerates him to make something work. There’s an almost maniacal smile on Garak’s face at the thought of that. And Julian is doing a perfect job of holding Dukat’s attention. Disgustingly so, but Garak can’t allow himself to think overly long on Julian’s tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting at the breathy heat to his neck. He can see that face looking at him over Dukat’s shoulder as his eyes shut and Julian nods dumbly, deliriously, almost ecstatic at whatever filth clothed in Dukat’s idea of romantic entreaty that Dukat is whispering to him. Garak can’t hear it anyway. Major Kira has maintained a spirited protest as cover for his actions and it drowns out nearly everything else.
   Garak is close to the phaser. He can feel it. A few more steps a reach and- And he sees Julian looking at him over Dukat’s shoulder once more. That shouldn’t mean much of anything. Julian gasping his most hated enemy’s name in passion isn’t a thing that he has cause to pay attention to; but that’s not what Julian is doing. Oh certainly there is that element present, but that isn’t all that Garak observes. Julian’s mouth is moving and though Garak cannot hear him he can make out the words spoken not to Dukat, but to him. “What... do...” What should I do... What do you want him to do, Elim? Well that’s simple enough; it starts with Julian’s forehead into Dukat’s nose and ends somewhere with Garak’s boot stomping him into the floor. But as that murderous thought passes, Garak experiences a moment of clarity watching Dukat push Julian back onto the console, whispering, talking- likely some boast about what he’s going to do any how many times. Garak clicks his tongue at that, curious to find that moment of clarity extended. And he knows as his motions have stopped toward that weapon that he’ll need to be quick about what he decides.
   Why did it stop? You can still scent it, you can still taste him, you still want him, but somehow there’s a shift in that phasing- whatever you might want to call it. A marvelous adaptation to ponder if in fact Julian’s biology really is so sophisticated as to allow some subconscious direction of that pheromone. Well, consider it later Elim because you’ve been presented with a rather rare opportunity. He almost wonders bizarrely if Julian somehow is aware of that opportunity as well- of that chance which has presented itself that’s a boon far greater than one Starfleet station. No. He couldn’t possibly. Julian has never possessed your cunning, not in that manner at least. There’s no way he could know... and yet here he asks you what you want him to do. Is that because that primal self still sees a hierarchy of possession? Again, consider that later. Consider only now what’s right in front of you. This needs to occur. Oh surely you could sit back and pray to the wormhole aliens once you incapacitate Dukat for some miracle, or you can consider in the abstract that Julian himself, being a self sacrificing good little Federation citizen would consider there to be no question of what is “right” if his actions no matter how loathsome might save the lives of everyone on the station.
   But it’s more than that, Elim and you know it. There’s simply allowing him to proceed quickly, succinctly, letting the deed be done here and now and seeing to his well being. Or there’s your second option. There’s the fact that the Commander’s Office like here also possesses the same security cameras and ones that are much more focused, an environment that would prove far more damning, a scenario that you can manipulate as you need to. Garak licks his lips, seeing that those in Ops are now looking at him just as much as they are Julian being pushed against the console while lust tremored hands push the uniform off his shoulders entirely. If you don’t act now, Elim, this is going to be quickly over and you’re going to have completely wasted the best opportunity you’re ever likely to get... Garak knows he doesn’t have any more time, just as he knows how this is going to look for him. Will Julian loath the very sight of you? Quite possibly. Will it matter much once that requisition is received? Likely not. If you’re going to slink back to the shadows then let it be with Dukat’s life and honor in tow. If given a choice between valor and vengeance, Elim, which is it that you choose? Ah, what has Garak always chosen?
   He doesn’t look at anyone else as he steps forward, away from the phaser, clearing his throat as he observes that Dukat has quite handily divested Julian of that sweaty undershirt, the uniform pooled around his hips. Again there’s that urge to reach back for the phaser, though hardly with any noble intent. The sight of Julian’s body, of that damp heat fevered skin bared is so Guls damned tempting. But he shoves it down knowing that there will be time enough for that later. When the deed is done. Because Garak knows that just one, two, not even three hard violent joinings will satisfy that beast. Not in the desperate state Julian is in now, arms obediently over his head, legs spread, hips pushing like he just needs to- Control, Elim. And there follows a hush of silence as Garak clears his throat, getting Dukat’s attention, Kira, and the rest doubtlessly wondering if this isn’t part of some new plan he’s devised to save Julian from the clutches of the insidious Dukat. In a way it almost disappoints him that a Bajoran or anyone wouldn’t understand the value of self sacrifice for the greater good, but then again, Bajorans have always been stupidly high minded when it comes to matters of political leverage and careful long term maneuvering. Because this isn’t just about vengeance. This is a matter of leverage at the heart of it. Important, calculating movements of the pieces on the board that he can use to his advantage later.
   “You know Dukat, while I delight in a humiliating display as much as any man, for the sake of Doctor Bashir’s dignity, it might be in better taste to take such debauchery to a more intimate location.”
“Garak, what are you talking about?!” Major Kira’s yell is predictable and he tunes her out along with the cacophony of the other voices on the bridge, a din of irritating insects mating in the summer. He also catches window of some knowing censure from Lieutenant Dax and supposes there’s the beginning and end of any possible breakfast date there. But that can wait. Garak is careful not to appear too eager. He makes sure to keep that angry sullen expression for Dukat’s benefit as that laugh meets his ears. It’s not so terribly difficult.
“How uncharacteristically noble of you Garak!” Dukat compliments pausing, a hand still fisted in Julian’s short hair holding his head back. “Such consideration, such concern for the “doctor’s dignity”!” He laughs and Garak smiles in return, hands behind his back, clasped tightly together. “Or are you afraid of everyone seeing you bested? Of the world seeing you lack prowess the way that you lack courage?”
“By all means, if mindlessly spilling your seed into some human animal is the only way you can feel like a man Dukat-”
“Your human animal,” Dukat sneers in return.
   “I had merely thought you might spare the ladies such an... invigorating display. I’ve always heard it better to save a little mystery for a woman,” Garak answers almost completely flatly. He’s about to try another tact, when he catches Julian looking at him again. Right, you still need to tell him what to do, don’t you? It’s possible he might be too far gone to read your lips, but he’s a clever man, he’ll figure it out. “Let go,” Garak mouths carefully, turning his head just a bit to the side. “Please him. Please me.” He keeps the words simple, feeling his jaw crack as he mouths them. Garak sees a double blink of understanding, and cannot dream that Julian is able to figure out what he’s to do beyond lay back and let Dukat do whatever the cursed Ancients command. But again, Julian surprises him. He fixes Dukat with a look, pleading, desperate, a push of his hips where Dukat stands between his spread legs. His eyes dart back and forth from Dukat to that office door and it’s almost frightening the way Julian reads the situation and responds.
“P... please... there... I need... please...” Julian’s hand falls over Dukat’s wrist and Garak catches a whiff of that heat again, ablaze, enough to make him shut his eyes and softly count down lest he do something foolish.
   Dukat however lacks that same control as he steps back with a low rumble, practically yanking Julian from the console to unsteady feet. Good. Let the cameras catch whatever debauchery Dukat is going to indulge in. Let them hear, let them see. Once the codes are entered to return the station to homeostasis, Garak knows there will be a short window that he’ll be able to break into the mainframe to copy those files. He won’t need long. He’s already recalling the sequences, bringing them to mind so that he’ll be able to break the system. There will be a lot of rewriting, reconfiguring, but not in those immediate moments of relief. No, better not to underestimate Odo on that count. Garak will have to be quick about it. He’ll have to somehow handle Julian well enough so that he won’t immediately follow but he can handle Julian. Garak knows exactly where he can store the information, who he can trust enough with the backup just in case. And then he’ll have all the time in the world to consider how best to use it. Julian won’t take any action, after all. If that alien DNA, that strange compulsion, doesn’t push this down to an almost unsettling indifference in the immediate aftermath as Julian’s described following their past encounters, Garak knows he’ll stoically accept this humiliation as the price paid for saving the station. He’ll likely insist they destroy any of the footage. And more the better for Garak in that instance because that will absolutely leave Dukat smug in the security that any evidence of what transpired will cease to exist. Until the moment that it doesn’t. And when that moment comes it will be Garak, alone, aggrieved, as always to-
   Garak looks up sharply, seeing that Dukat is still standing there with Julian, looking at him with a nasty smirk, an arm around Julian’s shoulder that Garak has the urge to knock clear off. He has a feeling that he’s missed something terribly important.
“It seems I might have to repeat myself. My, Garak, you really have grown soft in your retirement.”
“If you’re not sure how to enter, Dukat, I’m sure that Doctor Bashir will only be all too happy to show you,” he says irritably as Julian mouths Dukat’s neck ridges softly, strangely never taking his eyes off Garak, almost as if he’s seeking his approval. Dukat’s laugh is an unsettling, dry sound that makes his eyes narrow. Just what is he-
“You didn’t think I was going to just run off and leave you here to continue your plotting, did you Garak?” Well, yes, as a matter of fact he did think that considering that his plot hardly involves anything in the immediate future. Really, Dukat is so stupidly, annoyingly shortsighted.
“Might I remind you, Dukat, that we only have a little less than two hours until the complete annihilation of the entire station. It might be meet to continue this discussion when time isn’t such a precious commodity.”
“Oh there will be time to discuss it, Garak,” Dukat promises with a triumphant tone that makes him immediately feel a sense of impending doom. “Because you’re going to be joining us.”
   Garak meets his expression with a smile of his own, tight, teeth grit behind it. He nods perfunctorily in agreement.
“Ah. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” Why indeed, Elim? I believe this is where Julian might use that delightfully vulgar human idiom that he’s so fond of when he thinks no one else is around. Well, fuck me, indeed.
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I, Garak