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Black Bottle	By : herm42 Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 2407 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Garak
wakes to a ghostly tingle on the back of his neck and a rare silence
in his head. A dream withdraws its fingers from his skin as he
opens his eyes and exhales a steady breath. There is nothing
tethering him to his fears this morning, and even that realization
does not bring him crashing back to reality or uncertainty.
Though serenity is always welcome if it graces him, once again he
isn't sure of the source. He knows from experience that it is
usually a harbinger of something to come. It is an automatic response
he conditioned in himself a long time ago, though he does not always
recognize it when he feels it. When something important came due,
rather than work himself into a froth preparing for it, he found it
was far more useful to become quiet, to clear his thoughts. Now it
happens whether he knows what is about to take place or not, similar
to the way that animals will flee a tsunami before it strikes while
the people remain unaware there is a danger. Rather than fleeing or
frenzying like rats on a sinking ship, however, he feels his mind
clear slowly over the course of a day or so, faster if there is less
time. He knows not to take this feeling as cause for alarm, that
would defeat the purpose, but he does note it, knows to expect
something. He is rarely disappointed.

    Two
days, less than two days to go. That could be it.

    He
can thank Tain for this ability, this pseudo-prognostication. He had
a hand in teaching him to bend his instinct into this mechanical coil
that tightens and focuses when needed instead of springing out in
panic. Can thank him for his survival over the last six years if for
little else.

    He
can't help, however, the ring of anticipation in his ears.
Intellectually he knows that an event is on the horizon, instincually
he knows as well, it seems, which really only serves to make his
heart skip along happily, as it seems just that much more plausible
that he is going to get what he wants. He feels, though
contrary to his nature, that everything somehow will fall into place,
if he just lets it.

    Though,
it occurs to him, whenever Julian is involved, his sight becomes
skewed. Certainly with foresight he could expect the effect to
be magnified as any margin of error when projected into the future.
Perhaps there is something else on the horizon he is not expecting,
or perhaps his heart is jumping the gun. He keeps going back to
that kiss in the lift. He felt just like this right before that
happened and ruined his calm. Well. Ruin is perhaps not
the best term for it. Still water is poetic, but splashing is
far more fun. He doesn't think Julian will break the
arrangement, not on purpose, so he can probably rest easy another
day, but the actuarial paradox of preparing himself for what is
coming without thinking about it and unsettling himself is almost as
tempting a worry as the feeling itself.

    Something
is definitely going to happen tomorrow night. That does not
depend entirely on him. Giving Julian the manifesto of four
days, he can count on an event then regardless of his own action.
What will happen exactly, he isn't yet certain, even this close to
the deadline.

    It's
just that it feels different lately. In the more distant past
this calm had a vibration to it like a humming cello, ringing out a
low base tone until the moment of truth. This time it has
manifested as an absence. Just an inner silence where there
would not ordinarily be one. This is what seems to be tripping
him up. Usually when he feels this calm before the storm, he can at
least tell which direction the wind is blowing beforehand.
Today it seems to be swirling around him and obfuscating the compass
points, clouding his eyes and in turn, somehow, blanketing him in
uneasy tranquility.

    The
gratitude festival is again upon them. Garak wonders if he will be
burning a scroll or not. There is really only one thing he might put
on it.

    He
can't help but cringe internally when he thinks about how enormously
indulgent and unfocused his behavior has been recently. I
love you too much. Gods and Prophets he's becoming an old
ninny. At least the worst of it is over. If it weren't
for Julian's own display of childish maudlin in last night's short
conversation, he'd still feel indelibly asinine. He would like
to blame his emotional instability on something outside his own
body. Life on the station, the cold air, the isolation, but
he'd be lying to himself. Yes it is a factor, but frankly this
has been so long coming, whether they consummate this fool's errand
tomorrow or it all blows up in his face, at least he can look forward
to the eventual settling of things after it is done.

    Garak
feels a momentary flutter of trepidation and glee and then rolls out
of bed.

    The
shop glitters again today in a way that makes him squint irritably
despite his good mood. The place looks like a dance hall there
is so much color and twinkling rainbows streaking the walls.
The celebratory garments strewn about the place, though all hanging
perfectly still on their hangers in the early morning shop, create
dizzying movement with great washes of intense colors, every color
you could wish for provided it is bright or powerful, and so much
refraction of the overhead lights that it takes Garak a few minutes
every morning to get used to it. The Klingons sneer as they
walk by his shop, which is no bad thing. For one, he knows it
isn't just him who finds the gaudy festival fashions of the Bajorans
too much to bear, and two, it means he might not have to see the
Klingons in his shop for a while. Not that they come in
often, but when they do it is never to buy clothes.

It isn't long however, optical system adjusted, before Garak finds
himself humming quietly as he goes through a crate of clothes which
will be replacing the sequined mess the minute the gratitude
festival is over. He pulls stray cut threads from them, presses
out small creases they've gained from the last few weeks of storage,
then folds them precisely and stacks them behind the counter.
These clothes are the staples of this place. Grays, blues,
black, maroon, rarely, some green. Sensible colors, though
never any white. He wonders about that. He likes a
variety of colors, likes to see the way they react to each other, the
way people react to them, but it just isn't necessary to have
sickening amounts of flashy color to create an inviting atmosphere.
White would be a nice change right now.
    Garak
is daydreaming as he slowly and absently folds and presses. His
fingers know on their own how to do this. His eyes passively
tell him what shapes belong to the garment and what belong to a
foreign piece of something that should be picked off by the automatic
functions of his hands. He imagines himself a robot when he
does this, an android who's only initiative is the clipping of
strings and pressing of wrinkles. It leaves his mind unoccupied
and free to roam. Garak folds a green tunic and places it
carefully on the pile, then reaches for the next item. His
hands know what it is before his eyes float over it. A pale
brown, butter-soft enyak leather vest. It is a favorite of his,
and he keeps it priced as so. Garak made it four years ago at
the request of a young man visiting the station. Never came
back to claim it. Irritated, Garak eventually gave up, kept his
small deposit and hung it on the rack to be sold as any other item.
However, while Garak sat in his shop with that vest swaying gently in
the corner, he found himself dragging his fingers across its flank
every time he passed it. He would spend minutes every day
standing in front of it puzzling and frowning, smoothing it against
the hanger though it never needed any maintenance, and wondering why
it drew him so. It was made for a man much smaller than him so
he could never hope to wear it. Would look ridiculous on him
anyway; Cardassians don't wear vests. He would touch it
again and again and wonder but never come up with a reason for his
fascination. Then one day, Julian came by looking for something to
wear on a date with yet another beautiful young Starfleet officer.
He hadn't dropped by like that in a while, so it was a welcome
surprise, until Miles followed him in the door. Not that the
Chief is unwelcome, but his presence meant that Garak simply stood
behind the counter and exchanged pleasantries while attempting to
look engaged in some bookkeeping rather than engaged in the doctor
the way he would were he alone. Julian tried on a few things
and Miles, bored but humoring his friend, simply thumbed through some
of the children's clothes. Julian came out in a drooping blue
shirt, too shiny for him, then a few other things that all got
apathetic reviews from Miles. Finally, after an extended amount
of time in the fitting room, and a few strings of perturbed Irish
nagging from from the outside, Julian emerged wearing a pair of light
brown trousers that were much too large for him, and so old and out
of date that Garak had forgotten they existed, and that damned vest.
Nothing else. Miles doubled over laughing while Julian grinned
triumphantly. It was then that Garak realized that that smooth
leather, perfect and supple and so agonizingly gorgeous to touch was
the exact color of Julian's skin. He appeared almost naked
standing there in Garak's shop with a grin on his face like he knew
what he was doing. Maybe he did. When O'Brien had
controlled himself again he suggested that he wear that to the Alamo,
but Julian, aware that Garak makes almost everything in his shop, was
kind enough to mention that it was far too nice to let it be ruined
in the holosuite. When the two of them had gone, Garak took the
vest in his hands again to feel the leather, still warm with Julian's
heat. Someone else walked in the shop at that moment, he
recalls, and he could not indulge more than a second more, so he
placed it behind the counter, and later on marked up the price of it
higher than it would ever sell for and hung it back in the corner
where it stays most of the year.

    This
really has been a long time coming, Garak thinks to himself and
stretches just a little in his midsection. The pressure in his
belly increases, the throbbing present and momentarily intoxicating.
That sharp ache is lessening every day now, last night being the
closest he has felt to normal in weeks, and he is relieved that it is
nearly done. He does not want to have to deal with the pain
never mind the explanation tomorrow night if it comes to that.
It has been so long since he felt like this. The last time must
have been twenty years ago. He feels young and alive and
recalls the blush of lust as it felt when he was a young man
struggling to rein in ebullient hormones. The fact that he is
placidly going on with life while so much goes on inside him is a
testament to his training, and his father.

    Then
he remembers that he doesn't even know what it looks like.
Musth is different for everyone, and different every time, but you
can always count on it being uncomfortable, and you can count on your
genitalia being unrecognizable as your own by the time it peaks.
One way or another he is going to have to take a look tonight.
Last week it was in the early stages and not nearly as painful as it
has been this week. He hasn't seen it since then and has
frankly been dreading it. It is receding quickly, but that
doesn't mean all is well. It is foolish, as the saying goes, to
neglect the blades of your shears. Or if he were a Klingon, he
could probably come up with some sword-related euphemism, but the
meaning is the same. Pain and discomfort, work, or
institutionalized shame, none are good reasons to put yourself at
risk.

    A
man wanders into Garak's shop as he folds the vest in half and places
it on the pile. He nods at Garak without even a hint of
disappointment or worry upon seeing the Cardassian tailor, which is
unusual for a newcomer. He meanders through the small shop and
fingers a few of the men's items. He isn't human, but he could
pass for one almost anywhere but on Earth. He looks to be
relatively near Garak's age, and wears the expression of a man with
no aim and nothing planned. If the expression is genuine, and
Garak thinks it is, this man has no attachments, no ties to anywhere
or anyone, and reminds Garak of himself betimes recently past.

    Garak
doesn't think he'll stay long, just browse, then nod again as he
leaves, but surprisingly, he approaches Garak's counter and Garak
puts on a solicitous smile and steels himself alert and ready.
His phaser is strapped beneath the counter and aimed nicely at the
man's crotch.

    "I
was wondering if you have anything else on hand in a men's jacket.
Maybe a little warmer than what you have out?"

    "Certainly.
Did you see the rack at the far end? Bajoran fleece coats and
jackets." Garak is relaxing but wants a few more sentences
out of him before he abandons his weapon.

    The
man makes an unsure noise. "Yes. But...I was hoping
for something a little less....colorful."

Garak
smiles. "Gaudy, you mean," and the man grins
bashfully in return. "I would bet I have something you'll
like right here," Garak says and ducks behind the counter to
collect some of the autumn and spring men's jackets from the storage
containers he has surrounding him. He keeps half an eye on the
man, but he does nothing but peer curiously over the counter as Garak
disappears. When Garak rises again it is with a guttural groan.

    The
man is approaching a chuckle when next he sees his face, and Garak is
suspicious again. "I know exactly how you feel.
Every time I bend over like that I nearly need an antigrav belt
to get me right side up again. Getting old just isn't much fun
is it."

    Getting
old has nothing at all to do with Garak's groaning, but that
certainly isn't anything that this stranger needs to know. "On
the contrary, I have more fun with every year I pass here," he
says cheerfully and places the garments on the counter. "Why
don't you go through these and see what you like. And if you
are planning on being on the station for a few days, have a look
through the catalog. Most things in it can be made within that
time."

    The
man thanks him, and Garak chooses to busy himself elsewhere to avoid
the inevitable conversation. He approaches the cubbies where he
stashes his reams of cloth. He isn't sure what he is looking
for other than an escape from the present moment, but at the least he
can make it look like he is doing something terribly engaging so the
man will think twice about bothering him. He pulls out a bat of
dark purple satin, then puts it back in favor of a toffee colored
one. He places the thick roll on the table in front of him and
smooths a hand over its surface. He loved the color when he saw
it in the sample book that his Bajoran supplier always carries with
her. She isn't keen to trade with him, nor does he need her
merchandise, he has other sellers plus the replicator, but it is nice
to keep communication open as much as possible. So now and then
he will buy something superfluous from her. This particular one
he may actually use. It is no coincidence that it too is in the
same color family as that vest. Maybe he'll make Julian some
pajamas. Though really what would be the point. He smiles
faintly to himself. Why dress him to just look
naked.
    Garak is staring at a spot off
toward the door of his shop as his mind wanders again to Julian's
face and hands. His chest he has only seen and not felt, so
many other parts of him in the same state. He wants to feel all
of that skin against him, wants to bury his face in Julian's hair
again and smell him as they rock together in a lulling rhythm.
He wants to wind him up. He wants to do everything Julian wants
him to do, but only after he has teased him with it for as long as he
can. He can not wait to get that body beneath his hands and
work it like a hard lump of warm brown clay. His belly throbs
and for not the first time it feels almost like you could see it
throbbing through his clothes.

    His
customer clears his throat and Garak looks up. He is standing
patiently at the counter with a blue-green jacket in hand.
Garak tries to abandon his daydream and tend to the man, but finds
himself attached to the bat of cloth. He looks down and
discovers he has unconsciously twisted his thumb into the tight
center of the roll and it has grabbed him like a finger-trap.
Garak nervously shakes himself loose and goes back to the counter.
"Just this one?"

    "Yes,"
he says. "Can you take the sleeves in just a little?"

    "Of
course. You can pick it up in an hour."

~*~

    It's
awkward being a doctor attracted to one of your patients. Julian has
had the misfortune of being in that position, oh, many times. One
could possibly add that to the Chronicles of Julian's Inimitable
Stupidity if one was inclined to blame him for the exertion of his
drives as well as his decisions. Of course, being the CMO of Deep
Space Nine, he is sort of everyone's doctor. So if he is going to be
attracted to someone, more than likely he is their doctor by default.
Can't blame him for that. Can blame him, however, for torturing
himself with scandalous reports dug from the bilges of the station's
computer. The kind of thing the Cardassians made sure they purged
from the memory banks beyond all possibility of restoration before
they turned over the station to the Bajorans. The kind of thing the
Cardassians probably don't even allow their citizenry to read,
encrypting it with seven layers of digital mire and authorization
codes and false faces so that no one save a small elite group of
Cardassians could ever hope to access it.

    Yes,
he is looking for trouble again. Not just looking but digging
deep, scouring every possibly crevice for it. He calls it
research. Julian pieced together the articles on deviant
sexuality over breakfast, bending or breaking at least a half-dozen
regulations and rather impressing himself with his decryption
technique. Then he spends some quiet morning hours in his
office reading them.

    What
he finds is indeed shocking, though not for the reasons the
Cardassian public might find it shocking. He finds little in
plausible or useful information. Mostly contradictions and
archaic-sounding sensibilities. Granted there could be
fundamental differences between human and Cardassian sexuality, but
some of this stuff doesn't make a lick of sense.

    "If
children at an early age witness sexual intercourse between adults,
they inevitably regard the sexual act as ill-treatment or an act of
subjugation; they view it thereafter in a sadistic sense.
People become masochistic as a way of regulating their desire to
sexually dominate others. The desire to submit, on the other hand,
arises from guilt feelings over the desire to dominate. Also, the
desire to be bound or punished can arise on its own when a man wants
to assume the passive female role, with bondage and beating
signifying being castrated or copulated with, or giving birth."

    "These
people are addicted to cruelty. They feel compelled to be anally
abused or crawl on their knees and lick a boot or a penis when the
problem, is that they can't love. They are searching for love, and
this deviant behavior is the only way they can try to find it because
they are locked into sadomasochistic interactions they had with a
parent."

    "Like
alcohol abuse, binge eating, and meditation, sadomasochism is a way
people can forget themselves."
    The
best one, though, came from the most highly respected psychologist in
Cardassian history. Julian had read one of his books, and even
remembers liking it. "This form of abnormal sexuality
is nothing more than a primitive, infantile response to stress within
a relationship, or, in the case of single people, stress cause by a
damaged self-image manifesting in a desire to either be punished, or
to make the outward appearance match the inward."

Primitive? Julian laughs out loud. Inflicting pain in
retaliation or anger, that's primitive, that's basic survival
instinct, the behavior of children and animals. But the process
that algolagnists go through to arrive at a state in which they can
show each other love and care with such an enormous spectrum of
behavior is anything but simplistic. Most people settle into a
long-term relationship with a partner at some point in their lives,
the stability of which depends upon those people building a sturdy
foundation of trust and consideration. That's fine, of course,
if you can build that foundation with what you have: your body and
your faculties. But for some it isn't enough. It doesn't
seem strong enough, at least for Julian it doesn't. How do you
know if your relationship is rotting from the inside when you can't
see inside your partner to know their feelings? The idea of
getting that extra depth has always appealed to him, though he has
never before found anyone willing to try for it. And this is
only one facet of the phenomenon. Another is the way it takes
pain away from the relationship by introducing it as a deliberate
action done in love. Not only is it not a simple or primitive
concept, but it has echos in sociology that have been accepted for
hundreds of years. People take pain away from derogatory words
by using them themselves. He can see, however, how it might
seem infantile from the outside. In a way, you could
interpret the algolagnist's mental state as being child-like, as
children are similarly susceptible to take whatever attention
bestowed upon them by their parents as love, no matter how cruel, but
children never appreciate pain. The thought makes Julian
cringe a little. It takes an adult sensibility to take pain
delivered by another being and make it belong to you, whether in love
or simply for survival.
    It isn't long before
Julian abandons the abnormal psychology texts in favor of less
scholarly, but more useful works written by eye witnesses, i.e., the
deviants. He finds sketchy, mismatched, and badly written
accounts, but there is the occasional factoid that he finds
anecdotally corroborated, the occasional gem.

    "The
Cardassian penis, being internal, is more sensitive than an external
mamunian penis. While most Cardassians will say they have a
high tolerance for pain, many will make an exception when it comes to
the genitals. Common surfaces and substances that would not
bother a being with external genitalia will render a Cardassian
incapacitated with pain. Too much friction is the most common
problem for Cardassians during intercourse. This can be caused
by dryness or foreign matter."

    Julian
considers this passage in particular.

~*~

    Before
heading home, Garak stops and gets his hair cut again. The
barber at the little shop next to the Klingon deli is naturally
surprised to see him there, and sort of squints, as if trying to
remember something that doesn't exist for him to remember, that being
a lapse of time long enough to warrant Garak's current visit.
He usually only goes about once every two months, and just a trim.
The short little old man, a Ruitian with nothing but white hair
himself, far from home but possibly better off, mumbles absently
about a red-headed girl as he cuts nearly two centimeters from the
back of Garak's head.

    At
home, Garak trims his fingernails, has a few bites of some fresh
fruit to tide him over for another hour or so, and then a few large
gulps of Bajoran whiskey.
    He draws the bath
just barely warm enough to be comfortable. It has been a long
time, but as he recalls it is a trial to get the water the right
temperature for this. If it is warm enough for him on the
outside, the inside is offended by the heat and the pain can be too
much. If it is too cool, he will begin to shiver and he won't
be able to do what he needs to do. Garak turns off the water
when it reaches a high enough level and steps in. Not his usual
bath, but maybe afterwards he can relax in a hot one. He thinks
about adding some lavender to the water but he isn't certain it won't
do more harm than good, so omits it for now. He has a chilled
bottle of gel on the edge of the tub that should be soothing, a small
hand mirror, and a soft mouth guard he can bite down on if necessary.

    Garak
lays back and lets his muscles relax group by group, squeezing his
toes and releasing again, rolling his shoulders, until he feels ready
to start contemplating his goal. He breathes slowly at first,
then more quickly as he thinks about what it is going to feel like.
Something tickles at his neck and he finds a few scales peeling there
in response to the warmth and moisture. He rubs away the
bothersome skin, scratches at a few places where he suspects more may
be threatening to slough away and lets them disappear into the
water. From his chest down he slowly starts to tighten
everything, his shoulders, arms, then down through his abdomen and
just that tiny pressure sends prickling electric pain up his trunk,
and Garak gasps a little. He doesn't loosen his pose though,
and a second later he squeezes again. His insides are warring
with him, but with his teeth clenched he begins to push in earnest.
The head emerges a little from his swollen opening and it feels like
fire. He lets a little whimper escape from his teeth and lifts
his legs up over the edges of the tub to make more room. It
probably looks ridiculous, but it hurts enough that he really doesn't
care how he looks to the empty room. In fact, as he pushes, it
hurts enough that he wouldn't care if someone walked in the door this
very minute. He isn't giving up now. If he stops it will
be just that much harder to get going again. He pushes gently,
and on a normal day it doesn't take more than a gentle push to
unsheathe himself, but he can not be gentle enough today. The
head escapes and he can just see it under the water. He keeps
the muscles timidly poised where they are and takes a couple of gulps
of air, then continues. More and more it slips out into the
water, and the water seems to be a good temperature, the section that
is out is relatively pain free - it's just getting it there that
hurts. A few more quick breaths and Garak pushes again, letting
out a strangled cry at the end as the cords take hold of him. A
little saliva runs out of his mouth, and he sits up quickly to keep
his half-hard member from falling forward and slapping his stomach.
That would hurt. He takes a lot of slow shaky breaths now, and
groans at the relief. His feet are getting cold out of the
water so he cautiously brings them back in with his knees bent and
plenty of room in between. He's bright red and swollen, and
healthy-looking. Garak shakily squeezes a thick layer of gel
onto his fingers and endeavors to lift it. The gel won't last
long in the water, but will hopefully cushion his fingertips enough
that he will be able to inspect the underside. Two gelled
fingers beneath the head, and it protests with pinching pain again,
but only briefly, then he lifts it up out of the water. The
temperature change and the difference between wet and not wet is a
little uncomfortable too, but he only needs a quick glance with the
mirror in his other hand positioned under the shaft to assure himself
that after tonight, the worst is over. There are no signs of
any infection or damage from the swelling. Now all he has to do
to prepare for tomorrow is get off.

    Right.

    More
gel in his hand, covering the whole of his palm this time, Garak
breathes deeply and carefully takes his cock in hand. The pain
is actually delayed a few seconds, probably by the cold gel, but soon
engulfs him. Garak's stomach muscles contract more or less
involuntarily, and his hand claws away from his cock. He holds
his breath as the pain washes away in waves, and then breathes
quickly through his teeth when it is manageable again. He shakes a
little as he recovers and then picks up the mirror again to take a
second look. There is nothing there that should hurt that
much. The startling redness, though out of place, just doesn't
look bad enough that the pain makes sense, but he supposes that is
what everyone thinks. How bad can it be? Then it happens
to them and for a few hours at least, they regret ever meeting the
person who inspired this affliction.

    He
turns the mirror on himself. "Garak," he says
severely to the man in the mirror. "If you don't do this
now, tomorrow is going to be very disappointing. Last
time was twenty years ago. You are a lot stronger now than you
were then. And aside from that fact, last time is immaterial.
Do what you have to do, or lose it all." A moment of
looking Garak seriously in the eye, and he puts the mirror down.

    The
soft pads of his fingertips feel like stinging barbs, and Garak's
strangled cries bounce violent echoes around the empty room.



~*~

    Julian's
mind keeps wandering off to the sculpted ridge of his neck. He
wants to know where it stops exactly, and what begins after it.
He knows where it ends, he's studied Cardassian anatomy, but seeing a
picture of some random, long-dead Cardassian model is not seeing
Elim.

    He
keeps himself busy the rest of the day with some spur of the moment
training activities. As long as he stays out of his office,
forces himself into action, the day seems to go by a little faster,
and there is less opportunity for his head to fill up with pictures
and unexpelled feelings. He can only divert himself in the
infirmary for so long, though. It is a finite amount of time
that even his staff will endure him patiently, humor his good
intentions and play along with unnecessary, tedious drills and
exercises. Marcia is even quiet and humorless after about three
hours. She and the other four nurses just don't seem to see the
need in his face, behind his smile, nor the need for yet another
lesson in the minutiae of naso-orbital-ethmoid fracture treatment.

    When
he finally gets back to his quarters, the door shuts behind him with
a sigh mimicking his own. What follows is a burning itch and a
tremor in his limbs like an electric shock. No word yet from
Elim. He wants to know when. How. Where.
When. He checks for messages on his computer terminal, then
checks again. Then checks to make sure his messages are getting
through. He considers calling him again, then fidgets as he
eats a creole dish he barely tastes before it's gone. It's not
really late yet, but Julian is ready for bed, ready to get the day
done with, though he doubts it will go quietly.

    He
gets in the shower with the sonic off and just stands with his head
under the spray, letting the water like a million tiny fingers
tapping him in the face and forehead drown out as much of his
thoughts that he can hear. The water deafens him, but it
doesn't stop his mind from racing from one possibility to the next,
stress amplifying in the echoey chamber of his bathroom.

    Julian
shakes it off and washes perfunctorily from head to toe before taking
a slick hand and running it around his groin from left to right, then
sliding gentle fingers through the hair and under to cradle his
balls. He sighs, and his brain shuts up for a moment.
That was all he was really looking for. Some peace in between
his ears. If rubbing himself raw between his legs will achieve
that, so be it.

    Julian
leans forward to prop himself up against the wall, forehead to the
cold tile, running an achingly slow hand down his length. His
thoughts butt in once, wondering if Elim does this in the shower
too. His cock jerks a little in his grasp and he pets it down
again. His bones and muscles don't seem to want to support him
anymore now that no one is looking. Everything feels as heavy
as his cock in his hand and Julian slides into the corner of the
shower, brow against the wall, hips cocked to let his arm rest on
one. The other arm comes up to cushion his head. Not
terribly comfortable, but his back is lax and enjoying the warm water
snaking like rolling strings of beads down his flanks. Steam
rises around him and when he closes his eyes he stops seeing it, but
he can feel it come in disorderly puffs into his face, fuzzing
against his nose like a bubbling drink, then gone again, leaving
cool, crisp air in its place while it springs up in the space between
his arm and ear, tickling and burdening the hair on his forearm,
brushing his face featherlight, sending a shiver up his back.
Julian squeezes with his right hand and the steam seems to pass right
through him this time. The heat rises up from heel to groin,
then slows as it loses momentum, crawling with blushing fingers to
his cheeks before his head starts to swim in it and his cock throbs
in response.

    He
stands like this, body bent and limbs twisted hard into a knotty
shape like a tree embroiled with vines, such that the water finds a
favorite path to travel along his body and warms those parts red and
leaves the rest of his skin cold and exposed. The raw
distinction in those places is distracting, but he can almost imagine
fire and ice in the lines where they meet. The slight
involuntary movements of his frame under the spray change the path of
the hot water and it singes his skin in the cold spots. He
breathes open-mouthed as water has broken over his hair and is
running over his nose. The pull of it on his lips is subtle but
with his eyes closed and the focus of his senses lying at the surface
of his skin, he can feel the weight change and the pressure drop
around his face as the water trills off of him. He wets his
tongue in the stream. The water has long since washed away any
trace of sweat or salt from his skin. All he can taste is
water, and it makes him realize he is thirsty. He tips his
stiff neck up to take a sip from the spray. Hot water always
tastes thin to him, unsatisfying, but it is enough for the moment.

    Realizing
how long he has been just standing there, he concentrates, feeds the
pictures in his head, some of Elim, some of other people, people he
has imagined once in a while just for this purpose only, but the
sound of the water starts to take on patterns in his ears, like
voices and music. Distracting, enchanting, lulling. He
can snap his attention forward again to his cock, the skin rolling
over the shaft and the rough skipping of his wrinkled fingerprints on
the head, but it startles him away from that pinnacle too, and he has
to build it up again. So he does, and lets his mind slip away
to nights long past, to skin he's touched before, lips he's sucked
between his own. His mouth waters, indistinguishable from the
hot water except in density. Then he is sliding in drunken slow
motion in a cluster of bodies. Naked skin glittering, maybe it
is his own wet skin he sees, maybe not. Dancing hips halt on
the apex of their swing before turning away and snaking back with a
tantalizing curtain covering what he wants to see and feel.
Then he slips too far. The water is spattering at his feet
yelling nonsense syllables and commands over and over. It is
tinkling on the metal bar at his waist, sounding like a marching band
drawing ever closer but never reaching him, and it is dribbling from
the shower head to the drain in a perfect arpeggio, sounds like a
burbling whistle below the thousands of voices crowding his ears.
He tries to make them out, any of them, but they are like forgotten
faces in a dream. He shakes his head again.

He keeps slipping into this meditative state too soon. While
interesting and relaxing, it does not seem like it is going to help
him get off. At least not here where the stimulus is so
chaotic. By the time Julian gets out of the shower he is
waterlogged but no closer to alleviating his frustration than before
he got in.

    Naked,
still damp, and too hard to sleep, Julian lays down on his cool
sheets to try again. The only thing wrong with masturbation is
that it's a closed system. You have to provide the stimulation
and receive it as well. Even a genetically enhanced human can't
do anything to improve that situation. Even Julian fails to
clear his head enough to get off now and then. He really really
hopes tonight won't be one of those nights.

    He
knows what he wants, at least. These days it isn't nameless,
objectless arousal. He wants the man a few floors up and down
the hall. The man with the evil bright eyes that haunt his
thoughts even when they're nowhere around. He wants those
strong hands on his hips, and for now, his own hands can press down
on the bones there and he can pretend they are Elim's light touch.
He...still can not imagine much more of his body than he has seen.
Putting the image of someone else'e body there seems odd. A bad
idea since, hopefully, he'll have a real mental image to finish the
puzzle pretty soon. So for now he wants what he can see.
He wants those elegant ridges against his own face. He wants to
feel the bony curve against his cheekbone and jaw and the kiss of
skin on skin between, and he wants soft lips to tease with kisses
down his chest just as he does with his own fingertips now.
Then he gasps a little, and smiles at the improvisation of his own
imagination as he sees Elim behind his eyes rub those ridges against
his cock. It sways and jerks up to meet his face, and Elim rubs
an eye ridge beneath the glans, then runs his nose down the underside
of his cock to press the head against the relief of his rebec.
Julian rubs his knuckles against the shaft and hears a tiny wanton
noise escapes his own throat.

    He
remembers the other day. Tries to remember just those few
minutes instead of the whole day. Elim's mouth was cool.
Cooler than he expected simply because he was taken so completely
off-guard. If he had thought about it for even a minute, it
would have made more sense. Elim had been at work all day in
the cold station. His body temperature would be relatively
low. Julian opens his nightstand drawer and gets a handful of
gel, smooths it on with a sigh. It's cold, but only briefly.
Elim's mouth warmed up quickly too. Friction he supposes, maybe
a burst of epinephrine, a reaction to arousal. Julian turns at
the shoulder and wrist to put the web of his thumb and forefinger
down around his cock first, a tight opening into the softer chamber
of his hand. He hums low and listens to the reverberation of
his own voice in the room. Down and up like Elim did, then he
runs his thumb around the head and tries to recall his tongue.

    He
remembers a flash of Elim's face, lips tight around him, eyes shut
lightly. He can't quite pull out any more images. He
knows he ended up laying down at some point, but the memory is fuzzy,
and swells of heat come to his cheeks because he remembers how good
it felt, even if he can't remember seeing much after that.
Julian tries to make his palm drag up his cock the way Elim's tongue
did, flat and soft. He urges the uncomplicated pleasure up and
over, shaping it like soft dough in his mind with the same strokes
his fingers use to attempt to shape his cock to encompass his whole
body. That is what it feels like at the best of times, when he
can make the rest of him just an extension of that part of him that
seems to give him so much easy and simple pleasure, connects him to
life.

    He
can remember making love with Leeta too. Some nights were
perfect and unscripted and she would be uncharacteristically quiet.
All that would transpire between them for communication was the
gentle pat of skin, and Julian would sweat as he held himself on
stiff arms, head up and eyes closed, imagining himself reduced to
nothing but a swollen organ, loved and adored by the part that was
made to love him and treat him with a soft, yielding touch and sweet
slickness over ribbed, smooth muscle.

    Julian's
hips rotate seemingly without his volition, and he eventually turns
over to give in to their desire to move and direct these more
primitive functions of his body, relieving his sophisticated and
literate hands. They were made for other things. He lets
his face be smashed against the pillow as he keeps his body awkwardly
posed on one hand, while the other coils tightly, ready to receive
him. He rocks his hips forward, pushing his cock through a
tight grasp and hums a little into the pillow. It's easier,
this way, to feel like he's there. His hips connect with his
fist, and though it nearly topples him occasionally, the illusion is
nice. Gravity pulls the blood down in his cock to the head,
tightening the skin and making that slip over his fingertips a little
sweeter, a little sharper.

    He
wants Elim. He whimpers a little into the pillow and that want
beckons him forward into the frustrated plateau he knows so well.
His hips and hand work in tandem now, slapping wetly but quietly
under the sound of his breathing. He can not conjure images of
Elim's body or the look and feel of his sex, but if he listens, and
he does now, deep enough into the heat and fantasy to let his mind
go, eyes shut lightly against the faint light from the bathroom,
sweat starting to break out across his back; every little sound can
become something else. The slap of his skin and the friction of
his fingers on his cock, the slight murmur of the bed, the air
rushing past his teeth; they can all whisper Elim's words if he lets
them. "I want to hurt you. I want to bite you.
I want to scratch you."

    Julian
rumbles deep in his chest and things seem to quake around him or
within him. He shifts then, because this can be better, he
knows. He's very close, and he got there pretty quickly once he
set his mind to it, so he isn't quite ready to let it go. He
lowers his chest to the bed and rests his weight on knees and
shoulders. It makes that delicious thrusting of his hips almost
impossible, but it frees up his other hand which goes to his mouth.
"I want to hit you. With my hands."

    He
wants Elim. Wants him like there is no tomorrow, wants
to know finally what he will do to him. Wants to know what it's
like to be possessed by such a person, to let him take control and
see where he leads them. Julian's fingers wet, he reaches back
and slides them down his tailbone to the heated space there both
begging for and leery of attention. He rubs a wet finger across
the sensitive skin and delights at how easy it is to imagine it is
not his own. He sees little more than flashes behind his eyes
now, skin, sex, sweat. Hears words in the rhythmic pants coming
from his lips, though in another man's voice. "When we
make love..." He imagines Elim's face gritted fiercely
through his orgasm as if he had seen it before, detailed and
believable, and Julian presses a fingertip at his opening, feels it
give and then resist minutely, and then comes.

    He's
moaning nonsense and his body jerks over and over, abdomen and back
pulling him in and springing out as he rolls over, unable to maintain
his posture. His cock throbs and seems to send pulses of white
light along an invisible line up the front of his body to the back of
his eyes. He distantly hears the sound of his own dry gasps and
doesn't stifle them, lets them ring out loud because he knows Elim
will want to hear him. The urge to force air through his vocal
chords and between tightly clinched teeth would not usually overwhelm
his urge to keep his voice down, but tonight, he lets a melancholy
growl escape half into the pillow in three or four bursts. He has
enough sense to catch his mess in the palm of his hand, but his hips
rock without his consent into his fist a few times, smearing it over
his cock. Julian cracks his eyes open just a hair, still
sparkling along the last half second of orgasm, and on reflection,
hot come on his cock doesn't sound like such a bad idea, so Julian
pants and slicks his hand down his whole length, reminding him of
Elim's devilish tongue once more. Julian strokes himself for
only half as long as Elim managed to before he can not make himself
do it anymore. Just too damn much. Somehow, it's too
good, so good it hurts.

    He's
sweaty and messy and parched again. Perhaps moreso now than
before he got in the shower. Hair is still wet from the first
one. And it's late. Really late. He managed to far
overspend his early night trying to get his head back on top of his
shoulders. And now he needs another shower.

    Julian
rolls out of bed after a moment of drowsy consideration and stumbles
toward the pale light of the bathroom. The shower comes back on
with a sound like an echo of an explosion from light years away.
He washes again, quickly, and climbs into bed bemoaning the small
amount of sleep he has allotted for himself now. He's had
nights like this before, too. He rolls over under the sheets,
yawn-grumbles and thinks it may yet be one of those nights he just
can not find any peace simply because he will be thinking about how
little sleep he is going to have to function on tomorrow, dreading
the long day ahead so much that he won't be able to close his eyes
much less....

~*~

    Julian
hears the comm chime suddenly at ten AM through his open office door
from his post at an exam table. He hears it loud and clear but
doesn't move a muscle in that direction. His hands work
steadily, eyes focused and narrow. It chimes again, and he
could swear his ears tic at the sound. A Bajoran child of less
than ten probably wouldn't appreciate the restraint Julian is
exhibiting, not leaping for that door the instant he heard that
Pavlov's bell, but she probably wouldn't appreciate it either if he
slipped with his dermal regenerator and accidentally erased her
freckles instead of the scrape on her cheek. Going around each
tiny caramel colored spot with the regenerator on the finest beam, he
knew it was gong to take a while, and he knew it was gong to be a
thankless job, and he knew it was going to take a ream of patience to
keep her still for that long.

    But
he didn't know it was gong to make him miss the call.

    That
is Elim. He knows it is. For one thing, the timing
is impeccably wrong. While Julian has waited four long days to
hear that sound and prepared himself for the inevitability of it
coming at an inopportune moment, he has still managed to catch him
during the only ten minute span in that whole four days that he has
been genuinely occupied. And there is just something about the
tone of the chime that makes Julian completely confident that it is,
in fact, Elim. It just sounds sneaky.

    Julian
fights back a stupid smirk and hopes little Tayor Amra can't see it
in her peripheral vision. She sniffles just a little, the
remnant of a few tears in her eyes when she came in, and his thumb
comes off the trigger, then back on when the minute movement has
ended.
    At least the little boy who pushed her
down got what was coming to him. Marcia saw the whole thing,
and Julian saw Marcia. That will the be the last time in a long
time that boy picks on the girls. She stands at the door to the
infirmary now, waiting for Julian to finish so she may escort the
girl back to her quarters.
    He finishes the
delicate work moating around all her freckles, and then changes the
setting of the regenerator to do the freckles themselves.
Finished, he puts the instrument down and runs a gentle thumb over
the spot. She doesn't wince, and he can't feel a thing, like
there was never anything there but perfectly ageless skin. Like
an illusion. He's surprised too, that the freckles have no
palpability either. He doesn't know many people that have
freckles. He knows they aren't supposed to be raised, but it's
still surprising somehow that a surface so extravagantly dappled with
color could be so soft and smooth. This too, illusory.

"Good as new," he says, and the big-eyed child looks at
him, touches her face. Julian smiles because she doesn't, but
then loses control of his facial expression when she silently, fast
as a rabbit, leans in and kisses him on the cheek. Before he
can say anything or respond in any way she is sliding down off the
table and prancing toward the door. Marcia is there, a
sentinel. She is just as visibly surprised when the girl
reaches up for her, though not too far, because it is Marcia, and
kisses her too when she comes within range.

Well. Julian doesn't know everything, does he.

    The
two just look at each other from across the room with weird smiles,
and for almost a whole second, Julian forgets about the call.
"I'll be right back," Marcia says, and takes Amra by the
hand.

    As
soon as they're out the door though, Julian is bounding into his
office and bringing up his message. The text reads simply and
enigmatically, "Good morning, Doctor." Julian calls
back and realizes he has begun to sweat a little in the time it takes
Elim to answer.

    "Ah.
There you are."

    "Hi.
Sorry, I was tied up."

    "Not
a problem, my dear. I wanted to ask you..." Elim
looks around inside the small view screen image.

    Julian
gets the hint and smiles faintly. "There's no one here."

    "Would
you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

    An
innocuous question, yes, but Julian's response is not, at least not
internally. He is glad they are alone. He grins and
replies softly, "Yes. I would."

    "In
my quarters?"

    Julian's
smile slips, but then he picks it back up again even as his heart
starts skipping. "Sure." He wasn't expecting
that at all. That invitation comes with an implication, whether
Elim intended it or not. It means he needs to bring something.
He also never expects to have no ideas whatsoever when it comes to
things like this, but none are immediately forthcoming as Julian
stoops, looking wide-eyed at the screen.

    "When
will you be free?"

    "Um..."
His shift ends at nineteen hundred. He could conceivably run
the distance to Elim's door in about a minute and a half - or even
use the transporter - but, as he smiles at Elim who is undoubtedly
thinking his friend has gone mad over the past few days, why else
would he be grinning like a skull, he thinks he might want to shower
and get changed at least before sprinting to his door. And
there is still the matter of finding something to bring with him.
"How about twenty-one hundred?"

    "That
sounds fine." Julian nods and doesn't know what else to
say. Someone could walk in the door at any moment. "I'll
see you then," Elim says softly, and something about that
softness in his voice, both gentile and somehow ominous, turns
Julian's head to mush.
    He's smacking the heels
of his hands together before he knows it as he paces aimlessly
through the infirmary. He has a highly complicated and vital
process to plan, and he thinks better on his feet, dammit.
Marcia asks him, advises him to go read a book or something
after about fifteen minutes of that. At least she still seems
convinced that it is mere boredom causing his behavior and not
something else. Something she could be grilling him about to
dispel their ennui and give her material with which to entertain
their future guests.
    He has hours to go, and
really nothing to fill them but thinking. He realizes the
danger of over-analysing this, but when he pulls his prion research
up on the screen in his office, he can't keep his mind focused on it
long enough to even fully review his last results never mind make any
progress.
    Instead he finds himself trying
to decide what he is going to wear. When in doubt, Julian
always just showed up at any kind of social event in his uniform.
Living on Starfleet property, it's perfectly acceptable in all but
the most formal occasions, and certainly the most casual. Plus
if you are always in uniform, it makes you seem more dedicated.
Not that he needs a facade, but rather he needs to live up to the
extraordinary expectations of his coworkers. Elim...has no such
expectations, and in fact, he being a tailor, sort of, probably has
some other expectations of him. Julian doesn't think he owns
more than a handful of things from Elim's shop, nor is he certain
that Elim would like to see him in those things. Some of them
are quite old now, some of them inappropriate for the occasion.
He thinks it might be just tacky or overexerted on his part to go out
of his way to wear one of those items. He'll have to scour his
closet when he gets home. Maybe he'll find some gem at the
bottom that he forgot he owned.
    And there is
the friction issue. Julian feels slightly dizzy thinking
about it. He thinks when he gets home he is also going to try
to take care of that, but he wonders what Elim's reaction might, or
will be when he sees the change. It will be obvious why he did
it. He just doesn't like his motivations to be laid bare like
that. It seems he has no choice though but to do the things he
needs to do to make this as perfect as he can. In the process
he is going to be exposed in more ways than one, but it will be worth
it.
    The only thing left to decide then, is the
gift.
    Naturally the first thought is to
wine. It's the traditional offering when invited to someone's
home for dinner in many cultures, not just Earth, Cardassia too.
He just doesn't want to do that again right away. The last
bottle of wine...was complicated. He doesn't want to conjure
that night even if it did in a way get them to where they are now.
Elim will have something anyway, and if he thinks it is appropriate,
they'll have wine.
    Then there is music.
He could bring over some Chopin. He doesn't think Elim has
heard much of him. But the truth is, Julian's stomach clenches
at the idea of walking through the door and handing him a data rod,
chit-chatting about Chopin's influences and how he compares to Bach
and Gul Grisin. As if this is an ordinary dinner date. As
if they could hope to have a discussion on an unheated, unloaded
topic at this point.
    Julian has to calm his
breathing every time he thinks about how close, how far away tonight
is. It's approaching. It's not approaching fast enough.
It's approaching. Julian feels himself breaking a slight
sweat and he wonders how he smells. Elim smells fantastic.
God he smells fantastic. He inhales deeply but all he smells is
the infirmary and the Klingon restaurant. Flowers.
Flowers smell good. Flowers? He tests that idea mentally
as well. The door slides open, Julian grins above a bobbing
bouquet. No.
    There are shops on the
promenade, the contents of which he knows by heart, the inventory
never changes, but he runs through each one during his lunch break
anyway in vain hope.
    He can only blame himself
for not anticipating this. And maybe it isn't the end of the
world, but if tonight is going to be everything it can be, he is
going to have to shrug off a little pride and ask for help, but
quickly.

.......

    "Doctor.
How can I help you," Sisko purrs from his desk chair, bitten
apple in his hand at the moment instead of his baseball.

    "If
you were invited to dinner with someone, a private dinner at their
quarters, what would you bring? As a gift."

    "A
bottle of wine?"

    Julian
purses his lips. "Anything else?"

    "A
smile," he says with one, gleaming, though slightly evil because
he knows he's not being helpful, and though he doesn't know why, he
also doesn't care why. It's fun, Julian knows. He has a
little evil in him too. Julian returns it tight-lipped and
nods.

    The
door whisks quietly open then closed again. Julian's steps are
light and percussive on the stairs down to the busy ops pit.

    "Dax,"
he hails.

    "Julian,"
she acknowledges.

    "Gift."

    "Yes."

    "For
a dinner host."

    "Wine."

    "No."

    "No?"

    "No."

    A
pause. "...Nothing."

    "Why."

    "If
I'm not comfortable bringing the party, it must be because the party
is already there."

    Julian
laughs as he sinks down the turbolift shaft.

.......

    "Good
evening, Colonel."

    "Good
evening Doctor how can I help you in ten words or less."

    Julian
counts on his fingers.
"I-need-a-gift-idea-as-a-private-dinner-guest."

    "Bottle
of wine."

    "Something
else."

    "I'm
sorry Doctor you've exceeded your word limit." Kira grins
as she furiously punches at the padd strapped to her forearm.

    "Come
on."

    "No
idea."

    "Come
on."

    "I
don't know. Why not wine?"

    "It
would be...inappropriate in this case."

    "Who
are you having dinner with, your grandmother?"

    "Noooo,"
he whines and continues standing there.

    Kira
sighs and stops working. "Flowers?"

    "Ick."

    "That's
all I have. Why don't you ask Odo. He's the romantic
one."

.......

    Julian
aims for the door of the Security office, then diverts his course
suddenly and heads in another direction, randomly. You don't
have time for this, Jules. Then he turns on his heels and
back at Odo's door. Then he stops, pivots twice, and
indecisively sidesteps toward the door again until it opens
automatically and he is committed. Odo looks up and addresses
him with his sly curious gruff. "Doctor?"

    Julian
doesn't like hiding things. Especially from Odo. It's
hard. Even for Julian.
    "What
can I do for you?" he asks plainly.
    "Um.
Just a question."
    "Alright."

"If you were invited to dinner at someone's quarters," and
as he says it he realizes how ridiculous and strange it is to ask Odo
this, but continues because he is definitely committed now, "what
would you bring?"
    Odo pauses long.
"I don't know. Who's quarters are we talking about?"

"Anyone."
    "Well is it Colonel
Kira, is it the Captain? It would all depend on the host and
the other guests-"
    "No other
guests."
    "Ok. Who's the
host?"
    Julian knows he's stupid. At
least he has that. "No one. Never mind. Thank
you."
.......
    Lunch over, the infirmary
welcomes him back with not so much as a bump on the head or an aching
Ferengi earlobe. Marcia is reading when he comes back in, and
watches him from the corner of her eye as if Odo had managed to brief
her in the time it took to walk back the forty meters from Security.
He thinks about asking her too...
    Julian
may be stupid but he knows enough not to approach a woman with a look
like that on her face. And he gets to look at that face
scrutinizing him for the next four hours. Maybe the review on
Romulan stomach acid chemistry was taking it too far today.

~*~

    He
is out the door at nineteen hundred on the dot and begins his journey
on the promenade. There is even less to look at now than there
was at the peak of the day, unsurprisingly. Most of the shops
are closed this time of night, and it doesn't seem that a fairy tale
merchant is going to approach him and offer him some otherworldly
item or curiosity for a pittance that will be exactly what he's been
searching for. Julian stops outside a darkened jewelry store
with Betazed pearls in the lighted display case, and spins around in
a slow circle. He doesn't even know what he is looking for.
The only place open besides the restaurants is Quark's, so lacking
another plan, that is where he goes.

    It's
busy inside. Many people have the next few days off, the
weekend approaching, and the gratitude festival right around the
corner. Miles is laughing with some of the boys from the day
shift engineering crew over glasses of something blue and fizzy.
Leeta smiles at him as she passes by the doorway on her way back to
the bar, swiftly and deftly navigating the flow of patrons with a
tray dangling from one hand. Morn does not hide his
appreciation when she leans over the bar directly to his left to
fetch an ale, but she is gone in a flash and he resumes what sounds
like his three hour version of the story of the time he accidentally
married a Flaxian. Julian sneaks past and occupies a clear spot
of the floor nowhere in particular between the bar and the small
stage in the center of the establishment. Here he continues to
look around like a man setting foot in a Gothic cathedral for the
first time.

    The
smell of spilled alcohol is stronger today than usual. It
probably indicates a recent visit by a party of Klingons. Or
Quark is having trouble keeping waiters with good reflexes. Or
both. The music piped in from the box behind the bar is
cheerful and inane. The dabbo table is spinning and busy as a
beehive. None of this is inspiring him.

"You look lost, Doctor," Quark says, nudging the air in his
direction with his chin.

    "I
think I am," Julian replies, absently.

    "Have
a seat, what can I get you?"

    He
takes a warm seat at the bar and straddles it. "I
need...and idea, Quark."

    "An
idea," he says, disbelieving. "Ideas are a dime a
dozen--and you can't drink an idea."

    Julian
makes a noncommittal noise and looks around, grasping for something.
Anything.

    He
hears Quark sigh. "Fine. If I give you an idea will
you order a drink?"

    Julian
looks back at him, studies his blank Ferengi face. Seems like
an odd but fair exchange. "Alright."

    "What
kind of idea do you need?"

    "I
need to get a gift for someone."

 
"Oh," Quark perks up. "Well that's easy."
Quark bends down behind his bar and produces a tall red bottle in an
impossibly complicated shape, adorned with green and blue labels and
tassels, a gift tag, and and antigrav suspender to keep it standing
upright as it would not be able to do without it. "This is
from Lissepia, 2365, a very very good year for Lissepian wine.
Right, Morn? Just one single strip of latinum, for you Doctor.
A special price, just for you."

    Julian
makes a face.

    There
is a distinct pause in which Julian does not react. "Well?"

    "No,
thank you, Quark."

    "Well.
I tried. Now what will you have?"

    "I'll
have a glass of water."

    Quark
rolls his eyes and pours the water, leaving him without a word.
Julian doesn't touch it. Instead he gets up after Quark has
found another person to throw his pitch at, a young couple on a date
at the corner table. Julian wanders over toward the table where
Miles is sitting. Miles spots him approaching and ushers him
over. "Julian! Come join us."

    "No,
that's alright Chief, I'm just here to say 'Hi.'"

    "Don't
be ridiculous. Sit down. Have a drink with us."

    "No,
really I..."

    "Come
on come on."

    Julian
sits at an empty spot that appears for him, muttering quiet thanks to
the young officers who move to make room for him.

    "Now,
my friend Julian here is a perfect example," Miles continues,
apparently, with the conversation he had been leading before Julian
arrived. "The only man I know who can calculate, in his
head, the inertial dampening field necessary to stop a comet
fragment in the shape of a sixty meter Klingon targ, using the
deflectors on six separate shuttles all with varying degrees of
phaser damage and unstable main power grids, while being chased
around the room by a mad Bolean with a pair of clippers. The
rest of the table is fit to burst with laughter, but they hold back
because they know that he has not yet reached the punchline.
"He can do all that, but he can't remember the second verse of
'Jerusalem.'" Then they start laughing, and few
just titter because they don't know any of the words to
Jerusalem, or they've never heard of Jerusalem because they
are Bajoran or Benzite.
    "I remember the
words! What are you talking about?" Julian says
through a laugh, wondering how long Miles has been here and how much
of that blue stuff he's had.

    "Then
why do you always sing it wrong?"

    They
laugh again and Julian smiles and shakes his head.

    "But
seriously," Miles says, addressing an ensign Julian does not
recognise, probably fresh from the academy, "Despite his flaws,
a finer doctor, a finer man, you'll never find in all of Starfleet."
Julian smirks modestly and Miles claps him on the shoulder.

    "You're
in a good mood," Julian says privately to the man. The
others are filtering out, refilling their drinks.

    Miles
shrugs. "Gotta live life while you can," he says, and
smiles, takes another swig of his drink. He's been like this
ever since Captain Cusak's funeral. Julian isn't sure if its a
good thing or a bad thing, but he isn't worried just yet.

    He
tries to change the subject. "That any good?"
he motions toward the blue drink.

    "I
dunno. I've only had five of them. Haven't decided yet,"
he says with another silly half-smile. "What brings you
here if you weren't planning on staying?"

"I'm...lost."
    Miles blinks at him
once. "The station directory is right over there..."

Julian smiles at him patiently and Miles returns it.

"I need an idea. I really good idea."

"Self-replicating beer," he says immediately.

"Chief, are you drunk?"
    "I'm
Irish. I can't get drunk."
    Julian
tries again. "I need a really good idea-" he stops
the chief's imminent interruption with a wide gape and a deep
expectant breath, "-for a gift."
    "For
whom?"
    "Just a gift to be presented
to a host at dinner."
    "Bottlawine."

"No."
    "Flowers?"

"Definitely not."
    The chief pauses.
"Chocolate?"
    Julian huffs a little.
"Replicated chocolate? That's classy."

"Not replicated."
    "The dinner is
tonight. I need something now. None of the promenade
shops are open. They wouldn't have anything good anyway."

The chief turns then, reaches behind his chair to the tiny wall bar
where Abdon has his drink precariously perched with nearly thirty
percent of the bottom hanging off the edge. Julian watches as
he bumps the drink a little, watches the yellow liquid slosh within
the confines of the glass, miraculously not fall off the counter nor
spill outside of the full glass, and then continues to watch with
interest as Miles pulls a little box from the space out of Julian's
sight. He tosses it to land in front of his doctor friend and
picks up his drink again.
    Julian can smell the
chocolate.
    "Kira got Keiko hooked on
Rigelian chocolate."
    "Oh,"
Julian says. "Why aren't you giving these to Keiko
then?"
    "Because these are Rigellian
chocolates."
    "Oh," he says
again.
    Miles shrugs. "Rigelian,
Rigellian, Terellian, Xyrillian. I don't know. She knows
the difference and she doesn't like these."

Julian opens the little box to reveal a small stack of hand made
chocolate pieces. Miniature ingots in glossy sorrel. They
smell fantastic, and Julian grins and stands. "Chief!
you're the greatest."
    Miles chuckles as
Julian runs off with his prize, and says into the waiting mouth of
his glass, "That's why they call me The Chief."

~*~


"Well, here we are."
    "Did you
bring it?"
    Garak motions with the very
obvious package in his hand. Marcia has not removed the look of
skepticism from her face.
    "What has he
been up to?"
    "He's been driving me
crazy. And everyone else in the infirmary, too."

"In what way?"
    "Pacing.
Humming. Thinking out loud. Trying to get the rest of us
to entertain him by inventing work for us all to do, and then leaving
us to finish it after he runs out the door the second his shift is
over."
    "Has he mentioned anything to
you?"
    "He has doubts, but nothing
specific he will directly tell me. Which I'm kinda glad about,
frankly." Garak is about to look displeased but Marcia
cuts him off. "I didn't do anything to make him
feel he couldn't talk to me. But I didn't encourage it either.
I don't like this sneaking around. I like Julian. I don't
want to barter with his trust." She eyes the package.

"And I promised that my intentions are worthy and that I would
not breathe a word of this transaction, my dear. Is there
anything else you can tell me?"
    She thinks
a moment, the haughty, guilty look in her eyes says she wants to say
more than she shall, but she gets to the meat of it at least.
"He's afraid. But in love."

Garak smiles ever so slightly, bows, and turns the flat box into
Marcia's waiting hands.

~*~

   First
things first. Julian tosses the little chocolate box gently to
the interface of his computer terminal where he won't forget it.
It lands on the amber security settings keypad and slides down to the
lip where it stays backlit by the red comm buttons. He
undresses on his way to the bathroom, tossing his uniform and
everything under it into the laundry receptacle in a great wad.
He starts the shower, and takes his shaver inhibitor from its holder
by the sink. This should be interesting. He considers the
possibility that he may end up accomplishing this lying down on the
bathroom floor rather than standing up, but either way he needs to
get clean first.

    It
takes about five minutes to wash and another ten before he is
satisfactorily smooth, and then a few more to marvel at this
particular sensation he hasn't felt since he was too young and bald
to appreciate it. Just the water running over his skin is
astounding, and soapy hands - well, he has to get out of the shower
or he'd likely make himself late.
    Naked as the
day he was born, and really feeling it now, Julian sets about
objective number two: finding something to make him less naked, if
only temporarily. That giddiness is coming back and he stamps
it down, shivers a little in his shoulders and opens his closet.
He pulls on a pair of clean shorts and once again the newness, the
nakedness, more naked than he has been in a long time, is making him
tingle, and making his shorts too tight. He finds himself
twisting his hips idly as he scans his closet, enjoying the feeling
of smooth skin on smooth skin between his legs. It's
distracting, but eventually he pulls on some trousers, and then grins
when he spots that elusive forgotten gem he had been hoping for.
Nothing outrageous, just a simple light blue tunic of Elim's own
creation. He bought it ages ago when he went clothes shopping,
frantically, with Miles one day because he was supposed to go on a
date with Dr. Lense when the Lexington was here. She cancelled
though. He never thought to wear it again after that. It
was really just sort of an irritating reminder hanging in his
closet. Now it would finally fulfill its role. That being
to lie quietly on the floor at the end of the night.

~*~

    Julian
will be here soon. It's close enough now that Garak isn't
steeped in calm anymore. Far from it. His calm has
floated down the hall and out the airlock. He would like to
retrieve it but that doesn't seem likely. He was so happy this
morning. He had a spring in his step, the pain was gone, still
is. He felt fine, better than fine. He felt alive.
And then he met with Marcia and she told him exactly what he was
hoping to hear. Julian is acting like a love-sick fool.
Now he feels like dirt again.

    He
thinks about what is to come and his stomach knots. The mad
lust is abating, but he still fears that it is going to be difficult
to restrain himself. That the chances of him taking this too
far tonight seem very high. That unless he has severely
underestimated Julian's appetite and tolerance, this night could end
badly. It is beyond his control now. It's a bit like
watching himself do something stupid. He has done that before.
Powerless to curb his impulse as a young man, lusty and brazen, he
has watched himself flirt with death in the form of another man's
wife. And it wasn't surprising at all when he found himself
with a phaser burn just to the left of his heart. He watched it
happen as if he were a bystander and not a participant. This
feels much the same. As he places tall candle holders on the
table, and lays the cutlery, looking himself in the eye on the
mirrored surface of the knife in his own place setting, he can see
this all going too far. He can see himself with Julian at his
mercy, and granting none. He wants to break him down now.
And maybe, he reflects, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. To
give him a taste of what is to come down the road.

He can not possibly have any idea what he is getting into, can he?
Better that he know now rather than later when it is too late to turn
back, when Julian finds himself strung up and bleeding, victim of
Garak's unchecked whim. Perhaps it would be better this way.
It wouldn't take much. One crack across his back would probably
do it. Julian doesn't need any more reasons for people to be
afraid of him or to look on him with suspicion and doubt. Garak
has a chance here; to erase that. To turn him away from this
forever. And that is
about when it starts to feel too familiar again, a sickening
deja-vu. Garak looks at the wine glass on the crisp red table
cloth and realizes he has been here before. You're
doing it again.

How easy it is to slip back into old habits. It shocks him, and
he shudders just a little, realizing that the reason he has felt over
the past few days that he was watching himself behave completely
irrationally, was that he was preparing to sabotage this again.
The fact is, he wants this. He wants it more than
anything, but he's walking the line still between fighting for it and
deliberately jeopardizing it out of fear.

Julian is acting like a love-sick fool, and so is he.

He looks at the clock. Nineteen forty-five. Not much more
than an hour to pull himself together and understand what it is he is
doing.
    Garak sits on the end of his bed, trying
to wring the tremor out of his hands. He sees his reflection in
the mirror above his dresser, at the very bottom, looking like a
child who can only just see over the dresser top standing on his
toes.
    He takes a breath and addresses his
reflection. "This should be a very simple thing Garak.
You want this. He wants this. He is a grown man and can
choose for himself and any interference from you would be
disrespectful at the very least and simply wrong at the worst.
You are not going to lose control of this situation tonight.
You may want to lose control, but now is not the time for it.
You are going to show him that you can respect him. You are
going to make this good. Perfect. And he
will like it. He will respond and come back for more
because this will be good for both of you. This isn't a test.
This isn't the end of anything nor a step toward your martyrdom.
No one is going to lock you in a tiny closet for being what you are.
No one is going to tell you you're sick and depraved, not Julian, not
Tain, not anyone. And. While we're at it.
You are going to stop talking to yourself in the mirror, because
you're not going to convince anyone of your sanity this way, and if
Julian could see you now, he would have a good laugh at your expense
and possibly suggest medication."

~*~


He's actually early. He has a good twenty minutes to kill
before he is supposed to be there. Julian picks up his box of
chocolates and just hangs onto them so he doesn't forget them, then
looks in the mirror again, looks at his teeth, sits back down on the
side of his bed and fidgets. He wonders if he should try to get
off before he goes. He's flaming hot again, large and heavy,
and he spreads his legs a little as he sits. The action frees
up a little more room between his thighs, (which, a little moist,
stick together in an unconventional way now that there is no natural
coverage) but it also stretches the material of his trousers tight in
the crotch, pinning his cock back against his belly and putting
pressure on his balls. He groans just a little and rubs at
himself through his pants. It would be nice to go there with a
clear head. But he isn't certain that he could get off in the
amount of time he has, especially without breaking a significant
sweat and necessitating a fourth shower in two days. The other
consideration is later on tonight. He isn't worried that he
won't be able to get it back up, that's never been a problem for him,
but he isn't sure he'll be able to come again. Historically, he
is a once-a-day kind of guy. And while not coming wouldn't be
the worst outcome of those possible, he'd like to end the night
without any embarrassing explanations fouling it up or unsatisfying
conclusions. Tonight needs to be perfect. Besides, he
kind of likes to delay gratification, when he is reasonably certain
that gratification will in fact be coming eventually.

Julian decides to walk it off and leaves his quarters. He
strolls to the promenade, gets almost as far as Quark's when he
realizes he doesn't want to be there. He doesn't want to be
seen right now, in civilian clothing, carrying a box of chocolates.
People will ask questions, possibly even tie him up and make him
late. He doesn't want the female compliment of the infirmary
fawning over him and treating him like the young man out on his first
date, or even their superior out on a first date. Just, no.
So Julian turns on his heels and heads back sweaty-palmed and nervous
toward the habitat ring. He wanders around, walking briskly
through the empty halls, up a floor, down a floor, until he is
feeling energised and good. The walking clears his head quite a
bit, and he mentally congratulates himself on the idea. It's as
he meanders back toward Elim's door that he notices something odd
again, something not quite perfect with the way he feels as it had so
nearly been just a moment before.   It feels like he's been
carrying the chocolates for ages, and they smell really good; he's
getting hungry. He realises he hasn't eaten since breakfast,
he's been so preoccupied. Julian looks down at the little box
in his hand and realizes something else. He scowls. He
doesn't have to open the box, he can tell by the smudge on his
fingers, he's been warming them in his hot hand for a long time now,
(plus he left them on his warm computer console for quite a while
before that, he recalls with internal chagrin) time enough for them
to start melting and oozing out of the corner of the box. He
doesn't have to look, but he does, to inspect the damage, to see if
they're salvageable or if they have turned completely to goo.
He pulls the lid open and doesn't even get the chance to look
at them when his hands and their contents are jammed roughly into his
own chest.
    Jadzia yelps and bounces back.
"Julian!" She gapes a second. Julian freezes
with a frown on his face and his mess clutched to his chest, his
shirt. He peels it away a second later, and Jadzia stifles it
for another second or two before she starts laughing. Just a
titter that she squelches between pressed lips at first, but he can
tell by her face there is more where that came from. He looks
her in the face, sees smiling eyes at odds with the forced frown.
"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "I didn't see you
there. I was looking at my..." She gestures with a
stack of padds in her hands. "Are you off somewhere?
Oh! You were on your way to your date weren't you?"
She gapes some more. He doesn't need to say anything
apparently, but he feels he should.
    "Yes."

The laughter is bubbling out now and she covers her mouth.
"Look at you," she says through laughter and a hand.
He is covered in chocolate. It almost looks intentional there
is so much of it. She recovers herself, mostly, then says,
"Julian, I'm so sorry. Why don't you come with me, we can
try to find you something of Worf's to wear. Maybe he has
something that won't be too big - or maybe he has something of
Alexander's around. Or if it comes down to it, you could wear
something of mine. I must have something that wouldn't be too
feminine."
    "He's already shaking his
head. "No, no, that's ok. I'll just go back to my
quarters and change."
    "Are you sure?
Our quarters are a lot closer than yours," she says, but she is
already backing down the hallway.
    "No,
that's fine. It's alright."
    "It
could have been worse," she calls. "That could have
been an entire bottle of red wine." She's giggling a
little again as she tiptoes backwards. "Oh, Julian.
I wanted to talk to you about something. Can we meet up some
time this weekend?" Julian winces and raises a
chocolate-covered hand at her a second before she backs into a
Bajoran woman coming around the next corner. Jadzia spills
apologies to the woman, then stifles her laughter again, pink-faced,
as she waves and disappears, her question forgotten and
unanswered.
    Garak's door looms over him and he
looks down at the mess that is Julian Bashir. He's already
here. And it's 21:00 on the dot now. One way or another
he should get out of the hallway at least so he doesn't attract
swarms of chocoholic children. He carefully rings the chime on
Elim's door, trying not to touch anything with the sticky
fingers.
    The door opens immediately and Julian
looks up in surprise.
    "Julian," Garak
says softly, with a smile, and in another blink sees his odd posture,
then notices the out-of-place splotch of brown on the blue of his
shirt, the slightly crumpled box in his hand with the melted stuff
oozing from the corners. He opens his mouth but thinks it is
probably Julian's turn to say something.
    "Hi.
Um. I brought dessert."
    Garak can't
suppress a little snicker. "So nice to see you.
Won't you come in?" His grin is turning a little evil and
Julian is half-smiling now, wryly. If Elim can laugh so can
he.
    "Actually. I was right here, so
I thought I would just ring and tell you that I was going to be a
little late, and let my shirt do the rest of the explaining, and then
I was going to go back to my quarters to change and try not to blame
Jadzia for this."
    "Ah. She did
this, then?"
    "Yes."

"Well. There is no sense in you going all the way back to
your quarters. I'm sure I have something you can wear."

Julian reluctantly steps inside and feels sort of unkempt as the
material sticks to his skin a little in the front where the chocolate
is soaking through. He hopes it isn't dripping anywhere.

"Here. I'll take that," he says and Julian hands over
the box of half-melted chocolate. "You can get cleaned up
in the bathroom."
    Julian wanders in that
direction, sparing a glance at the table. Candles, red satin
table cloth and place mats. Far nicer than anything Julian ever
prepared for them in his quarters.
    The box has
disappeared and Elim is coming back with a small dish and salt and
pepper for the table.
    Julian sees Elim's soft
chair in the corner and is swept with a wave of heat that keeps him
frozen to the floor for a few seconds, even as Elim looks at him with
a small measure of curiosity. "I'm sorry I ruined one of
your shirts, Elim," he says when he recovers, because it is
doubtful that he wouldn't have noticed. Elim puts the things on
the table and looks a little caught-off-guard when he turns back to
Julian, looking him up and down. Maybe he didn't notice.

Elim approaches hesitantly. "Well. It's hard to say
now that it is has been redyed - and a very becoming color you've
chosen I must say, but...I don't think this is one of mine."
Julian is feeling hot and cold now and Elim approaches him very
close. He can feel his breath on his face, can smell him above
the overwhelming sweetness of his own perfume. His hand comes
up, nothing hesitant about it, and goes up behind his neck. Julian's
eyes almost slip closed as Elim's fingers find skin, but he is shaken
from it by the busy ministrations of those fingers. Then there
is a gentle pull and Elim's head is tilted and he is looking down his
nose at the tag on the back of Julian's shirt. Julian knows
already, he is already well on his way to mortification, but Elim's
cool response seals the deal sharply. "Nnno," he
says. "This is from Del Floria's." Elim tucks
it back in and smiles at him. "Would you like something to
drink?" Julian feels his blush creep hotly up his face.
Yes. A very stiff drink would be very good right now, but
no.
    Julian washes the chocolate off of himself
in the bathroom and tries not to let it get anywhere else. He
wipes the sink down when he is done. All he needs is to smear
some more embarrassment all over Elim's quarters to make the night
complete. And he just got here. He tosses the shirt in
the laundry receiver and it disappears into chocolaty oblivion.
It will find its way back to his quarters eventually though it will
probably take a while to get it replicatively cleaned.

He comes out of the bathroom, damp, shirtless, and self-conscious.
Elim smiles at him mildly, and never loses eye contact. He
recognises this Elim. He hasn't seen him in a while. This
is Mr. Garak, the tailor. Julian relaxes a little. For
once he is glad Elim can just switch himself on and off like that.
Most of the time he would rather be with Elim, but right now, he
isn't sure he could take him. "Let's find you something to
wear," he says, standing in the bedroom door.

Julian steps in the dark room from the adjacent bathroom. It's warm
but he is having trouble not trembling a little. Elim goes to
the closet and opens it, turns the light on.

Julian was struck by the size of Elim's bedroom the first time he saw
it. Small, with a large bed. He wasn't sure if the large
bed just made the room seem smaller or if it actually was. Now
he knows. Garak made this room smaller so he could make the
closet bigger. Before them is the most comprehensive and
orderly collection of attire Julian has ever seen. Organised by
color and style, and every centimeter of space utilized for
efficiency. By necessity really, the sheer volume wouldn't fit in
this space, large though it is, if it weren't well-ordered.
Julian looks around in amazement and Elim begins pawing through a
row.
    Julian finds his voice and laughs, and his
trepidation is momentarily forgotten. "That's some closet,
Garak."
    Elim looks over his shoulder at
him and shrugs. "Tailor."
    "You
know I don't think I've ever seen you wear most of these things,"
he says fingering some stiff brown shirt with a wide collar.

Elim's fingers pass over a number of things that might work in a
pinch, some smaller things that don't exactly fit him anymore, but he
skips over much of the traditional Cardassian garb and goes for a
funny white linen shirt, the origin of which he does not know.
"How about this?"
    "Thank you,"
Julian says without inspecting it. He's really thanking him for
ignoring what an ass he has made of himself so far tonight, but he
takes the shirt with those words, and Elim leaves him in the glow of
the massive closet. Julian watches him go and releases a pent
up breath. He throws the shirt on in a hurry then, looks at
himself briefly in the mirror, then hits the closet light and joins
Elim at the table.
    He looks up at him as he
lights the tall red tapers. Elim approaches him again closely,
though his grey eyes sparkle blue a little now in the candlelight and
his voice drops a note or two. He hums deliberation and picks
gingerly at Julian's collar, fluffs one long sleeve, then the other,
straightens the shoulder line and lays a small lapel flat with the
brush of his fingertips.
    "Looks
better on you than it ever did on me," Garak sighs. The
truth is Julian's skin turns coffee brown against the white,
absolutely stunning, and the small slit in the front, a little too
revealing for Garak himself without something worn under it, shows
off a sliver of that dark brown on his chest, sprinkled with a little
hair. He thinks he chose well for him, but it's going to be
hard to keep his hands to himself during dinner, especially if they
open that wine.
    Elim has set out an unusual
banquet for them. Zabu stew, one of his favorites as Julian
recalls, gespar, Bajoran northern shrimp, and, to Julian's surprise,
a baked potato. They sit, and Elim makes a motion toward his
own plate. "I've never had a baked potato before.
Thought I might try it tonight."
    Julian
smiles brightly. "It's pretty bland. I doubt you'll
love it."
    "How can eight billion
humans be wrong?"
    Julian laughs and looks
over the sweet curl of Elim's smile. He wants to kiss it.
More tempting than chocolate. "We've done it before,"
he says instead.
    Julian is starving still and
the food smells wonderful though he is trying not to let it tear his
attention from Elim until they are both ready to eat. "Would
you like some wine?" Elim asks him, and Julian's eyes dart to
the plain green bottle to Elim's right. It would relax him,
yes, but he is so hungry now it could make him sick or just instantly
abandon all inhibition. Wine right now would be a disaster, and
Elim hasn't opened the bottle yet, so he doesn't feel bad shrugging
and declining politely. Elim smiles at him again and begins
eating.
    Despite how hungry he was, Julian only
manages to eat about half of his dinner. The potato is good,
replicated, but good, comfort food. That was probably Elim's
real reason for choosing it. Which, frankly, is just odd.
This whole evening has been strange, and Julian realizes why, now.
This is a Cardassian sitting across from him. He has to work
that one out. Elim is not a stereotypical Cardassian, but he is
a Cardassian. The discrepancy between that status and his
behavior today and the past few weeks is a puzzle. Not what
Julian was expecting. It seems like the moment their
relationship shifted in this direction, that was where he split from
the norm. With a human or most other species he might find
himself on a date with, he could show up at their door wearing a faux
pas and dunce cap and they could have a good laugh, and it would end
at the very least in an enjoyable evening. But Elim is a
Cardassian. Julian had forgotten at some point, but he was
really expecting the verbal abuse to have started by now. He
certainly gave Elim plenty of opportunities.

"How was the potato?" Julian asks him because here is one
more. Earth food must be odd to him. Certainly he could
compare it to the Cardassian bickt root and it wouldn't be comparing
apples and oranges, but he would surely find his own superior, and
would have multiple reasons why.
    Elim swallows
another bite. "Starchy, but not bad," he says
thoughtfully and Julian grins because it is getting absurd.
Elim brings his napkin to his mouth and then seems to look Julian
over, head to table. "Are you finished?"

"I think so."
    "Really? You
didn't eat much. Is there something else you'd like
instead?"
    Julian laughs out loud but Elim
just seems puzzled. "No, no thank you, I'm fine."

Elim is still staring at him, wide-eyed, and Julian is still
grinning, and he can see the two of them trapped in this moment as in
a holoimage. Each trying to work out what the other is thinking
until the end of time.
    "Did I miss
something?" Garak hopes not.

    "No,
no."

    "I
feel like I did."

    Julian
is feeling the pressure to come clean. "I guess, I just
had different expectations about what was going to happen tonight."

    Garak's
face falls a little. "What do you mean?"

He half shrugs, sheepishly. "You don't behave like other
Cardassians."

    "I
don't?" Julian realizes that this may not exactly be a
compliment to Elim's ears.

    "No.
I mean. Well I guess I mean, with me." He's blushing
again, can't help it. This is the first time they're openly
talking about it, well semi-openly. The first time they're
acknowledging the pursuit. It feels shy. "Cardassians...are
known for aggressive and confrontational ways of..."

    Elim
hums slight amusement. "Yes, we are. Which is
unfortunate for those individuals who do not approach it in that way,
for their intentions are occasionally missed or misinterpreted.
Those aggressive tactics are what is expected of us on Cardassia.
It is a cultural construct. Any Cardassian looking for a mate
within a group of strangers will act that way because it is the only
universally recognised signal."

    "So
you don't all do that?"

    "I
personally find the practice repellent."

    "Oh."

    "I
don't mean to sound bitter. I just find it silly and cruel
even. All the posturing. The blatantly rough handling.
It can get dangerous at times. Cardassians have a certain
amount of natural pack-animal mentality in us. We engage in
social power struggles on a daily basis, but in the context of mature
people looking for companionship, it just seems like a waste of time
to me. Who wants to start a relationship with a pretense that
in no way reflects reality?"

    "I
feel the same way about human dating rituals, actually."

"Do you?" Elim sounds genuinely surprised. "I
admit your way sounds a little bland to me, but it seemed like a
better start than we allow couples of our own species."

"No, I don't think it's any better really. We put on a
mask, too. We show our prospective partners our best clothes
and brightest smiles. We take them to expensive restaurants and
throw gifts at them."
    Elim smiles.
"You can lavish me with gifts whenever you feel like it, my
dear."
    Julian laughs, and something
unexpected sneaks out of his mouth directly after. "And
you can handle me roughly whenever you like." He presses
his lips together and wonders where he picked up a surplus measure of
audacity in the past few days. He clears his throat and tries
to pretend he didn't say anything. Elim doesn't pretend, but
doesn't take advantage either. "At any rate, it opens the
door for severe disappointment at the least. Or you find out
after a few months of sharing your time with someone that they're not
who you thought they were, that you don't even know what to do with
them now that you have them."
    "That
does sound rather depressing."
    "I'm
glad," Julian begins, and finds the bravery to look him in the
eye as he says it, "that that didn't happen to us."

"The fact that we have been friends for so long is probably the
only reason that this has happened. You realize
this?"
    "Well, yes. I doubt that
had we just met last week that we would be sitting here now. It
would probably take another six years."

"Do you think we're trading those six years in for something
else?"
    "That's ridiculous."

"Is it? If this ended now would we still be friends?"

Julian rubs his own elbow self-consciously and wonders for a moment
if Elim isn't trying out some Cardassian courtship tactics. He
also wonders if that isn't what he has been up to the entire time,
but dismisses it. The questioning on his face is too sincere.
"Relationships aren't just on and off, Garak. They change
and evolve too. The chief and I went through all sorts of
different levels of friendship. Dax and I too. Leeta and
I are still friends."
    "But you didn't
start out as friends."
    "No, I suppose
not. Look, Garak. I think you're asking the wrong
question. You want to know if this doesn't work out in the end
if we can become friends again, and I say, we won't have to, because
we're not going to stop being friends. I won't let it happen.
I still want to do all the things we have always done together.
I still want to talk politics and philosophy with you and argue about
books and plays. And dresses," he chuckles bravely.
"You can still join me in the holosuite. I still want to
go to lunch."
    Now they are both looking a
little sheepish, Elim, presumably because of what happened the last
time they 'went to lunch', and Julian because of the things his
imagination has begun feeding him since the idea of the holosuite
popped in his head.

    Elim
scratches the back of his head. "I haven't done this in a
long time Julian. I thought I probably wouldn't ever do it
again."

    Julian's
heart is beating erratically, but it hurts a little at the same time
to imagine Elim resigned to loneliness for the rest of his life.
He also suspects that he might be resigned to exile at this point
too. "It's kind of scary, isn't it," he says, though
he wonders if Elim thinks so, and if he does, if they're even scared
for the same reasons.

    Then
he smiles, warm as that reptilian face can. "I'm terrified
beyond the capacity for rational thought."

    Julian
laughs. "You seem to be doing ok."

    "All
a disguise, my dear. I'm a tailor, remember?"

    Julian's
grin fades away like a summer sunset, slow and easy in the silence of
the evening. The quiet is nice, and they sit comfortably enough
in it with the experience to do so of six years acquaintance, but
Garak thinks he could possibly improve upon it. "Shall I
put on some music?" he asks, and watches Julian swallow hard
before meeting his eyes and smiling softly again. It is
intoxicating to see this beautiful creature respond to everything he
does and says with so much emotion. Most people don't pay him
half that much attention, which has both a cause and effect
relationship with his profession, but it leaves him so barren.
Then this human comes along and worms his way in like some sort of
fiendishly beautiful brain parasite. It is somehow both
remarkably wonderful and annoying. "And...would you like
some wine now? I think I would," he says with raised and
meaningful eye ridges.

    Julian
pauses a second, then nods. "Sure."

    "If
you'd like to open the bottle, my dear, I'll be right back."
Garak excuses himself and gets up from the table to go to the
computer.

    Julian
looks around him and sees an opportunity to perhaps begin to redeem
himself after the last hour of blunders, and after popping open the
wine and setting the cork on a separate plate, he begins clearing the
table. The room is filled, then, with a soft Cardassian
concerto. It's a nice piece, Julian is sure he has heard it
once before, probably in his own quarters during a similar, less
important dinner, but tonight everything has significance and each
note has a certain heat in it. The light tinkling piano, a
Cardassian instrument almost identical to the Earth variety, reminds
him of home enough to relax him, but is played in a way alien enough
to chill his spine once or twice. He smiles and starts taking
dishes back to the replicator. He touches the 'receive' button
and it is just as he does that he feels, maybe even tastes, Elim
standing behind him. He can just feel his presence, though he
never heard him reapproach, never saw him in his peripheral vision.
Elim isn't aiming to startle him, obviously, as he isn't doing
anything but standing there quietly, approaching with caution, though
not advertising either. Julian stops where he is, letting Elim
know he is aware of him. He wonders a split second later if
perhaps he should have kept that to himself a moment longer, to force
him to back off rather than be the perpetrator. It would have
been a lie, but Julian is so nervous now he doesn't think he would
have noticed any guilt.

    Even
before he lays his hands on Julian's shoulders, they burn because he
knows it is going to happen, like a hot blue charge of St. Elmo's
fire before lightning strikes. Then the heat crawls up Julian's
neck until he is sure he is turning red, and the touch manifests as
heat, then weight, then light pressure on his frame. Elim
floats to him, doesn't touch him much, and with just a centimeter of
air between them in most places, Julian can feel him there, but not
feel him. Then his exhale into Julian's hair exorcises a
chill that zips up his spine, curls over his scalp and ears and
vanishes into the air. Elim's face is at the back of his head,
and he breathes lightly into his hair a few more times before
applying a gentle twist to his hands that urges Julian around.
Everything in him clenches, thrums with excitement and fear and lust
all at once as he turns and meets Elim's eyes. Those hands come
up, surprisingly warm, one takes Julian's right hand, and the other
scoops around the back of his neck. His weight shifts to his
left. Julian smiles and places his free hand under Elim's
shoulder. The piano is joined by the orchestra.

    "Are
we going dancing now?"

    "No,"
he purrs sadly. "I'm not wearing the proper shoes."

    "Nor
the dress," Julian quips with a cute smile. Garak wants to
be closer to that radiant face, like a moon wants to be closer to its
planet, and he gets sucked in right then, his forehead bumping
Julian's just gently.

    He
looks toward their barely shuffling feet. "Nor do you want
me to, I assure you." Garak realizes that this is it.
They are going to take the single step forward that begins this, and
he wants to delay it just a little longer because he already knows
the conclusion, and it is the anticipation that he savors in memory.
However, Julian makes it difficult with the tiny movements of his
head, the hesitation and want warring within him, and his drowsy eyes
and parted lips that hedge near his own close enough that he can feel
his breath on his chin.

    "I'm
not sure you have the hips for it," Julian replies.

    A
tremor in his breath, Garak plays along. "You could pull
it off with a little padding."

    Julian
smirks. "I hope that's not what you're planning," he
says low and raspy.

    Garak
doesn't smile, and he stops their gentle swaying. "No.
I was not planning on clothing you today, Doctor." He can
see Julian's cheeks rise in a grin. "Quite. The.
Opposite."

    Julian
pulls their faces apart and looks Elim in the eyes. "No
more waiting?"

    "No."

    "No
more running away from this?"

    Elim
seems to think about it for the briefest pause. "I don't
think so, he says, but then takes a half-step backwards.

    "No
more dancing?"

    Elim
takes the other half-step back and seems to pull Julian with him
using nothing more than gravity as his leash.

lj
break

    The
bedroom is lit only by diffuse amber light coming from the adjacent
bathroom. It is enough for them to see each other clearly, but
the room itself, decorated in mostly dark hues, fades away outside of
the small space they occupy.

    There
is a moment in which time slows and Julian finds himself studying
Elim's face like a painting. "I've had five lovers before
you," Elim says, and Julian feels suddenly hot. It sounds so
imminent. Before you. It's really going to happen. Now.
"Three Cardassians, A Deltan, and a Bajoran." The
last two in his list almost shock Julian completely away from the
fact again. He tries to regain his mental balance but he is
torn between the concern of here and now, and the idea of Elim and a
Bajoran, or a Deltan. For the first, he has to wonder if
it is anyone he knows, and the other - he doesn't know many people
who can claim that. "None of whom I think you would be
familiar with," Elim adds. It is a bit of a relief, but
only in as much as life is predictable, and the probability of that
Bajoran being of both their acquaintance is low. He can't even
speculate right now.

    Julian
realizes Elim is waiting for a similar statement from him and
blushes. "Um. Ten," he says, and watches as a reaction
develops slowly on Elim's face then stalls, waits for him to finish
before completing the transaction. "All human except for
one Elaysian and one Bajoran, who you know, the rest, I think you
don't." Finally, that strange expression on Elim's face
develops into mild amusement and Julian tries not to smile
nervously. "I was pretty...um...active, at the academy."

    "I
see." Elim is still smiling and it makes Julian feel on
the verge of petulance. He squirms internally.

    Julian
stands there trying to keep his breathing slow and quiet, and feeling
hot and shaky as Elim's hands on his arms are burning him and his icy
eyes freezing him at the same time.

    "There
is something else I want to tell you," Elim begins again,
slowly. There's more? he thinks and clamps down on some
nervous laughter with his teeth. "Despite what I've said
about what I need, what I want from you, I don't have any
expectations that you should feel you must fulfill, or any ideal you
need to live up to."

    Julian
smiles bashfully. "I appreciate that. I...don't
really know what I'm doing. At all. Not a state I'm used
to either. I usually make it my business to know what I'm doing
all the time, I just didn't get very far with this yet-"
He feels like he's blabbering, and he is glad when Elim cuts him off.

    "Don't
sell yourself short, my love. The fact that you're trying is
all the evidence I need that you are in the proper mindset to handle
this, that you can run with this the way you do with everything.
I have every confidence in you, I just don't want you to think I have
a checklist or...some sort of rubric stuffed under my pillow."
That nervous laughter escapes. "Like I said. Slow as
you want. Having you here is enough for me tonight, or any
night."

    "Now
you're selling yourself short."

    "Well."
Elim shrugs.

    Julian
takes a hand in his. He means to do something, he just doesn't
know what or where to start suddenly, and he hangs his head and grins
like an idiot.

    "Are
you sure you want to do this?"

    "Elim!"
Julian shakes his head and laughs again, on the edge of hysterics.
Something is really going to have to give soon, or he is going to
implode.

    "Just
asking," he says and sighs, and Julian feels some sort of high
as Elim closes in, and wraps him up in his arms. He presses the
side of his face to Julian's for a moment, then up, then down,
prodding his nose into Julian's cheek, which swells in response as he
grins again. The very idea of a Cardassian nuzzling his face is
one he would not have considered even a month ago, but here it is.

    Elim's
lips finally find his, softly. Gentle and warm, and yet again
so unlike Julian's expectations, he wonders why he tries to
anticipate anything anymore. His mouth is wet and sweet, and
strange despite how many times he has tasted it before now, the hours
they spent at this very activity in Elim's living room. Elim's
hands come up and capture his face, and Julian's go to Elim's
clothes. They can't do what they want though, because Elim's
hands are stronger, and they begin pulling at the white shirt he just
put on an hour or so ago. Up over his head, and Elim's mouth is
latched to his, and his breath comes fast over Julian's upper lip.
Only a tailor could make such quick work of the fastening's on
another man's pants, at least he hopes, and before long Julian is
once again naked in a room with a fully clothed Cardassian.

    Julian
blushes and Elim looks down, then up, then down again. "I've
been doing some reading...thought you might be more comfortable."
Julian digs his toes into the carpet.

    Garak
is smiling at him in a way that seems to completely obscure his
immediate intention. He could be thinking about kissing him,
biting him, throwing him on the floor and fucking him, or maybe all
of those things. Julian can't tell. "Thank you,"
he says, and another possibility that Julian hadn't considered before
presents itself as Garak leaves him, and begins lighting candles.
There are a few about the room in inconspicuous places. Elim
lights these and pulls a short pair from the nightstand drawer,
places them side by side on one nightstand and lights them as well.
Julian tries to set all of these ideas to the back of his mind for
now.

    Garak
kisses him again upon his return, and then lets his mouth go.
Though he wants to keep kissing it, there are so many other places to
see and feel. He will come back to the mouth, he promises his
lips, and guides them down Julian's neck. It's hot and alive,
and he mouths it down the sensitive line between tendon and throat,
feels as his Adam's apple bobs up, then down, and listens to his
breath gusting through him. His hands are not yet brave enough
for this, and stay at the back of his neck, rubbing the two strong
tendons there where they disappear into his hair. His mouth
moves lower to his collar and rejoices at the discovery of this new
territory. It is all he can do to keep from biting. Soon,
he assures himself.

    Julian's
shoulders rise and fall quickly, and his knees want to collapse under
him. A moan escapes his lips, because this isn't enough.
He loves to be touched and kissed and adored by Elim, his hands, his
lips, it feels wonderful, but it isn't enough. "Elim,"
he says weakly. "Please. I need to touch
you."

    Elim
pauses, looks him in the face for that small instant, and pulls off
his own shirts, two layers, quickly over his head as if it were a
painful sliver that needed to be yanked out, mussing his hair.
He grabs Julian again, and Julian's hands go flat and open against
his chest. He looks down at them pressed together as Elim's
mouth goes to his ear, kissing loudly there, sucking, running the
edges of teeth over the ridge. His own brown skin looks as it
always does, but this thing he is pressed against is something
completely new. When he looks at Elim's face, he sees just a
face. He sees the ridges and strange scale markings, but it's
like they aren't real sometimes. His hands could pass for human
if not for the color. His chest is the key to the mystery.
He can see for the first time the way the architecture of his face
melds with his body with logic and beauty. The wide neck swoops
downward over his shoulders like a cape. It fades away there to
only hints of ridge and scale down the front and back of his upper
arms, two lines like seams in a garment that swirl together over his
elbow and become one that runs down his forearms to the back of his
wrists to disappear at the heel. These new kinds of ridges
Julian has discovered also define his pectorals, with large flat
scales webbing up but not quite reaching the ones on his neck.
A long, graceful collarbone divides them.

    Julian
can feel Elim's heartbeat under his hands, and he slides them up,
slowly, for the first time feeling this strange new surface. It
isn't rough or flaky as so many people assume, nor is it slimy like
Bajoran children are sometimes heard to claim. His skin is
perfectly smooth and dry, each scale reminding him of the waxy leaves
of a succulent jade plant, overlapped in some places, and separated
by pale, fragile-looking skin in others. Julian runs a
fingertip over one of those tiny strips of flesh and thinks he
detects a shiver within Elim even as he lavishes Julian's neck with
determined attention.

    And
there, between their breasts as they press together, is the most
curious thing. The match to the structure on his forehead, the
rebec on his chest is a little larger, but not as defined and
dramatic. It seems to be built out of the surrounding scale
pattern, like it arose naturally when some Cardassian deity was busy
creating them and tiling their flesh with scales; and when this being
saw this shape emerge, they liked it so much they decided it was
worth mentioning again, and emblazoned it on their heads as well.

    Julian's
fingers move down to the hollow between their chests and find the
bottom of the shape, and Garak stops with his nose and mouth buried
in Julian's sweat-damp hair. His thumb traces it up, doesn't
push in the middle as he fears he would be tempted to do, but just
caresses the edge of it, around the top and back down. GArak
concentrates on breathing and getting anything at all to work again
after that. It's a singular miracle in itself to be touched
like this again, but the fact that it's Julian touching him is
starting to make him a little drunk with astonishment. Julian
takes him by the shoulders easily now, and pushes him back.

    Julian
looks him over unabashedly with studious interest, not obvious
appraisal. He runs the backs of his fingers down one of Elim's
flanks. The scales from his chest downward are smoother,
thinner, and appear flexible down to the line of his hips peaking out
above the waist of his trousers where they thicken again and grow
smaller, shiny, and dark.

    He
is beautiful, his scales almost perfectly symmetrical, but he
imagines that would be the norm within a perfectionist species.
Julian wonders what his back looks like, and runs a hand over his hip
and around to try to feel what he can't yet see.

    Elim
swallows and kisses him once more. Julian takes that as a
signal, and thumbs the clasp on Elim's pants. His heart is
racing again and it feels so strange to be doing this, like it still
isn't permitted though Elim says and does nothing to stop it.
The trousers come down, and Elim is wearing a sort of low waisted
underwear unlike anything Julian has any personal experience with.
The sight doesn't agree with the basic ideas Julian has in his head
of male and female, what is associated with what. Elim is male,
and despite what he knows about Cardassian anatomy, it is still odd
to see the lack of outward definition there. It crosses some
line between those male and female descriptions, and his mind
flip-flops on it for a few seconds. Then Elim takes his own
undergarments down with a quick slide of his large hands, and Julian
tries not to stare, but he is wet, absolutely covered in
glossy moisture. He can see it clearly as he pulls the garment
down, see the trace on it as it hits the floor, and see how some of
the shine to his skin in that area is not just from shiny, healthy
scales but from arousal. The fine scales covering the slit look
like they would be heavenly soft to the touch, like graphite sand,
and Julian is still wobbling on how to fit this into his head.
This is a man, but he has this part of him that, in no uncertain
human terms, looks female - for another three seconds.

    Garak
contracts his stomach muscles gently and it emerges from his opening
without a sound, points down at the floor as it slicks out with just
a taste of delicious friction, drips twice onto his pants on the
floor, then bobs up sharply and locks into place between stretched
tight cords. He almost laughs because Julian's mouth goes slack
and his eyes go wider than he has probably ever seen them.

    The
most shocking thing, is that it is pink. Pink like the inner
flesh of most oxygen-breathing beings. It shouldn't be all that
surprising. Elim's mouth is pink. His tongue is not black
and forked or blue and acidic. He is not so different really,
on the inside, but nothing Julian saw or read mentioned the color,
and he imagined it would be grey like the rest of him, not this
bright pink glossy helmeted thing that looks so much like his own
they could be cousins.

    "I
take it you've never seen this before," Elim says with a note of
amusement in his voice.

    Julian
has the decency to blush a little when he realizes he's staring. "No,
not exactly. I mean. Not um."

    "I
understand." Julian doesn't look well, and Garak has a
sudden thought. "Have you ever seen another man's penis?"

    "I'm
a doctor," he says. Of course he has.

    "In
context."

    Julian
was afraid of this.He knew it was unlikely he would be able to just
pretend and learn as he went, but he couldn't think of a good way to
broach the subject. Julian blinks over and over rapidly the way
he does in tandem with his mouth when he doesn't know what to say.
Like an ocular stammer and stutter. He knows he does it, just
can't help it most of the time.

    "Ok,"
Garak says calmly. What he thinks is something else entirely.
He thinks Julian is insane for wanting to be in this room with him
with no experience whatsoever in the role he is about to play.
He did mention earlier that he had no idea what he was doing.
Garak didn't infer the correct depth to that statement it seems.
Looking at him now, he thinks that maybe Julian is having the same
idea. "Are you alright?"

    "I
think I might...be...panicking...a little," he says in paired
words, his lungs demanding either and inhale or and exhale between
each two.

    "Panicking?"
Elim says as if he disbelieves, though his smile is bright and wry
and a little sinister. "Why do people always remark how
smart you are, Julian?" He knows he is joking now of
course, but the sudden topic change is disorienting. It derails
the panic for a moment actually, and he is left with simple
embarrassment. "A smart man would have panicked long
before now. Preemptive panicking is really the only logical,
considerate way to approach potentially traumatic situations.
It frees you to indulge in a good panic without having to cut it
short in favor of real action. I did my panicking well in
advance of this evening. I even had a small re-panic earlier
today just to be sure it was done thoroughly, and I'm afraid I must
insist that you refrain from this kind of procrastination in the
future, my love."

    Julian
laughs and covers his face, as if that was the most embarrassing part
of him right now. He is actually a little more at ease now that
Elim knows, but as soon as he moves, as soon as he comes near him
again, runs his fingers down his arms, he flies high with fear
again.

    Garak
is quiet, sees Julian warring with it, and lets him for a moment.
He may yet regain himself without help.

    Julian
realises absently that he is parched and backs away from Elim to the
bathroom to drink from the sink without a word. His hands shake
badly as he does and he is absurdly aware of his nakedness even
though he doesn't think Elim is really watching him.

    Garak
backs away then too, and sits on the corner of the bed. Seems
like they're taking a time out. Julian looked like he could use
it. He glances in his direction and sees him bent over the
sink, and as if he had eyes back there, he sees his hind quarters
flex self-consciously. Garak smirks slightly and looks away.

    Julian
dries his hands and face and hurries back to the dark bedroom,
looking like he regrets ever leaving, like it was somehow
inappropriate, fueled forward by stumbling robotic locomotion, gears
stuck with sand and joints frozen. He is just shaking all over,
and Garak, for perhaps the first time in memory, feels pity.

    "Julian,"
Elim says, low and soft. He is sitting there, naked as himself,
though the evidence of arousal is hidden again, secreted away without
Julian even seeing it depart. "Would I let you come to
harm?"

    Elim
offers his hand. Julian takes it on faith and it actually feels
warm compared to his own now. Elim crawls up onto the bed,
Julian's hand still in his, and he leaves plenty of room for him on
the opposite side. Elim pulls the covers back with his free
hand and Julian can do nothing but climb in without seeming
childishly shy. It wasn't so long ago that he lead them
both to this very bed.    Elim covers them up to the
hips, and Julian instantly comes down a notch. Something about
just not being utterly uncovered seems to keep him calmer, but he is
still trying to conceal a nervous breathing pattern.

    To
Garak's surprise, Julian ventures to speak, but he looks timidly
around and down as he does. He clears his throat and mutters,
"Shouldn't we...have a signal. A word," he shrugs a
little.

    Garak
smiles easily. "Is that what has you so worked up?
My dear, I assure you we will not be doing anything tonight that
would even make me consider a safe word possibly warranted. If
something isn't right, 'stop' would be sufficient." Garak
teases at Julian's fingers with his own. Unsurprisingly, Julian
doesn't look reassured by this. He can tell by the look on his
face that what is going through his mind is bent toward the idea that
Garak should have granted a safe word. Garak also knows that
had he done it, Julian's mind would have supplied enough fear of what
they might be about to do that he would need a safe word
tonight.
    "Lie on your stomach," Garak
suggests with no force. Julian complies easily, but the
wideness of his eyes is killing Garak slowly. As he turns over,
Garak runs a hand over his shoulder and back, down his flank, then
back up, rubbing a little with his thumb, squeezing at the shoulder
in a way that should feel good. "You might be more
comfortable if you put the pillow under your shoulders."

Julian does this too, shifts a few times, then settles with his chin
on the mattress, elbows bent, hands poised by his shoulders next to
the pillow ends. He could push himself up in half a second.
That needs to change.
    Elim sits up in the bed a
little more, and the covers slip from his hips. Julian can see
his naked body in his peripheral vision, just a blur there, but
obvious. "Look at me?" he asks. Julian lifts
his head and looks up at his face. It is hard to do in that
position, looking up at him, holding his head up and back at such an
angle. "What are you thinking about?" he asks then,
and Julian has to think of something because he wasn't thinking about
anything really, and he can't say 'nothing.'
    "I
guess...I was thinking about the candles."

No no no. Julian, come inside. "What about
them?"   Garak continues rolling his hands soothingly
over Julian's back.
    Julian tries to shrug.
Again, hard with his neck muscles already hurting from keeping his
head up to look Elim in the face. "They're nice.
I've always liked watching the smoke fly away," he says.
Then he shifts uncomfortably because he needs to do something else
with his head. He puts his chin back down on the mattress but
his neck still hurts, cramped from that odd exercise. Elim runs
a hand up his whole back, then, watching him closely, stops, lets his
hands rest where they lay. He sits like an idol, perfectly
still except for the minuscule movement of his chest with his
breathing. Julian watches as the scales separate almost
imperceptibly to accommodate the expansion of his ribs as he
breathes.
    "Hey," Elim says, a touch
of laughter in his voice. Julian has no choice but to raise his
head again to look at him. He winces a little as he does and
Elim strokes a hand through his hair. "Are you still
thinking about candles?"
    Julian smirks a
little. "No."
    "What are
you thinking about then?"
    "I don't
know," he says hesitantly. Garak strokes his hair again
and shifts to let his body slide down in the bed, all the way down
under the covers. He pushes his own pillow up out of the way
and lays his head on the mattress. Julian does the same and
Garak smiles with mute satisfaction.
    "Perhaps
you should just let your mind think what it wants to for now."

Julian retorts with too much smile and bravado. It's not
believable considering his body language screaming flight.
"That's what I usually do. And look where it got me."

Garak only smiles mildly. He reaches over, then, sideways
gravity making his arm bob a little, and runs fingers through his
hair again until he closes his eyes. Then Garak sits up, crawls
with steady sloth over him, and watches as his eyes open again and
look toward the window. Garak slides a knee down on either side
of Julian's, and runs his hands up his back a little ways, softly,
then back down as he lets his weight come to rest on his thighs, low
enough, he hopes, to prevent too much unease for now.  His
hands rub up again, rolling the muscle under the skin and the skin
beneath his fingertips. He watches a straining artery in his
neck pulse fast and hard.
    This isn't the
behavior of someone who enjoys this kind of thing, he thinks, but he
has also never initiated anyone before. Garak wants this so
much, but he is lucid enough to know that if he can't turn this
around in the next few minutes, they're done. If Julian can't
be in this place with him and not succumb to fear, they will never
get any farther than this. Julian will protest, and he will be
angry for a long time. His insides knot at the thought.
He doesn't want to end this, but it's no good if he is going to fake
it to be here. The thought is nice, that he would be willing to
try to change who he is just to be with him, but they can't live like
that. Julian. Please. Show me you can do
this.
    "Are you sure you're not
thinking about candles anymore?"
    "No.
No I don't think so. But it's hard to not think about candles
when someone asks you if you're thinking about candles."

"Then I won't mention them again, my dear," he rumbles from
above him. Julian's muscles are tense but they can't stay that
way under Garak's hands. He has that victory at least. He
rubs and smooths over his skin until Julian's eyes close again, and
then for some time after that as well. Then he runs gentle
fingertips down the length of his folded arms and takes each wrist in
them. He doesn't confine them, just grasps them, and slides his
flat hands up and away from his face. He leaves them loosely
spread below the headboard then lets his hands slither back down to
warm shoulders and rubs some more, this time with more friction, more
weight. Julian's eyes are open again and looking at the few easily
viewed objects in his perspective, Garak can see. They dart
from the floor to the window and back.
    "Love,"
Garak ventures.
    Julian acknowledges the address
with a flick of his eyes, and Garak smiles a little, rubs a thumb
tenderly over his spine.
    "I'd like to feel
you beneath me," he murmurs. There is an instant response
like electricity under his hands. Maybe it's his own hands
imagining it, but it feels like it is coming from Julian. "Is
that all right?"
    Julian nods
immediately.
    "Nothing but me," he
whispers, and lets his organ emerge again. It touches Julian's
rear end, hot and wet and he jumps a little. "Just me."
Julian swallows. "It's alright. I'm not planning
anything, Love, just relax."
    Elim moves
forward, shifts and lets his hands lead the way in a diving pose on
his back. He slinks in slow motion across Julian's skin, cold
and hot at the same time, and then they split at his shoulders and
each snakes up an arm until Elim is suspended over him. His
cock is wet heat and weight lying between the swells of his ass.
Julian reflexively tightens it but Elim seems to take no notice.
Then his trunk moves up as well, and the weight shifts from his hips
to his hands. Julian's wrists are gradually pinned to the
bed.   Julian is on fire and he can't quite breathe in a
steady manner.
    No no no no no. Julian
what are you doing. I can't take Julian. I need you to
understand. I don't need you to do anything else but understand
that. You remember, I know you do. Just take this from me
and come inside with me. Be here with me, not somewhere else.
Feel this. This is you.
    Garak presses
his wrists down until he can feel the rabbit pulse in each hand, then
he wraps his ankles over the backs of Julian's knees. Slowly,
and with a delicious pressure that he does not have the freedom to
enjoy right now, he presses his hips down into Julian, sliding his
cock through his buttocks and over his hard tailbone.

Julian gasps and his fear is palpable.
    "Dammit,
Julian. Why does this have to be so difficult? Why does
this always have to walk the line between working and falling
apart?" Garak darts his face toward Julian's, his lips
coming to rest at his neck. He whispers into his ear,
"Can I trust you Julian?" He stops looking afraid for
a split second, confusion added to the mix, blinks.

"...Yes," he whispers, and Garak doesn't think he is
lying.
    Garak sinks his teeth into the back of
Julian's neck, slowly enough not to panic, but hard enough to make
Julian suck in a sharp breath and then keep trying to inhale after
that as he increases the pressure with his jaw. Garak levers
himself down at the same time. He lifts Julian's wrists the
short distance from the mattress to the headboard and presses them
there, letting his weight come down on top of Julian, forcing the air
out of his lungs and denying him that resistance to the pain of the
bite. He keeps trying to gasp, but his breath can be only
shallow with Garak's whole body flattening him. It all happens
over just a few seconds, eternally long though they are for both of
them. But then, just as time had slowed to a crawl as Julian's
body vibrates below him with warring impulses, time utterly stops as
Julian reaches a peak, and falls.
    Garak almost
can't believe what he feels. Julian. His Julian is pliant
beneath him. His pulse is still fast, he can taste it in his
mouth, juicy now over his salty skin, but it levels out, and his body
is lax under him, his eyes slip closed even as Garak tightens his jaw
more, leaving marks undoubtedly. He watches with astonishment
as his lips part and a small aching sound escapes them.

You beautiful brilliant man.
    Garak drags
his teeth over his skin as he releases him, and sucks away all of the
saliva leaving only a damp spot over purple-red tooth marks.
Then he says with the most deliberately slow and deeply appreciative
voice, "Good...Boy."
    Julian
titters a little, in some sort of bashful state of bliss. Elim
releases him and flips him over underneath him like he was made of
rags and stuffed with hay. He pins him again, this time front
to front and Julian shivers at the feeling of so much strange and
beautiful anatomy above him. Elim kisses him fiercely and
Julian's arms come up around him weak but purposeful. He isn't
quite sure what just happened but it hurt and felt good, and even
Elim's words feel good now, as if they were just another part of his
body licking at his skin.
    "You are
amazing," he says when he finally sits up. Julian only
smiles up at him looking a little bewildered. Garak doesn't
completely buy it. He thinks he at least has an idea of what is
going on, if not a previous experience. But as he looks at him
he can't help but think, that there are probably lots of other people
out there who would spark hot and hard for Garak with just the drop
of their name from his lips, people who have nothing to learn, and
there are probably people who would trust him instantly, frightening,
dangerous people, and there are probably people with even more
seductively beautiful skin and dark eyes, but he doesn't think he's
seen a single one, and there are probably lots of other people who
wouldn't give him so much grief for the pleasure of one little bite,
but he has no desire to meet any of them. If he did now, he
wouldn't even notice them for the blinding brilliance of Julian in
his vision.
    Garak strokes his own cock
once because he needs to. "I'm going to touch and taste
every part of you now," he says.
    Julian's
cock twitches and actually bumps into Garak's. His eyes go wide
and Garak grins and gets to work. His hands have been longing
for this, the permission to touch all of this without impropriety or
self-imposed restrictions in the way. He runs his hands up and
down his slim body, all that glorious smooth skin, something Garak
has only in small patches himself, all the hair all over, thick here,
thin there, light and fuzzy in one place, fistfuls in others.
He skin is piquant with salt, in some places more than others,
shimmering with hints of moisture and heat, two things that, in
Garak's mind, go very well together, and would be especially pleasing
if he could but surround some part of him with it. He sweats a
dewy sheen over his chest and legs in the heat of Garak's warm
bedroom, and under his hands. He licks it off of his sternum,
his bald scrotum and all around it where he smells strongly of salt
and sex, he tastes quickly the precum dribbling from his cock, and
sucks on his chin and toes. He pinches here, and bites there,
and Julian gasps when he does this in certain places, his neck, his
nipples, (his nipples are something Garak has decided are going to
require further intensive study at a later date) the backs of his
knees.

    When
he turns him over on his side, runs hands on the ends of stiff arms
up his hip and flank, pushing his arm up out of range and bites down
hard on his buttock, Julian yelps just a little, and then begins
laughing. In fact, the laughing lasts much longer than it
should, and Garak stops and looks at him.
    "What
is it?"
    "I didn't know you had one
there, too," he continues laughing through squinted eyes
and Garak realizes that while he has been paying attention to
Julian's rear end, Julian has been looking at his. The
coccygeal rebec is tiny but unmistakably related to the other two.
It is the consequence of this irritating feature of their anatomy
that Cardassians never use spoons smaller than three centimeters.

Garak bites him again.
    Julian wraps his arms
around him and pulls him up forcefully, yanking his own skin from
between his teeth resulting in a hard pinch and a clack from Elim's
jaw. Julian is breathing like a distance runner when he
captures Elim's mouth and tongue. Elim is straddling him, his
cock dangling there between his legs, and Julian, liberated and
smiling, pushes him up after some toothy kisses, away so he can see
what he is doing, and reaches up and grabs hold of Elim's cock in his
right hand.
    His hand is wet but suddenly empty,
and Elim is making a face of severe concentration, eyes closed,
breathing stopped, and Julian stops too, eyes wide and scared.
Elim exhales on a groan and lowers himself to the mattress.
Julian can only gape.
    "My God. I
know it's sensitive, but I thought if you..."

"No, it...it didn't hurt. Well, it did, when
it...retracts, that hurts quite a lot, but." He thinks and
recovers a moment. "Touch your armpit."

"What?"
    "Touch your armpit."

Julian hesitates, but then raises his arm and puts a finger to his
armpit.
    "Ok. Now I'm going to touch
your armpit." And he reaches over with a fast hand and
Julian skitters away with a laugh that comes out of nowhere.

"Ok ok, I get it. But how..."

"It just takes time to overcome the reflex. Someday I'm
sure I'll be able to touch your underarm without a fight-"

"Don't count on it."
    "-and
you'll be able to grab my cock and I won't even flinch."
Julian blushes. He's never heard him talk like that.

"What do we do till then?" he asks, feeling stupid
again.
    Garak laughs. "I'm sure we'll
think of something. Just you let me worry about my own cock for
now."
    Julian isn't quite satisfied with
that. He had only just developed the aplomb to make that
plunge, he didn't count on being told 'no.'

Elim emerges again with a sigh, and Julian watches with fascination,
and a little worry. He tries to look, to make sure he didn't
damage anything, but without touching it. "I'm fine,"
Elim says. "You just startled me. I didn't expect
you to get so brave so quickly." Julian smiles on one side
of his face, and Elim bends down and kisses it.

Julian lays back down the rest of the way and Elim crawls up to cover
him. Julian's heart starts to race again, or maybe just more,
as Elim lets himself down slowly into the void between them until
there isn't one. Pressed inch for inch for the first time,
Julian's eyes slip closed. His arms come back up to keep him
there as if he thought he might leave. All those scales, they
feel leathery to his naked forearms, but like cool porcelain against
his chest and legs. Their cocks are pressed together
uncomfortably, but the quality doesn't seem to matter. When
Elim lifts himself up a little again it's just the sight of the two
bright pink heads between their bellies that makes Julian fidget and
whine under Elim's weight.
    Garak urges his
knees up with his own and Julian is breathing hard again.
"Shh," he says in his ear, but he only seems to breath
faster in response.
    "Can I move?" he
asks. He wants to roll against him, anything to relieve this
pressure, anything to come now, but he fights it because he just
doesn't yet understand where the boundary lies. If he can't
touch his cock without hurting him, he isn't sure what to do.

"Allow me." Garak sits up then and Julian digs
fingernails between the scales on his legs. Garak hums in
pleasure and grasps both of their cocks in his hands, aligning the
undersides. He strokes a hand over the heads and Julian
whimpers a little. He can see he is struggling not to move and
it's beautiful. Garak begins rolling his hips and sliding his
hands in tandem creating a nonsensical combination of friction planes
on both their cocks. He loves this, personally. It's
confusing to feel the hands go up and the cock go down, and then the
cock go up while the hands go down, but it's so easy to do.
Garak's cock is soaking wet, dripping on the sheets, coating himself
and Julian. He can't remember the last time he was turned on to
such a degree, and all of this wetness slicks up his fingers so he
can barley hang on to Julian.

Julian smiles a little to himself. Now this. This
is primitive you scholarly Cardassian bastard. Primitive
and glorious, Julian thinks. He gives in a few times and
thrusts his hips upward when hanging onto him isn't enough, but
quickly locks himself down again when Elim grunts. So much wet
friction, so much want so long built up, this isn't going to last
long, but he's pretty sure Elim is prepared for that as well.
He's been prepared for every other obstacle thus far. The
sounds escaping his mouth right now don't even sound like him.
They're high and needy, and vibrato with fatigue that he can't yet
feel. Every time Elim's cock slides up his own shaft it's like,
well, it's like a long awaited fuck finally coming to fruition.
His head is spinning, and it goes absolutely haywire when one of
Elim's hands periodically comes up and over and grabs both of their
heads and gives them a squeeze.
    Julian is
close and starts breathing hard and fast, moaning and trying to hold
it back with a fist in his mouth. He is still watching, he
won't close his eyes and just let go and Garak appreciates that more
than anything. He decides now is a good time. Garak lets
go of Julian's cock completely and he looks almost mortified at the
sudden loss. He whines a little again, and Garak shifts closer,
Julian's balls pressed up against him, and takes Julian's cock in his
left hand, pressing hard with his thumb on the place below the head,
pushing it down and away from his own cock. He takes his own in
his right hand and jerks at it rapidly. Julian is gasping for
breath now as he watches, his eyes want to shut, and he wants to let
them, Garak can tell, he wants to let go and come, but he's not.
Garak didn't even have to tell him to wait. He bites his lip
because he loves this man and he can't believe he ever had a doubt,
and as tainted as a sentiment like that can be in throes of passion,
he thinks it will persist. Garak's own eyes close for a half
moment, because he can't keep them open when he first starts to
come. He just can't. It builds like a drum roll until it
crashes like cymbals, and maybe that's just the music he still has
playing out in the living room, but he doesn't think so, because when
he opens his eyes again it's as moving as an entire choir singing in
his ear to see his come splash violently across Julian's dick.
He moans between clenched teeth and watches the second and third
bursts collide with his shaft and get swept up in the motions of his
hands. It rolls over the fingers of his right hand as it pumps
away at his own cock, and completely covers his left hand wrapped
tightly around Julian's and smearing it up and down. Julian is
gaping and his face is contorted bizarrely. He's still trying
to watch, he doesn't want to miss an instant of this it seems, but as
his abdomen pulls in and he starts to jerk, they close to tight
sweat-shiny wrinkles, and his own come comes pouring out over Garak's
hand and Julian's belly.
    Julian hears himself
crying out pathetically over Elim's harsh breathing as pleasure rips
up his spine over and over like a long string of shock waves that ebb
all too quickly, but leave behind a wash of relaxation akin to none
other. Elim's fingers coated in come rub up and down slowly now
on his shaft, gently, squeezing the last dribbles from him as he
convulses just a little from their bite at the head. At length,
he feels Elim's weight shift and roll away next to him.

Julian startles awake and realizes he had drifted off while Elim was
gone to the bathroom. His touch on Julian's skin woke him and
now Elim is smirking a little, amused and a little smug perhaps.
He wipes Julian's belly with a warm damp cloth, once, then folds it
and leaves it for Julian to do the rest. Elim leaves a glass of
water on the nightstand and climbs back into the bed to lay face up
atop the covers for a restful moment. Julian has a few gulps of
water, then curls up and turns over modestly on his front and
struggles against heavy eyelids. Elim is on his side now and
looking at him, he can see from the corner of his eye. The
candles are out now, replaced by the nightstand light. Salty
smoke finds his nose, and his heart, despite its still rapid
pounding, slows and clenches once in anticipation or worry. He
isn't sure what the feeling is really, but he knows the source is
right next to him.
    Elim chuckles softly.
"I had heard about the human male's tendency to fall asleep in
this situation, immediately....but I really didn't believe it."
Julian smiles and then turns his face into the pillow. He isn't
really embarrassed, but laying like this, feeling like this, weak and
comfortable and washed over with worn excitement, frayed and soft
like wind-whipped sheets, it's so easy to betray even the slightest
sway of his emotions in his face and body. Elim turns back over
and lays on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Julian wonders
what to do now. Yet another thing he didn't consider when
trying to satisfy the curiosity of lust. What do Cardassians do
after. But then he thinks, that maybe it doesn't matter
so much what other people do. Elim is hardly other people,
neither is Julian.
    It's late and Julian is
wiped out. He imagines he looks it too.

"Are you planning on going back to your quarters tonight, or
would you like to stay? You are welcome of course," Elim
says plainly, softly. Julian grins again into the pillow.
Elim chuckles and he knows he's watching him again, enjoying the
flustered blush on his ears. He reaches over and runs fingers
over Julian's hair, down to his neck. The touch makes Julian
actually whimper a little, unintentionally. He feels it then as
Elim shifts in the bed, the blankets pull and flutter. "Come."
Elim says and Julian looks and sees he has the blanket up inviting
him in. Julian is a little surprised, suspicious even. He
wonders if this is unusual, if it is solely for his benefit, solely
for now. He doesn't want that. Doesn't want to get used
to something that might not be around later. But not accepting now
certainly isn't going to get him any points. He moves in a
little closer, under the blanket. It feels scratchy and strange
on his skin and he shivers. Elim pulls him in easily.
"Come," he says again. "I wouldn't deny you
anything you're willing to give to me, my dear."

"What do you mean?" Julian asks into his neck.

"I'm not the only one who unravels a little. And I won't
pretend I don't enjoy it either, as long as you don't."
Julian finds himself shivering again as Elim's arms tighten around
him. Understanding starts to creep in a little more forcefully,
and Julian grabs onto Elim's shoulders and rolls his body against
him. Suddenly, there is nothing that could tear him away from
Elim, and he is laughing a little under his breath because a few
seconds ago, he wasn't sure he wanted this embrace.

   Elim
gets up again after a short while, after Julian's grip on him loosens
and the tremor dies. Julian is woken by this movement from the
half sleep he had surrendered to in the comfort of Elim's embrace.
He is still high on this unaccustomed intimacy, and though physically
satisfied for the moment, the loss of his presence leaves Julian
oddly lonely. He doesn't say anything when he gets up, just
throws a robe over his shoulders and walks away. Julian sits up
and watches him out the door as far as he can and wonders what it
means. In only a moment, he knows. Elim is back, smiling
mildly, and holding the untouched bottle of wine and the
re-solidified, slightly mashed box of chocolate. "We
forgot about dessert." Julian chuckles and invites him
back under the covers with concealed relief. Elim props himself
up against the headboard with both pillows behind his back.

    Julian
is struck by two things. Something about being invited to lay
against him, implicitly, because Elim didn't leave him a pillow, then
further when Elim waits as Julian looks at him, the blanket lifted to
expose him again to Julian's eyes. He can't move for a moment.
Elim then unties his robe and lays the flaps open baring the rest of
his skin, the place at the junction of his legs just slightly
wet-looking. He still has that sanguine smile, inviting,
unassuming, and Julian turns and lays back against him, amazed at the
pleasure and heat that simple act brings. The other thing he
notices is that Elim didn't bring any glasses. The bottle tips
up by Julian's head, then down again and is passed in front of him,
proffered. Julian grins to himself and cautiously takes the
bottle from Elim, tips it to his own lips. Never in a million
years would he have thought Elim capable of laying in bed drinking
wine from the bottle. He laughs under his breath a little,
hiding it as much as he can from the man behind him.

"Well, this doesn't seem too bad. Some of this looks ok."
Elim has opened the mangled box and is breaking off a small chunk
from the fused candy. He hands a piece to Julian and behind
him, Julian hears him lick his fingers then make an appreciative
hum. "Are these Rigelian?"

Julian grins to himself again and hands the bottle back up behind
him. "I think so."

    "Very
smooth. Good idea. I don't like chocolate often, don't
have much of a sweet tooth, as you say, but in the right company..."
He has easy access to Julian's right hand, his arm up and fingers
resting on the bottle, and Elim takes those fingers to his mouth,
bites one gently.
    Julian's head tilts up to
watch his knuckle suffer the gentle bite.
    Garak
pulls the blanket up a bit higher on them both and strokes a hand
down Julian's chest and says nothing. The bottle sloshes as they make
their way through it slowly, the parts of the chocolate that were not
stuck permanently to the box are gone.
    Elim is
a comfortable lump beneath him, and he's been half hard for an hour
or so now, his body and his mind yo-yoing between aroused and sleepy
over and over. The light on the nightstand is the only thing
keeping him from sinking down and surrendering again to sleep.
The wine doesn't seem to change that but to make the slip between
easier, dizzier.
    Garak, far from perfectly
content, absolutely roiling inside with heat and want in his belly,
is doing everything he can to keep the appearance of calm
satisfaction. His arousal isn't as obvious as Julian's rather
amusing display beneath the thin blanket, bobbing like a puppet, but
if Julian knew how the past few hours have whet his appetite for real
sex, for the kind of deep ache he wants to knead into his new love,
the way he wants to crush him in his arms, bite down and hold on,
fill him up, if he had any idea of the slobbering beast clawing at
Garak's insides right now, he'd probably put some clothes on, and a
chastity belt. Garak smiles to himself, out of view of Julian's
clever eyes. He can wait. He can wait. Julian isn't
saying much, but his body language is promising enough. He is
tense laying across his thigh and chest. He isn't letting the
full weight of his head lay on Garak's breast and when he strokes his
fingers over Julian's neck, as he does, seemingly idly, he can feel
the tendons tighten. A few moments ago he was on the edge of
sleep, and now he is strung taught as a violin. Garak wonders
if Julian can just sense it coming from his own skin like a charge
building or if he has his own charge warring against Garak's.
Either way the anticipation slowly seeping into the room is
enjoyable. He wonders how long he can maintain it, if it will
last through the rest of the night or if it will find release before
morning. He is also not sure which he would prefer. He'll
let Julian decide, perhaps.

    Garak
stews on that for a time and then places the bottle back in front of
Julian, tilting and lifting it to his lips. He glances up with
a little smile and accepts a mouthful. Either way it goes more
wine is better. He'll either lose the inhibition making him
hesitate and drift away from him, or he'll fall asleep.
Garak has another small bit of chocolate from the tip of his finger
and thinks silently.

    "Do
you wish...that I was Jadzia?"

    Julian
is surprised to hear it, but he is so relaxed, his thoughts so far
from that puzzle, it hardly bothers him whereas a few hours ago he
would have been trembling at the thought of facing this right now.
He is afraid a lie will escape his lips, or that anything he
says will feel like a lie, be perceived as a lie. He isn't sure
there is a right answer to this question until he turns his gaze away
from Elim's icy blue eyes and thinks a moment. Right here,
right now, he sees smooth scales the color of wet clay over a strong
chest and arms. Those arms hold him in a warm fortress-like
circle that he can not compare to anything he has ever felt before.
No woman could make him feel like this, not any more. He can
not even recall ever being held so closely by his father.

    "No,"
he says softly, but emphatically.

    "Why
not? You love her," he says plainly and without
accusation, and it's useless to deny it. "Do you want
her?"

    Julian
smiles sleepily. "I wouldn't know what to do with her."

    Garak
thinks that probably isn't entirely true, but he also can't think of
an answer Julian could have given that would have been better than
that. Poetic little scamp. Garak snuffs a little laugh
and kisses the top of his head. Wasn't exactly a fair question
anyway.

    Julian
does start to melt eventually. He shifts once or twice, drapes
a leg over Elim's, then later takes it back, turns slightly into the
void of Elim's arm. He relaxes there, but doesn't sleep, just
remains extremely still, and he sweats where his skin touches Elim.
The silence is strange but appropriate somehow. The light still
on from the bed-side table probably wouldn't keep them awake if they
intended to sleep, and the wine wouldn't put them to sleep if they
had designs for activity, so they remain in between for a long time.
Julian shifts from time to time, even turns on his side at some point
to put his head down on Elim's shoulder, half propped up, hand
timidly brushing Elim's flank. Elim reaches over at a point
when Julian had though he was asleep or just oblivious to his
presence, and takes his fingers back. The heat rises in Julian
then, wild fire across his skin, and with the combination of Elim's
love of ambient heat and the wine, and just bottomless arousal, he is
sweating all over again. The small movements of their breathing
makes skin in places press and peel together and apart, tickling,
irritating to Julian in an unsubstantial way. It was the sweat
trickling down his back that was more annoying. He wants to
move and wipe it away but he feels like he is squirming, wiggling
around too much. Some other strange feeling, a mental itch,
makes him want to move, to twist and disturb Elim. He is far too
quiet and still beneath him now that he knows he is still awake.
He kind of wants to get his attention in some way, though he's held
back by the idea of that initiative backfiring on him. Elim has
his fingers, and idly touches them, strokes his own over them, and
they stutter and slick because every part of him now is sticky
wet.
    "It's amazing," Elim says out of
nowhere, low and soft as the reading light, "How it just appears
on your skin." Elim places the web of his thumb and
forefinger down on Julian's inner elbow, commanding his arm as if he
were a mannequin, and strigilates downward, pushing a thin film of
moisture from his skin and hair. Julian watches as he takes his
hand to his mouth then and licks the sweat away. "You
taste like the ocean."

    Julian
half smiles. "Do you like the ocean?"

    "I
once lived by the ocean. On Cardassia." Elim turns
under him then, leaving him to lay solely on the mattress and his
wadded robe. He stretches out stealthily on his side and brings
his mouth to Julian's neck and tastes. "You remind me of
home." Elim keeps going, tasting his way down Julian's
chest until he gets to a nipple and sucks gently. Julian's eyes
slip closed and he drifts away as Elim's mouth finds new places to
lick and suck and bite. Julian lets it all pass through him,
absorbing the little pinch of teeth, the prickle of suction, and the
cool rubbery lick all passively like a bystander to beauty.

    "Are
you alright?" Elim asks quietly after a time.

    Julian
looks into the sparkle that represents Elim's eyes in his dim, fuzzy
vision and nods. "Yes."

    "You
haven't made a sound in twenty minutes."

"Oh," he whispers and smiles. "I'm sorry."
Then reaches up to thumb a strand of his hair. "This
is...." he begins, and Elim is silent, hanging, "...a
unique experience." Elim doesn't say anything in reply,
doesn't even stop holding his breath, and Julian realizes how that
must have sounded and chuckles bashfully. "Sorry. I don't
know what to say."

    "Don't
think about it so hard." He runs a hand up Julian's flank
and keeps his nerves properly overloaded even as they talk. "I
would simply like to know..." Elim says and kisses his shoulder,
"If something feels good, or if something feels bad."

    "None
of it feels bad, Elim."

    "Well
then how about you tell me if something feels better or worse."
Julian grins a little and Elim corrects himself. "How
about more better or less better."

    Julian
laughs. "I'm afraid it goes against everything I know
about you to use poor grammar in your presence."

    Garak
moves up closer to his face so they are nearly nose to nose and
pauses, thinks. He is not going to be able to coax him out, so
he will have to make a formal request it seems. "Love,
earlier tonight, when you were afraid, so afraid you were shaking,"
he begins, and the mirth leaves Julian's face, "Do you remember
how you felt then?"

    Julian
blinks several times, on the denial fence. "Yes."

    "At
that point, you were Outside. And do you remember how you felt
a minute ago when you had your eyes closed?"

    "Yes."

    "You
were Inside then. And do you remember when I bit you, and when
we came together?"

    Julian
smirks a little. No, he forgot. "Yes."
Elim's mouth turns up just a bit in response.

    "Then,
we were Inside Together. Each other. Do you understand?
We joined like two links of a chain, part of me in you and part of
you in me." It sounds a little fanciful but Julian thinks
he knows what he's getting at. "That is where I want to
be. We can't be like that every minute of every day, but trust
me when I tell you, it's a wonderful place to be, for both of us.
And we don't have to be in bed to be there. It's just that
being in that place, whatever you want to call it, joined,
interconnected-"

    "Symbiotic?"
Julian suggests and Elim stops and then nods.

    "If
you want to get the most out of this, that is where you will reap the
greatest rewards."

    Julian
looks into his steady blue eyes and nods slowly. Elim kisses
his chest again. "So now, will you tell me what you like
and what you don't?"

    "Ok."

    Garak
starts with the nipple since he's already there, and gives it a
gentle bite. He looks up at Julian who can only grin shyly.
"Good or bad?"

    "Good,"
he intimates.

    Then
onto his ribs for three wet mouthfuls capped with a pinching bite at
the end of each. Julian lets out a held breath when he stops
and looks at him again. "Good?"

    "Yes,"
he breathes.

    Onward.
Garak takes this further than the teasing nips and squeezes of
earlier in the night. He worries he may be rushing this, but
he's doing well, and he just tastes so good. He isn't certain
he can resist. He slides his hands under the rounds of his
bottom and holds onto him there for a while, kneading and squeezing
as he digs teeth into his shoulder from neck to arm, scraping them
across his wet skin, then down to the other nipple that he tongues
and bites at the same time, down further still across ribs to his hip
bone which he gnaws on a little, making him squirm. He digs his
fingertips into unresisting muscle and looks up at him again.
He is panting and running feeble fingers through Garak's hair.
"Good?"

    Julian
nods with a slack face.

    But
once again he slips away. Garak feels it as he goes beyond
relaxed to limp in his arms, and biting him in some tender place does
not bring him back. "Julian," he sing-songs his name and he
wakes from his half-trance one-eyed with a little smile. He
hums a note of amusement. "You have an extraordinary
ability to retreat within your mind, my love, but you don't need to
go away. I'm not torturing you, am I?"

    "No."

    "Then
why leave your body behind while I am worshiping it, hm?"

    Julian
grins. "It's two AM."

    "Oh,
well, don't let me keep you awake. I'll just-" Elim
turns over away from him and begins to settle himself under the
covers.

    "No!
I'm awake! I'm awake!" Julian tries to pull him back
around by his shoulder.

    Garak
lets him for the most part. "Are you really tired?
We can go to sleep if you want."

    "No.
I'm not tired."

    "You
look tired."

    "I'm
not. I was enjoying what we were doing. It was relaxing,
sort of."

    "I
think you're tired."

    Julian
sighs and falls back to the sheets, defeated. Elim rolls over
and runs a thumb over a tender nipple and watches as Julian's cock
jumps up from his belly. Julian laughs as Elim's brow goes up
in response. "See, I'm only tired from the neck up."

    "All
right," he says and decides to humor him for a while longer, at
least until he falls asleep. He continues where he left off, at
Julian's hips, licking at the ultra soft joint of leg and torso while
Julian squirms in his grip and his teeth chatter from the exertion of
restraining his reflexes. He tries not to ball up around Garak
as he touches and bites him there and Garak is extremely happy to
have found such a sensitive spot. He keeps Julian pinned fairly
well and Julian, to his credit, is doing his best not to wriggle away
too. Between the two of them he is able to spend a good ten
minutes on each side of his groin, licking, tasting, teasing, right
on that line, the hollow of his hip, and Julian just shakes and pants
and moans and grapples with himself and Garak's hands. When he
finally leaves that spot Julian gulps at the air. Garak takes
this opportunity to lift his legs up and lodge a doubled pillow under
his hips. He rolls him over to one side.

    Julian
isn't sure what is going on. He is still trying to catch his
breath but he can see and feel Elim slink down on the bed to the
lower half. His hands are there on his rear end again, nothing
new now, and Julian is beginning to think he rather likes that part
of him. That opinion shifts to the left however when he feels
Elim's breath on him.

    Oh
my God.

    His
thumbs pull him apart and the empty air there is a strange sensation,
second only to the sensation of Elim's tongue. Julian hears
himself whimper as he stamps down the impulse to flee, and then
groan. That tongue which can do so much damage to his
composition, can reduce him to a panting wreck when applied to his
cock, a willing and hungry participant with his mouth, seems to have
just as much impact here. It's slick and strange and Julian
closes his eyes hard against it. For a moment it's just too
weird. Wriggling and wet, and he can't accept it, likes it,
loves it, no no no,
yes.
He didn't even consider this in his predictions for this evening, or
any evening. The very idea is scary in a tantalizing way, but
it's no longer just an idea. Elim punctuates that by licking a
thick stripe from balls to tailbone and then back, and then digs in
with a pointed tongue. Julian shivers, then moans again, and is
all at once embarrassed by what he doesn't know for sure is going on
down there. There are lots of nerves telling him he is being
lavished with delicate attention, but he has no idea what his body is
doing in response. All he can do is shut his eyes tight and
wait for it to end - then mourn it when it does.

    Elim
is smiling evilly as he yanks the pillow out from under him, brings
his legs back down to either side of his own. Julian wonders if
he is going to kiss him now. That worry is probably written on
his face.

    He
does. Elim wipes his face on his robe and than lays down on top
of him again. Julian is wide eyed as Elim kisses him, gently
licks his lips. Nothing. He just tastes like Elim,
nothing more, and Julian tries to relax again. Elim's smile
widens and then he laughs. "It's all in your head,"
he says. Julian wonders if he means this entire experience or
just the part where he was licking his ass. He isn't that
imaginative. "How do you feel?"

    Julian's
head sort of lolls a little, and he smiles. "Good."

    "Good.
Then I'll keep going shall I?" he says with a smile and slinks
down again. Julian swallows.

    He
flips him over onto his stomach and runs his hands up and down his
back and legs, then scratches gently from shoulders to feet, leaving
pink lines in sets of four down each side. Julian moans
delightfully each time until his back is full of red stripes.
Not the shiny welts he looks forward to seeing, but nice just the
same. Then Garak starts to bite again. His jaw is getting
tired but the sounds he makes with each bite makes it worth it.
He chomps down on the skin under his shoulder blade a few times where
it is easier to get a mouthful on such a thin man, and listens to his
voice stutter and start. He stops periodically and asks him,
"Good?" Each time he does, the lapse between question
and answer grows, and when he does say yes, his voice is more and
more broken with strain. Garak is having a hard time convincing
himself not to try to fuck him, he sounds so good, looks so good.

    Finally
though, Julian is silently biting the pillow in his grip and his back
and ass is covered with round bite marks, and when he asks Julian if
it still feels good, he doesn't reply.

    Garak
crawls up to lay next to him again. He pulls the covers up,
first the twisted sheet, then the light blanket, and shuts out the
light. It is difficult to pry him from his pillow, to pull his
stiffened body to him and roll him over. Eventually though,
with enough gentle tugging, Julian acquiesces and curls up into his
arms. He's shivering again and Garak smiles and strokes his
hair. He's abominably horny still but so tired it's not going
to keep him awake any longer than he needs to be awake. And he
only needs to be awake as long as Julian is.

    "Why
did you stop?" he murmurs from the cavern of Garak's arms.

    "Because
you've had enough. And so have I," he says through a short
chuckle and a long yawn.

    Julian
wishes as the night wanes and the morning waxes, that there was a
dawn on the station, and that they might soon hear birds waking as
the sky would go from twinkling blackness to stark and depthless
blue, their activity increasing just outside the window, flinging
little seeds from the feeder at the window. He smiles,
remembering the sound from some time long ago. He easily
imagines it outside the window now as the prelude to a dream, that
even as the birds begin their day, they would stay where they were,
defiant of the morning.

    Julian
drifts off quickly, and so does Garak, though they both wake
repeatedly during the night. Garak isn't used to having someone
in his bed, and though his mind never completely forgets he is there,
he remains still enough that Garak can sleep for a while, thinly.
Every time Julian moves, that slobbering monster in him claws him
awake, picks up his head and pries his eyelids open. His body
betrays his tired mind, finds this delicious thing beneath his arm
and has to touch him and marvel again, has to kiss him and feel the
heat rush through him. And it only takes the stroke of his hand
down Julian's flank or a kiss to one of the fading crescent marks on
his neck to wake him, though he tries to keep himself from doing it,
tries to let him sleep too. But inevitably, he catches Garak's
eyes open in the darkness, and then his lips. Then they're
rutting against each other again, straining and working so hard for
it. Julian comes again with difficulty, exhaustion in his eyes
and cracked voice. Garak appreciates it so much though, the
fact that he doesn't just go back to sleep when he can feel Garak
wanting. He kisses his lips softly and gets him some more
water.

    It
is six in the morning before they know it and they're lazily touching
and rubbing against each other between nods. They've only slept
in snatches, but morning has a way of keeping you up once you're up,
no matter how little sleep you got, nor how you spent the night
before.

    Nature
coaxes them both out of bed eventually, wearily. Julian regrets
the wine a little. They didn't finish the bottle and they
weren't drunk by any means, but it left a strange funk in his mouth.
Julian shuffles to the computer, checks his messages, stares a moment
out the starlit window, and by the time he comes back, Elim has taken
a quick shower and is setting out a towel and toothbrush for Julian.
He smiles groggily and gets in the shower himself, and Elim, once
again ahead of the game somehow despite no sleep, has breakfast on a
tray on the bed, and the bed covered in fresh sheets by the time he
gets out.

    Julian
smiles, drops his towel, and crawls back under the covers, skin still
damp and hair still dripping. Elim lifts the tray to let him in
and offers himself as a pillow again. Julian's gut warms and
tightens as he snugs himself under his arm. Elim feeds him
waffles with strawberries between bites of his own breakfast,
something Julian can't identify. Julian is absently glad that
he didn't get warm fish juice for breakfast, considering the mildly
unsettling effect that both it and wine have on his stomach.
The combination could have resulted in some discomfort, he thinks,
and from that thought jumps to the realization that they haven't said
a word to each other yet this morning.

    Might
as well. "You're really warm," he sighs and turns a
little to press a bit more of himself against Elim. Elim holds
the tray steady.

    "Hot
shower."
    "But you're still really
warm. Really warm."

    "Really
hot shower. Fifty degrees, sometimes hotter."

    "Fifty!?"

    Elim
feeds him a strawberry and does not defend.

    "You
seriously like them that hot?
That would boil me. And
you showered a while ago. You feel like you're still about
forty degrees or so." He pats at his chest to gauge his
temperature.

    "We
reptiles are very economical with our heat. Though..." he
trails off in thought for a moment, chewing a bite of his mysterious
breakfast. "That said, I don't know why more Cardassians
don't seek out warm-blooded lovers." Julian smiles.
"So many warm Bajorans, Vulcans, Klingons, and Humans out
there. Exothermic people really are a minority, it's not like
you hot people are hard to come by. And you're just
so....warm," he
purrs, and kiss-licks his neck. "And...absolutely
delectable. And this."
Elim slides a hand under the blanket and strokes it over Julian's
semi-soft prick.  "I can touch you right now. It
won't take weeks to build up enough trust to stamp down the physical
reflex to retract. I can show you right now that I want you to
feel good, and take nothing for myself besides the pleasure of seeing
you under my hands," he murmurs into Julian's hair. Julian
is hard before he finishes his sentence and is interfering with their
breakfast tray. He leans back sleepy-eyed and offers his face
to him without hesitation, the shyness of hours ago vanquished by
familiarity. They kiss, and Julian grins and recognises Elim's
breakfast as breaded mushrooms with hints of something tangy in it he
still can't name.

    Though
the natural rhythms of habit may keep even the physically exhausted
awake, there is little that impractical insomnia can do to defend
itself against waffles, milk, and a comfortable bed. Julian
sinks slowly against Garak, eventually turning and laying cheek
against Garak's chest. Similarly, sleep needs no more allies
than breaded mushrooms, scallions, and pickled liver for Garak, and
as the silence in the room grows thickened by Julian drifting off,
Garak tries to move as little as possible and puts the tray on the
floor, covers them up, and closes his eyes.

~*~


Julian dreams fitful and calm, rotating images and feelings, sweat in
snatches, cycled with a repeating swirl of glittering dust on the
closed top of a black piano. When he wakes he has to stop and
think a moment. At first he isn't sure what day it is.
All the days and hours up to now have run together in his sleep, and
he isn't sure if he is on duty now, tomorrow, or the next day at
first.
    Julian rubs his eyes and looks at
him. He knows he is going to see him there before he opens his
eyes, and isn't surprised at all to see him asleep. He is so
still, Julian wonders how he could feel him there at all, in his
sleep, but he did. He knew he was there the whole time, and he
can tell by the position of the stars out the window that he has been
asleep for hours. It's the look on his face that is more
surprising to Julian. Eyes lightly shut, almost posed there
with a hand lightly curled beneath his jaw.

He feels absorbed by him, magnetized, hazily. He isn't sure he
could look at him now and not be sucked in. Maybe it was
foolish to think that he could. You can't ignore a hurt like
that. If Elim changes his mind, Julian isn't going to be able
to just smile and let it drop. Not now. He feels like an
idiot for thinking it was even possible, that he wouldn't get this
attached - and it happened so quickly. This went from an
improbable fantasy to a very real, very life-changing endeavor in one
night. No, not one night because he's felt like this for close
to a month now. That night that Elim came over for dinner, it
lit him up and he's been burning crazily like this ever since.
It went from dream to reality so fast, and now he's afraid to let it
go. Afraid he will have to. But he will have to.
Eventually.
    Elim sighs, stretches in place just
a little. "You think very loudly, you know." he
mutters, never opening his eyes. "No sense worrying about
it now." It's a surprise to hear his voice, but a welcome
one, a relief from his own thoughts. Julian remains silent a
moment, not sure if he wants to smile or frown, worry anyway or just
give in.
    "Did I wake you with my
thinking?" he asks when he
    "Yes,"
Garak says with the hint of a sleepy smile.

"Should I let sleeping Cardassians lie?" Julian asks with
his own hint in his voice.
    The smile on Garak's
face broadens and warms a degree. "Once in a while."

"I suppose it is simply in your nature."

"Is that all I am? An instrument of nature?"

"When did you really wake up?"

"I believe...only a moment after you."

"After me. How do you know then? How do you know I
ever slept at all? That I haven't been watching you all
day?"
    "Because I woke up about
an hour ago as well and you were drooling on me."

A little laugh escapes Julian's lips but he ties it back down because
an apology loses something when said through a laugh. "I'm
sorry." Elim leans forward and gives forgiveness to
Julian's lips. "What time is it?"

Elim twists a little to look at the clock. "About sixteen
hundred."
    Julian groans. "We
slept the day away." His heart clenches at the thought,
and a surge of desperation tightens his shoulders, then slowly drains
away again, mostly. He keeps thinking this is going to end at
some point. He felt last night that that was the end, like some
holosuite game. You reach the end of the day, the end of your
reserved time, and that's the end of the game whether you've achieved
your objectives or not. Then Elim gave him an extension,
invited him to stay and play a little longer. He isn't sure
though how long his welcome really is, and his imagination is
supplying him with the idea that once he's out of that door the game
will reset, the fantasy over. He knows it isn't true - doesn't
think it's true, but the fear is realer than logic right now while
he's still sleepy.
    "What's wrong?"

Julian snaps out of it and rubs his face. "Nothing.
Um."
    "I thought we agreed you
wouldn't worry about it."
    "What?"

"Whatever you're stewing about, there is no sense in it."

"Oh. No, I'm...just thinking that I should probably go and
get some work done."
    "My dear,
correct me if I'm wrong but don't you have today and tomorrow
off?"
    "Yes."

Garak doesn't say anything at first, just lets the natural conclusion
hang unspoken in the air. "You don't have to stay if you'd
rather not," he says softly from the pillow. "I just
thought it would be nice to spend a couple of days away from the rest
of the world. Face it later when we have to, and not a moment
sooner. Sounded like a good idea to me anyway."

Julian smiles a little. He can certainly understand the
sentiment. It was exactly what he wanted as well, this perfect
lazy morning-cum-afternoon stretched out indefinitely, but he thought
he was being responsible and prudent trying to end it himself rather
than wearing out his welcome or assuming too much. But what
would he assume?
    "When I said you're
welcome to stay, I meant you're welcome to stay whenever you
want."
    He didn't want to assume that there
was a commitment here. Then he realizes, and he can feel it
expressed on his face, that it has already been implied. Now
that sleep is retreating it starts to make a little more sense.
They're middle-aged men, not academy kids. Middle-aged men
don't have one night stands with their friends, put a notch in their
belts and move on to the next or pretend it didn't happen.
They've already had this discussion. Love. That's what
they said, both of them. It wasn't one sided, but somehow the
insecurity rises anyway. And now Julian feels guilty because he
promised he wouldn't change his mind.
    "Julian,
are you alright?" Elim's face has knitted with concern in
a way he's seldom seen. Elim doesn't show his feelings on his
face.
    Julian laughs nervously. "I
think I just had a mini-panic."
    "Oh?"

"Yeah."
    "Why?"

"I don't know," he chuckles.
    "Second
thoughts?"
    Julian concentrates hard and
tries to hammer the feeling into words. "No, just, I don't
know."
    Elim seems to sink into his own
thoughts for a time before he speaks again. "Just because
last night is over and done with doesn't mean that we're supposed to
be over the hard part. I'm still scared out of my mind, I don't
know about you, and I think I'm going to be for some time yet.
If you are too, well, then I feel a little better."

Julian half-smirks. "When did you start reading my
mind?"
    "I've been taking supplements
to improve my eyesight. I can see straight through your skull
right now."
    Captain Boday flashes a
wide-mouthed grin at Julian from inside that skull, though he doesn't
think Elim catches it, and he tries to shake it off.

"Well, rather than lying here being terrified of each other, why
don't we go do something?" Elim says and takes his fingers
between his own. His touch, even just this familiar little
caress is intoxicating and he feels himself smile stupidly.
Another hand comes up and rakes gently through his hair, down and
around the back of his neck. He can't hold his eyes open
against that. He hears Elim hum warm amusement. "Or
we could stay here."
    Julian can't resist
any more and scoots closer to him. His hands invite him in and
he forgets that just a moment ago was worried he had overstayed,
forgets that he foresaw some imminent end to this, because it is
suddenly warm and new all over again. Elim's skin is cool
except for a place here and there where he was touching Julian while
they slept, but his mouth is warm inside, and he tastes fresh and
mild.
    Kisses pass left and right between them,
over their faces, but it is hard to kiss and smile at the same time.
Julian's grin prevents it eventually and he stops and wipes his wet
mouth. Elim pecks at his neck.
    "I
think," he starts and waits for Elim's attention, "That
it's my turn now."
    "Oh?" Elim
replies with no small surprise in his voice.

"Yes." Julian hoists himself up and over Garak,
turning him slightly by suggestion and straddling his legs with hips
cocked forward. He runs his hands up Garak's chest, but Garak
hardly notices that. Rather he gets what feels like a strange
smirk on his face as Julian's balls drop between his legs and rest
just there. Julian chuckles a little but seems to have no
intention of moving them. If Garak wasn't such a gentleman, he
could make Julian very uncomfortable right now if he wished.
But, that is two if's in one thought, which tells him he should
probably reserve such a thing for later when he has more positive
information. There is just so much ahead of them, it feels like
being young again.
    Julian lays down on top of
him, knees up by Elim's hips to keep some of the weight off of him,
and starts kissing his way over his jaw, down his neck. Elim
sighs and strokes two lazy hands down Julian's back.

"What does this feel like?" Elim opens his eyes again
to gauge the intent of the question. Julian is lightly rubbing
the flat middle of a large scale on Elim's chest.

"Like I have seventy kilograms of warm human pinning me
down."
    "No, this. Does that
feel like anything?"
    "I can feel it.
But the scales don't have any feeling themselves. I can feel
with the skin beneath them though. Just like you can feel
something beneath your fingernails."
    "What
about this?" Julian runs his finger tip up and down a tiny
strip of flesh peeking between the scales.
    "I
can feel that."
    "Better than the
scales?"
    "Loud and clear."

"Interesting. Does this..." he strokes that little
patch again, "...feel the same as this?" Then he
touches Elim's ear in the same way.
    "Not
exactly."
    "What about this?"
He runs the side of his thumb around the edge of his forehead rebec
with one hand and another little stripe of pale skin on his abdomen
with the other, lifting the bottom of the scale ever so slightly with
just the pressure and pull of his fingertip. Garak can feel the
skin slip minutely over his rib, and the stiff scale remain rigid and
pull away from the skin. Immaterial, a natural function of his
skin, but delightful to imagine in Julian's hands. He doesn't
even have to see it to appreciate it, and the shrill singing of his
skin on his face gets transported to that innocuous spot on his ribs
where Julian is stroking him. He smiles a little and closes his
eyes.
    "Or...here?" Julian skims
the palm of his hand down Garak's left arm, then slows and runs
delicate fingers over his inner elbow, and at the same time dips down
to put his mouth to his chest. He licks at his collarbone, then
as he trails his fingers lower, his mouth tastes down his sternum to
the shape on his chest. Garak moans softly, a hum of
appreciation as Julian's tongue makes its way around the shape over
and over, and his fingers tickle at his wrist. Into the dip
goes that hot wet muscle and Garak finds himself with his back
arched, hips cocked up to press against Julian, and his breathing
hissing through his teeth. Julian sits back up and grins while
Garak looks back at him with accusation in his eyes.

"Do you have some nefarious plan I should be aware of?"
he asks him.
    "No, none you should be aware
of."
    "Then why are you trying to
create associations my dear? I can think of no innocent reason
for you to want me to writhe in pleasure with a touch to my
hand."
    Julian sighs and rolls his eyes.
"Can't you just enjoy it without questioning my motives and
analysing it to death?"
    Garak puts up his
hands and smiles. Julian leans back over and kisses him, moves
down his chin, jaw, then neck, and as he mouths over that strange web
of thick skin and scale, licking stripes across the sensitive
membranes between the scales, he digs his thumb into Garak's hip.
Garak growls and curls up like an armored beast, lifting Julian up
with him, folding him awkwardly. Julian holds on and wraps his
arms around him, feels the flat back of his neck and the strange
transition from scales to hair.
    It's
exhilarating to be so casually manipulated, strange and lovely to
feel powerless, but this isn't what he wants. He wanted to ply
him with attention and make him as weak as he makes Julian with his
touch. He's being so easily defeated though. Elim's mouth
on his again, he just takes over. Kiss so hot and heady, the
brush of his hard nose against Julian's soft, the same at his chin.
Elim's body is hard against him, startlingly strong, but Julian can
regain his head. He enjoys it a moment longer as Elim bends him
back until his spine hurts, but then twists. He is lithe enough
to escape his grasp, and Elim doesn't yet trust his hands on him,
Julian knows, can feel the hesitation in them. He lets go
before allowing Julian to hurt himself twisting in his grip.

Garak lets go, accepting Julian's initiative, reining himself in
again to see where it goes, as long as it isn't too far away.
Which it isn't. Julian pushes him back down to the mattress as
much as he can. Garak props himself up with stiff arms behind
him and watches as Julian kisses and tastes down his abdomen.
The human cock is purple now, not just hard. Garak takes that
to mean he is pushing the right buttons still. He's being brave
again, and moves in over Garak's hips, hesitates only a moment and
then pushes his legs apart and puts his mouth down. He just
kisses, and smells. Garak can feel his breath on him there
where the scales are small, dark, and fine.

Julian pauses and looks up at him. "Is this alright?"

"Do with me as you please my dear."

"Until you tell me I can't," he jabs playfully.

"Am I going to need a safe word?"

"Maybe. Now is your chance."

"No, I think I can trust you to know when to stop."
Julian hesitates again on that note and grins.

He smells...Julian wants to put a word to it in his head because
words define things, make them real. He could call it musky,
that's what men are supposed to smell like, salty and smoky, a
stronger version of Elim's usual scent, but that wouldn't really do
it. He almost smells...dry. He isn't. That slick
moisture evident in the slit, but it is a dry smell in the way that
vodka is dry. Liquid, room temperature, but to all your other
senses, hot, dry, dizzying, intoxicating. He was afraid of what
Elim would taste and smell like. Most mammals are highly
influenced by those senses, and Julian no more than most, he
supposes, but he was afraid he wouldn't like it, because he wants
to. He was petrified that he would be strange and wouldn't like
the way girls taste, and didn't really at first, until the first time
he fell in love and it didn't matter what his senses told him.
Didn't matter what she wore or if she caught a cold and her voice
turned raspy when she laughed, because he just wanted to make her
feel good. He was worried about this with Elim too. He
should be more worried he supposes. While countless men have
learned and love the flavor of a woman, it's possible he is the first
human to have this experience with a Cardassian. Untested.
And perhaps if he wasn't in love, Elim wouldn't smell good to him,
or, the other way around. Hardly matters. Julian just
wants to make him feel good.
    Of
course the reptilian bastard isn't going to make it easy.
Julian glides a thumb up the wet slit, watching Elim's eyes staring
back at him. He has to glance down though, see what causes the
incongruity between imagination and the tangible surface beneath his
hand. It's nothing like a woman. It's tough rather than
fleshy, like the rest of him. Close in thickness to the cords
of his neck, but covered in thin skin like a cloth of glass beads.
He places the palm of his hand gently, cautiously over it, a little
pressure just to test, to see what he does. Elim only smiles a
little, face changing by minute degrees as he looks him in the eyes
unblinking, innocent enough, though Julian knows he conceals a lot
more anxious want than he shows. Julian bends down and kisses
him where his belly wrinkles a little in the inside curve of his
torso, then down, and down again. His pulse races as his open
mouth finds matching warmth and wetness. He closes his eyes.
Flavorless like vodka too, for the most part, but the scent in his
nose is thick and male. A raspy moan almost too small to hear
escapes his throat. Elim does the same and he wants to rejoice
in success. Those cords are tight, tough. With a glance
up at Elim's face, eyes shut, face skyward, he pushes and just barely
gets the tip of his tongue between them. The cords feel like
two fingers, with a little more give, the outside textured finely
with the smallest hard round scales, and inside, silken skin tight
and warm. Elim hums appreciatively. Julian laps at him
then, flat tongue moving slow up and over to let Elim feel the heat
of it, as long as he can make it, and Elim grins at him and his hips
pivot a little. Julian returns the smile halfway and then lifts
up, crawls up Elim to burden his arms again with both their weight,
kiss him hard and press his cock against the wetness he left there,
grind, hard into him and whimper into his mouth when the heat rushes
over him. "I want you," he says just above a
whisper.
    Garak sighs harshly. "Julian,"
he breathes.
    "Please."

Garak chuckles light and high. "Julian how do you expect
me to resist that?"
    A smile spreads across
his face like butter. "I don't."

Garak lifts him up again, with no help from his hands and Julian is
shocked again at how strong he is as compared with how gentile he can
be. He supports Julian's back and lays him down so they are the
wrong way on the bed. He digs into Julian's neck, then, taking
big juicy bites that make him a little helpless. He will never
tire of that unpredictable mouth.
    Garak is
never going to get tired of his skin. He's been devouring him
for nearly a full day straight now and he is still not satisfied.
He kisses and nips at his face and jaw and slides down to lie between
Julian's legs and notch his hips against his, thread his hands under
Julian's shoulders and brace him down. "Anything you want
I will do."
    Julian moans a little and
scratches nails down Elim's back. He wants. He wants a
lot. What, specifically, he isn't sure. He could name a
few possibilities but he doesn't want to fill in a blank check like
that with just anything. Most of the possibilities seem a
little scary.
    "What do you want me to
do?"
    Julian grins. "I don't
know."
    Garak's cock emerges and slides up
wetly in the small space between them. Julian groans, his eyes
flutter shut, and he writhes a little in Elim's grasp. "Well,
I'd say you wanted that. What else?"

Julian is trying to rock his hips and get some of that delicious
smooth cock against his own, heedless of sensitivity in a brief,
uncontrolled fugue, and Garak has to lift up off of him until he
settles down. Julian whines and tries to tempt him back down
with kisses and tongue. "Alright, alright," he coos
to him as if giving in, promising to give in. He sits back on
his heels and has to push Julian down in the middle of his chest to
keep him there. "I think it's time."

"Time for what?" he asks, propped up on his elbows.
His mind whispers the answer to him and goes numb with disbelief,
taking half of his body with it. Elim doesn't reply except to
turn and stretch his long beautiful body, twist around and reach into
the nightstand drawer. He pulls out a small bottle, the sight
of which makes Julian's ears burn, then squeezes out a little clear
gel onto his fingers and turns his gaze to Julian's eyes.

Julian becomes very still, then swallows. Garak looks at him
with a hint of questioning in hie eyes, though not much, more sort of
patient appraisal. He is waiting for some signal from Julian
indicating that he understands an accepts, but he may not wait for
long, may proceed even if Julian makes no signal to that effect.

No response comes. He just lays there mutely as if he thinks if
he stays still enough, Garak won't be able to see him.

The pause is over though, and Garak takes Julian's right leg and puts
it over his shoulder, then the same with the other. His fingers
coated in cold gel, he smooths it over Julian eliciting a sharp gasp
from him that jump-starts his breathing. He rubs it between his
cheeks gently. "Shh. Just relax. You're a
doctor, you know how this goes."
    Julian
swallows hard, trying not to hyperventilate. "What?
Doctors never do digital rectal exams anymore, Elim. What
century do you live in? They're completely unnecessary in
almost any circumstance. Plus they're just traumatic," he
says with his voice flying just a little higher than normal, then
swallows hard again and continues his harsh breathing where he left
off.
    "Oh I don't know about that,"
Elim says, and with that, stiffens one finger and pushes.

Julian gasps, then gasps some more even before letting out the first
one, stiffens through his whole body and shuts his eyes tight.
He just sits there a moment, then the fingers of Elim's other hand
smooths Julian's chest, then down one arm, and takes a hand that he
had curled into a fist. Julian hears a soft chuckle come from
him.
    "Julian, relax."

He lets out the gasps finally and replaces them. "Uh huh,"
he squeaks.
    He chuckles again and then moves.
A little deeper, and Julian is flinching, all of his muscles trying
to leap away all at once, though he manages to catch them for now.
Then he can feel Elim's other fingers pressed against his rear end.
He knows that's as far as it goes and cautiously lets out another
long loud breath.
    "Good boy," Garak
coos, pauses, twists, and pulls back. Julian makes a
shaky noise, a whimper through pressed lips and tries to keep
breathing. It doesn't hurt badly, strange and sensitive, yes,
and tender. It just feels...highly unconventional.

Garak gives him a moment with just one knuckle intruding, then pushes
back into that ultra soft heat and Julian starts panting in a way
that makes Garak's cock throb inside and ache to come out again.

A few more slow and gentile strokes and Julian is shaking but no
longer panicky. It does hurt now, just a little too sensitive
for rough fingers, but it isn't hell, yet. He recognises though
that it is likely to get sore quickly from here on. He wonders
if this is what it always feels like, and if so, if he is going to be
able to do it, to get used to it. That is the overriding
fear.
    Garak takes a wet thumb and starts to
prod and massage in that area. Rubs up and down, above and
below. Julian actually seems to enjoy that. Has probably
done this much himself. He hums a little as he rubs his
perineum. He tries to gently introduce him to the idea of
pressure here, and moves his finger in tiny circles to enhance the
illusion. Julian doesn't seem to mind at all though his eyes
are closed and he isn't making a sound. Garak removes his
middle finger, gets some more gel, and places two fingers there, and
then in.
    Julian knows what is happening and
tenses all over, but for some reason two is no worse than the one.
It hurts a little though he has always wondered why it should.
Why should a finger which is typically smaller than what normally
passes through there, cause so much discomfort? Even two
shouldn't be a stretch, but it feels like one. Elim
pushes them in slowly, so slowly, and Julian breathes deeply, in
through his nose, out through his mouth. It's amazing how much
he can feel of it, but he can distinguish each knuckle, each wrinkle
of skin, and is suddenly very aware of his vulnerability, how exposed
he is lying like this. Elim's face is natural and open, there
is no enjoyment or admonishment in his eyes, only careful
observation, as if he were playing Julian like an instrument.
Then Elim strokes soothingly
down his stomach once and twists the other hand again to turn his
palm upward. A funny startled noise escapes Julian's
throat. Then another strange feeling that Julian eventually
realizes is Elim's fingers separating within him a few times.
There is a stretch that isn't altogether unpleasant though it is
very, very strange, and the movement inside his body is unsettling,
like a living thinking thing invading him, unconventional in the same
way that everything right now feels from head to toe. Elim
pushes a little more. There is no more room, but he pushes and
Julian tries to just remain lax and let him push because it hurts the
most when he clenches. He understands that, but his body
doesn't always listen to his head, and suddenly he can't help it and
he yelps and bucks as Elim's fingers find his prostate and rub.
Julian gulps at the air sharply, then lets it out in a garbled moan
as Elim pulls out of him completely. Julian shudders from the
very middle of his body outward. It felt good, odd, hot, but it
was just so strong. He glares up at Elim when he sees a tiny
smirk on his face betraying his satisfaction. Julian puts his
legs down and grasps his cock which is hard purple and hurting.

He catches his breath and watches as Elim puts more gel on his hand.
Then Elim sits there, again with the questioning in his eyes, but his
cock is out and waiting, bobbing this time. Julian hadn't
noticed before but it has a slight upward curl to it. "Ready?"
he asks this time, and begins to lift Julian's legs again.

"Um," he says and swallows. "Um. Are you sure. I
mean, that I'm..."
    Elim looks him in the
eyes plainly, no humour, no malice. "You're as ready as
you will ever be, Love." Julian says nothing, and he feels
his hand spread more lubricant on him, shivers at the feel of a
finger slip inside him once more, easily this time, a little burn,
then pull on him. His ears are burning again too. The
whole room is on fire, but silent, absolutely nothing to distract
from the interaction in the inches between them. Then his cock
is there, rubbing through the wetness from the lube and Elim's own
natural contribution. Julian watches as his body rocks
rhythmically over him, feels the charge in the room, tries to just
breathe and stay calm, or at least appear calm. Elim stops and
leans in, forward, and down. It folds Julian in half, but he
gets a long sweet kiss out of it. Elim maneuvers a hand up over
Julian's knees and strokes through his hair. "This is
going to hurt," he whispers against Julian's lips.

Julian lets out an unsteady breath.   "I thought you
wanted it to hurt."
    "No. Not
this. Not the first time. It's almost inevitable that it
will, but it isn't my intention. If the first time I kissed you
I bit you till you bled would you let me kiss you again?"

"The first time?" Julian says breathily, trembling.
"I kissed you," he corrects, and Elim
smiles.
    "Regardless. I'm not going
to hurt you any more than I must right now. I want you to know
that." Elim is nose to nose with him again, he nuzzles up
one cheek and then and speaks softly to his left ear. "Just.
Tell me if you need to stop. I already know how brave you are.
You don't need to prove it to me with this. It's going to hurt
but it gets better. I promise." Then Elim kisses him
deeply again, slow and languorous, and his other hand moves down.
Julian feels it, and almost doesn't believe it will happen, doesn't
seem possible at all, this arrangement of tangled limbs, the idea of
anything being inside of him except he himself, but then there is
pressure, and he can feel Elim's fingers guiding it, concentrating it
until it blossoms into a sharp sequence of sensation like freezing
cold that swings to burning hot in the space of a second, followed by
pain so intense and centered within his core it is utterly humbling
and immovable.
    Julian is gasping again,
breathing heavily as Garak tries to divert his attention to his
mouth. It doesn't work at all, and Julian turns his head to
breathe through bared clenched teeth. Garak can't really even
feel him around his cock yet. He has to be viciously tight and
hot, but he isn't going to get to enjoy it right now. Sometimes
you have to sacrifice a little pleasure now to reap greater pleasure
later. Julian keeps breathing like that, hyperventilating, but
it doesn't appear to be enough. He soon starts trying to hold
his breath, and veins pop out in his neck. When he releases the
breath next it is with a painful keening sound that, under different
circumstances, would be music to Garak's ears. Right now
though, he isn't able to take pleasure from it. Not while
Julian is so far away from him.
    "Julian,"
he says softly and kisses his neck. "Relax, Love. It
goes away if you relax."
    Julian knows
that, any doctor knows that, but somehow it's infuriating to be
reminded of it now when it is so much more easily said than done.
Anger doesn't hold up any better than logic, though. The pain
is too much and he feels too helpless, pinned down and wounded, to be
angry.
    "Can't," is all he can
grate out.   He hears himself making this stuttering
noises, his breath stopping in his lungs on the way in and out that
sounds like sobbing, but he isn't. He just can't remember the
last time he felt pain like this and he feels so pathetic for not
being able to stop it. He knows how to handle pain, but this is
different somehow. He wants to do this for Elim. He has
wanted to from the beginning, knew it was going to happen, but he
never really tried to prepare himself. He knew how, but he just
wasn't brave enough to try. Elim is a fool if he thinks he's
brave, unless this just isn't normal. He doesn't know, and he
feels even more pathetic for not knowing. "Is it supposed
to hurt this much?" he finally gets out, voice shaky and
insincere, almost breaking down, and then holds his breath again.

Garak remembers the first time. It hurts. There is
nothing that can prepare you for it besides doing it. And doing
it yourself, it still hurts. The pain, the fear, the fear of
the pain is so much harder by yourself. It's difficult to be
the cause of it for Julian, but he is glad he can help him with it,
even if it means a little bit longer wait until they can just enjoy
it. Garak runs fingers through his hair once more and then
slides deeper into him.
    Julian yelps and his
body spasms in fear, though it doesn't hurt any more than it did a
moment ago. Just the movement, the change in pressure is unsettling,
and the feeling that the pain is never going to end seems more
concrete the deeper he goes.
    "Love,"
Elim says from just a few inches above him. He can feel his
breath on him though his eyes are shut tight. "There are
things you can feel within Us. Things that go beyond the
boundary of you or me, to reach where we become Us. Inside Us.
It's not always easy to get there, Julian, but if you trust, and let
the things you feel Outside to come in, and then come in to Us,
you will see them for what they really are. You will see that
the things you feel come from within you and nowhere else, and that
you can make them be anything you want."

Julian is listening, but what he is saying isn't making much sense.
He still doesn't know if he was expecting Julian to be in this much
pain and his body keeps screaming at him that this is dangerous, that
he is being harmed and yet Elim doesn't seem to notice.

He is frustrated and hurting, and he can't get past it at this point,
it is clear. Garak doesn't want to hurt him like this any more,
though it has only been a moment. Julian is in a kind of lonely
agony that Garak can appreciate. He has been there himself and
he knows how desperate it feels. Garak clenches his own teeth
and withdraws slowly. That sweet drag on his cock, the low
pressure and heat inside his body, the unbelievable grip around the
head, it's just so hard to let go of him when he knows if he
could steer Julian's brain off course just a degree, he would be ok,
and this would be a beautiful evening. But he can't, so he
does, pulls away and squeezes his own cock head once it is free to
ground himself. There is a trace of blood on his hand.
Garak lets Julian's legs down gently and listens as he starts
breathing again in arrhythmic bursts. He lays down next to him
and runs the back of his hand down his chest.

Julian can't believe how much it hurts, even now minutes after it is
gone. He expected the pain to melt away after, but it didn't,
it feels like he is still there. Julian imagines that this is
probably a bit what it feels like to be stabbed, and squeezes his
eyes tight again. Elim is stroking his hair and neck as he
pants and the pain does start to ebb away finally, such that he can
release the pressure in his jaw at least. In a moment or two
though, Elim gets up, goes to the bathroom and returns with something
in his hand. Julian knows what it is at first glance and
whimpers into the mattress with the remnants of the pain and a
mortified sorrow in his voice. Even his throat is starting to
hurt now. He didn't want this. He wanted this to be
perfect.
    Elim lays down again and with a murmur
and a pat to his hip, urges Julian to roll over. He does, and
frowns hard into a wrinkle of the blanket, biting back disappointed
and embarrassed tears. Elim spreads him apart, and it's done in
a moment, the minuscule tear healed by the beam of the dermal
regenerator, but Julian doesn't move, doesn't pick up his head,
doesn't say a word.
    Garak puts the regenerator
away, turns the lights down and comes back to bed. He pulls the
extra blanket off the foot of the bed and covers them with it to the
waist. He is calming now as well, now that Julian's pain is
abating and he caught a glimpse of his slack face on his way back.
He props himself up next to him on an elbow and runs his fingers over
Julian's back. Up and down, gently, randomly. He draws
nonsensical shapes and swirls there over his spine and flanks,
extending them out over his shoulders and arms, invisible knots and
vines. Julian never moves except to cough once.

There was a poem he remembers reading when he was living on
Cardassia. He thought it was beautiful when he read it, but he
never really had an application for it before. Perhaps he
doesn't even yet, but he feels that soon, soon it will be true.
Someday soon he could say these words to Julian and not only would
Garak hear the beauty of their truth, but Julian will as well.
Garak pauses, recalls the meaning first, then the words, then takes
his third and fourth fingers and brushes each character in Kardassi
across Julian's back in slow, large letters.
    I
make you feel pain
    So no one can hurt you.

I make you feel shame
    So no one can shame
you.
    I take away what you need

So no one can deprive you.
    I am

So I may love you.
    Julian gets up
eventually, long after Garak has brushed his poem across his skin
many times and left soft kisses here and there to stand in for
punctuation. When he is ready he pushes himself up slowly,
without facing Garak, and walks silently to the bathroom and shuts
the door. Garak understands, he does, but it may be a while
before Julian accepts it.
    And they call
Cardassians perfectionists.

    Garak
straightens out the sheets and blankets while his is gone. He
is about to get back in bed but then changes his mind and trots off
to the replicator. He could use a bite, and imagines after
recent events, Julian should be hungry, even if he doesn't want to
be. He isn't really up on his human cuisine though, and beyond
potatoes, he isn't sure what other foods soothe the human psyche.
He supposes it would be largely up to individual taste. So he
falls back to the only other food he can think of right now that he
knows almost all humans seem to like. Garak brings the single
plate back to bed with two forks, and arranges himself back at the
head of the bed with one pillow behind him, the other propped up on
Julian's side.

    Huh.
Garak smiles to himself. Julian has his own side,
suddenly.

    Julian
comes out of the bathroom looking a little haggard, but perhaps
fresher and a bit more alert. He looks at Garak, then at the
pillows, then the food.

    "Apple
pie?" he asks but his face doesn't change or brighten at all.

    "Do
you like apple pie?"

    He
shrugs. "Sure."

    Garak
smiles and lifts the corner of the covers. Julian gets in and
just sits there on his side of the bed for a moment. Garak
waits. After six years he's used to it. A moment more
added to the end won't kill him.

    Julian
isn't sure what to do with himself now. He feels just sort of
empty and wasted, though he knows it's stupid. He turns and
looks at Elim again. He wants to know what he is supposed to do
now, looks to him for a clue. All Elim does is return his
regard, and Julian crumples under it in short order. His face
is a moue as he pushes at his own pillow until Elim sits forward and
accepts it behind his back, that's where it belongs, then he takes
Elim's elbow and lifts it until he lets Julian under to lay against
him.

    Garak's
heart is pattering happiness and sympathy at the same time right
now. He has a plate of apple pie in his hand though and so does
the best he can with one arm and a kiss to soothe that look from
Julian's face. Julian seems content to just lay there holding
onto him, so he leaves him be for the most part and has a few bites
of the pie. Elim hears a plaintive sigh escape him, and then
frowns and sighs himself. "Julian," he entreats
softly.
    "I'm sorry. I really wanted
this to be perfect."
    "Love, it was.
I told you just a few hours ago what my expectations were. Have
you forgotten already?"
    "Low
standards don't make the outcome any better, Garak. They
just...shrink the scope."
    "Well I
have to disagree with both that idea and with the idea that the
relative or absolute 'goodness' was anything less than
acceptable."
    Julian is unmoved and lays
there with his eyelashes brushing Garak's chest. "I just
wanted to be..."

    "Have
some pie."

    Julian
accepts a bite and chews under Garak's chin. "It's
like...I'm losing the battle for my own self-respect lately.
Like whatever I try to do to make this the best it can be just
backfires. I'm a constant disappointment to myself. I can
only imagine how I must seem to you."

    Garak
thinks that is particularly ridiculous, and if Julian wasn't so
depressed he might point that out in more bold terms.

    Elim
hums in response, neither an affirmative nor a negative. "And
you're usually so brutish and butch, too," he adds. Julian
still doesn't know if he agrees or disagrees, he can't even tell now
if Elim is being sarcastic or facetious. It clearly isn't real,
but he can't tell if he is angry or just disappointed. Julian
isn't sure about himself either.

    Garak
takes a final bite of pie, places it on the nightstand and lifts
himself up briskly, flipping Julian off of him, and hopefully off of
his mood as well. He crawls on top of the now supine and
surprised human, swallows his bite, and dives for his neck with
teasing nipping teeth and sweet sticky lips. Julian is very
quickly reduced to squirming and petulant laughter, and now that
Garak knows it is possible, which he had no doubt before the attack
that he would be ticklish all over if properly surprised, he digs
delicately into his ribs and stomach until Julian begs him to stop an
instant later. So much for distraction.

    Julian
urges him back to the pillows and situates himself back to the
agreeable position half laying on him, half tucked under his arm and
leg.

    Garak
picks up where he left off on the pie and offers Julian the last
stray sugar-coated apple, puts the empty plate back down on the
nightstand.

    Julian
chews, sighs, stubbornly morose, and Garak chuckles. "Why
are you beating yourself up about this?"

Julian sighs again. "I guess I'm just used to being at the
head of the class."
    Garak grumbles
wordless commiserations as he pulls Julian a little more squarely on
top of him and holds him gently under his butt with both hands.
Julian crumples against him, face into the web of his neck.
"With the curve you'll end up with an A minus at least.
Don't worry about it."
    Julian snorts into
his neck. "What about you? How did you do?"

"Me?...Well...It's been a while since I took Anal one-oh-one but
I think I still have my notes."
    Julian is
laughing and shaking the whole bed as he does so. "Your
closet says otherwise, Garak. Arranged by color?
You're a professor emeritus at least."
    "By
color is the most logical way to arrange a closet," he defends
emphatically. "Most items when hung in a closet have
similar profiles, and the only way to find what you're looking for in
a large wardrobe is to search by color. That is much easier to
do if you keep things grouped by color." Julian is
still laughing. "Anyway we weren't talking about my
closet."
    "No," Julian agrees as
the laughter in his lungs fizzles.
    "Did
you really think you'd be able to just ignore the pain and do it the
first try?"
    "I read up on it."

"Easier read than done, my dear."

Julian lifts his head and digs his blunt chin into Elim's chest, but
he doesn't complain. "Well," he starts. "We
could..."
    A smile creeps up one half of
Garak's face as he peers down at him. Julian looks a little
bashful, but hopeful, beautiful. "One thing at a time, my
love. One thing at a time."

    Julian
thinks that doesn't exactly sound fair nor logically derived, but it
hardly seems important right now. There is something else
gnawing at him. "When...do you think? I mean.
How long is it going to take? A month, two months?"

 
"Tomorrow."

    A
shock goes up Julian's spine. "Tomorrow? But-"

    "You'll
be ready tomorrow night. It will still hurt some, but you'll be
able to do it, and enjoy it tomorrow."

    Garak
can feel him blinking over and over, eyelashes tickling his neck.
He wants to laugh from the tickle and from the face he knows Julian
is making there, his eyes talking when his mouth doesn't know what to
say. Holds it back though.

    "What
if I'm not?"

    Garak
shrugs and stretches. "Another day then. I told you,
as slow as you want, but I think you'll be fine tomorrow."
Julian's backside doesn't agree, though bizarrely his cock doesn't
seem to care how much it hurt.

    They
lay there a while, Garak continues drawing shapeless pictures on his
back until his fingertips go numb and Julian seems to grow into him
like a tree into a rock over a hundred years. Garak's body
grows warm against him, absorbing all that radiating heat into
himself for safe keeping. Julian feels like just another part
of him, but he touches him with far more pleasure. He isn't
asleep, but could be on the edge. "Are you tired?" he
asks him.

    Julian
shakes his head.

    "Did
you want to go to the Gratitude festival tomorrow?"

    Julian
shakes his head again and Garak chuckles a little.

    "Good,"
he says. "I don't think I can be in your presence and not
want to eat you alive, crowds of observers or no." Garak
squeezes him a little and kisses the top of his head.

    "I
don't want to do anything tomorrow," Julian says sullenly and
creeps upward to press his lips to Elim's.

    Garak
smiles brightly. "That's the spirit," he quips and
returns the kiss. Julian crawls up on him further, higher, sits
on his lap and Garak pulls the blanket up over his shoulders which
feel cool in the air. Julian attaches himself to Garak's face
and kisses, and kisses, and kisses some more. He tastes his
lips and tongue over and over, and it drowns out the nattering of his
mind far better than any water shower.

    Garak
loves every minute of it, but decides to reach for a little more and
squeezes Julian to him, pressing his cock between their bellies, a
hard squeeze between pelvic bones. He sits up and lays Julian
down again, just like earlier in the day. Julian's breath
quickens as their lips come apart and Garak coos to him, tells him
they're done for today. There is nothing to fear. Garak
puts a pillow under his head, holds both of his hands with each of
his own, and positions himself between Julian's legs.

Julian is long and thick, probably a bit larger than the average
human. Garak considers the possibility that Julian was
augmented not just mentally, but in other ways as well, but shakes
the silly thought away. For some reason, considering his size
did not even occur to Garak the first time he encountered Julian in
the nude. He noticed, of course, how could he not with it
pulsing in his throat, but that day he was far from the mind-set that
he is in now. That day he was only concerned with surviving
that day, escaping that situation without hurting him. Today,
he can look on that beautiful straining phallus with greed again, but
with less of that metallic tang of fear on his palate. Because
Julian already knows what he is thinking about. Or, at least
has an idea. He can look on him and know that his thoughts are
not reprehensible to him, and he can imagine what it will feel like
to fuck him into a raw and bruised, helpless rag doll, and also, one
day, when Julian fucks him. Garak feels heat flush to his face
though he knows Julian can't tell. The fact that he can look
that far ahead and know that they will get there - that is the
largest dream he has had in years, the most hope he has dared hold in
his heart. Yes, sex is perhaps a shallow hope to string one's
heart upon, but it is shallow only because it is the exquisite skin
of a beautiful fantasy that seems to be unfolding before his eyes.

    Garak
kisses some of that exquisite skin and breathes in the hot scent of
him. The heat is pouring off of his trunk and groin, though he
shivers when Garak kisses his thigh. He kisses his way up
perfunctorily, just to let him know he is approaching. Still,
Julian flinches and moans when he pokes his nose in the hot and
fragrant joint of his hip, nuzzles the strange wrinkled skin at the
base of his cock. He licks up one testicle then the other and
chuckles at the way they shy away from him seemingly of their own
accord. Garak's genitals aren't that talented. Garak gets
brave soon after and takes one into his mouth earning him a nervous
sounding sigh from Julian. He watches his stomach muscles
contract into a hill on his belly, then slowly erode away with
relaxation. Repeat.

    Then
he is on his way up, teasing at the base, or whatever counts as the
base in this organ that disappears into fleshy folds instead of stark
lines and cords. It's funny how everything with humans is so
subjective. He mouths Julian's organ up and up, and Julian
groans with relief when he finally reaches the head, licks all around
and slides down upon it. Julian's head comes up and his eyes,
glassy and tired meet Garak's from under anxious brows. His
slack mouth tells another story, and the pulse of his cock against
Garak's tongue drives him down to swallow him. Julian's head
goes back to the mattress sharply and he moans and arches up.
Garak gives him eight or nine slow and deep strokes with his mouth
and then comes up for air.

    "You
taste wonderful, Love." Julian whimpers as if the
compliment felt as good as the head. Or maybe he just wants him
to shut up. Garak doesn't really want to though. "Come
here," he says and Julian cracks open his eyes to see what Garak
wants of him. He motions toward himself and Julian obeys and
sits up. Garak puts a hand on his back and one on his chest and
spreads his fingers wide. "Now lean back."
Julian's weight shifts to his back hand a little and Garak turns him,
pushes him slowly and carefully back down off the side of the bed.
Julian hesitates, looks behind him, but Garak grasps both of his arms
tightly and lowers him down so that most of his torso is curving
down, falling to the floor. Julian's head is inches from the
carpet and Garak lets one arm go, which instinctively goes to the
floor to suspend him on spidered fingers, then the other to share the
weight.

    Garak
pulls him by the legs then, just a little, to balance him a little
more gently on the bed, secure him safely, and then swallows his cock
again.

    Julian
groans loudly. His cock grew cold in the air with Elim's saliva
drying on it, and to be swallowed again so suddenly, it feels hot,
and the return to that sweet silken warmth is just so good.
Blood is rushing to his head in this position. He isn't really
sure why Elim wants him like this. He feels dizzy and stretched
and dull. Elim's ministrations on him, while still exquisite,
are competing with the sound of his own pulse in his ears and the
feeling of all his veins popping out all over his upper body.
Elim licks and sucks at him and the closer he gets the more he starts
to worry that when he comes he's going to lose control and fall on
his head, and suddenly he isn't close anymore.

    Oh.
That's why Elim wants him like this.

    Julian
pants for a moment, his cock strains in Garak's mouth, feels so good,
so thick, and then his moment fades away again. Garak hums
satisfaction and changes what he does, licks up and around, over the
head, sucks, then viciously bobs up and down taking him deep into his
throat until his lips go numb. Five more times Julian comes
close to the end and then shies away from it before he is whining and
groaning and twisting in Garak's grasp, dying to just come, no longer
able to pull himself up to safety, barely able to hold himself up off
the floor, but unwilling to lose Garak's mouth on him.

    When
he finally comes he sounds like he is sobbing from the floor.
Garak pulls off and lets him spill down his belly and chest, and then
grabs his legs and holds him tightly as his arms give out beneath his
head. In only a moment a desperate hand comes flailing upwards
and Garak takes it, pulls him up by his forearm, holds him steady as
he regains his balance. His face is red, the corners of his
eyes touched with tears of strain. Garak guides him to lie back
on the pillow and straightens his tangled legs before him.

    Julian
catches his breath over a minute or two, wipes his eyes and watches
as Garak silently continues to bathe him in affection. He licks
gently up his oversensitive cock, taking away the stickiness and
making Julian flinch a little, then moves up his heaving body to lap
up the two long, asymmetrical stripes on his torso.

    Garak
reaches his collar bone and Julian takes hold of his wrists with
stealth and strength that takes Garak by surprise. He thought
he would be too wiped out to surprise him now. "What about
you?" he asks.

    Garak
smiles sweetly and shrugs. "I'm fine."

    Julian
sighs heavily. "Elim please."

    Garak
kisses him softly. "We have plenty of time."

    Julian's
limbs still feel like gelatin but he props himself up to force Elim
back. He gets up as if to flip them both over, to take Garak's
current position, but only succeeds half way before collapsing on his
side. He whimpers a little. Just feels so weak, but the
desire to touch him is so strong, he can't help but try.

    Garak
reaches up and turns out the room lights. It's a little early
to be going to bed - they never left it - but who cares. He
leaves the lights on the computer panel above the bed. They
have a pleasant glow that he doesn't mind, and he can still see him,
the end of his nose, the gloss of his eyes, a copper blush over his
chest. Julian muffles though, and scoots down, down down,
almost out of reach. He is having trouble, Garak can tell, his
arms and hands fumble, but he urges Garak's leg up and situates
himself there with enough difficulty, Garak can't help but be
impressed and helpful. Julian can't keep his head lifted enough
and tries to put a hand under it. Even the hand won't obey
though, so Garak turns a little, lift's Julian's head for him and
places it on his thigh. Gods and Prophets he can imagine
shoving his face there some day. Can't wait for that, but for
now, he is more than willing to help Julian accomplish what he
wants. Julian coaxes his cock head out with unsurprising
felicity. After just once attempting this and learning what
Garak responds to, he has advanced to the level that Garak can
restrain his reflex enough to allow this. My brilliant
Julian. Just the head for now, but when Julian looks up at
him from the darkness, looking for permission, and then ducks down
and takes it between his lips, Garak thinks he might be in trouble.
Nothing should feel that good.

    Julian
licks and sucks gently on him the best he knows how, which really
only comes from his experience on the receiving end of this
maneuver. The head is harder than his, less of that rubbery
flesh and more stiffness covered by a thin wet pad. He tastes
the same as before, like warm skin, slippery and inviting, no really
distinct flavor over the smell of him. Elim breathes harshly
and grabs at his own skin near his groin. Julian watches as he
digs his fingers in and grips the tendon between groin and leg.
His other hand hesitates and trembles in Julian's hair. He
flinches periodically while Julian licks and sucks, gasps a little
now and then.

    "Careful
dear," Julian hears him say then swallow and keep panting.

    Julian
stops and looks nervously to his dark face. "I thought I
was being careful."

    Elim
grins without opening his eyes. "Just watch the teeth."

    "I
haven't touched you with my teeth."

    "Trust
me, you have."

    "I
have?"

    "Yes.
Just barely. But its enough to make me nervous."

    "I'm
sorry Elim, I wasn't trying to. I couldn't even tell."

    "I
know."

    "Do
you want me to stop?"

    "No,
Love. Continue as long as you want." He grins again
and Julian's mouth turns up sympathetically. "It's just
difficult to stay unsheathed when the reflex is triggered by
unexpected contact." Julian slowly and cautiously licks
him again and Elim sighs in obvious pleasure.

    He
gets nervous as the question forms in his mind. He feels like
he's ten again and not sure how to ask someone about something
adult. He brushes his lips across Elim's cock head. "Can
you come?" he asks just above a whisper.

    Elim's
eyes open to sparkling slits. "If you want," he
replies, and Julian double-takes, looks at him funny and then laughs.

    "Do
you want?" Seems like that is what he was asking
before.

    "It
doesn't matter to me. I'm fine either way." This
earns him another look.

    Julian
sighs and wills the courage to make the decision. "Will
you come for me?" he says finally, and he is glad it is dark.

    "Yes,"
comes the reply, simple and undemanding. "On... myself?
Or on you?"

    The
bashful laugh from Julian tells Garak what the young man was hoping
for and he touches his face and hair in response, in thanks.
Thanks for wanting it. He shifts a little and emerges fully
then in front of Julian, inches from his face, and then reaches up
and turns a small light back on so he can see this. He scoots
in closer to place his hip against Julian's arm and holds his cock
out over his body and strokes.

    Fire
rises hot in Julian again though he isn't sure how it's possible
considering the number of times he has come in the past few days.
How he can want more he doesn't know. Elim strokes slow and
gentle up and down his cock, his fingers making sticky noises at the
head and base. Julian isn't sure when he is going to come and
he doesn't know what Elim expects him to do. His gut tells him
to open his mouth. He does so, briefly, and then feels odd
doing it and shuts it again. Elim stops.

    "What
is it, Love?"

    Julian
stammers a second. "Nothing."

    "You
looked like you were going to say something."

    That
startles a little chuckle from him. "No."

    Elim
pulls on his cock again, slowly, twists his wrist up at the head and
Julian thinks that that looks really good. He takes his
own cock in hand and strokes to match Elim as he resumes his moderate
pace, closes his eyes and relaxes into the motion once again.
Julian can only watch in amazement at the clear fluid that collects
on Elim's fingers from nowhere. He wonders if Elim equates the
sweat that appears on Julian's skin with this phenomenon.
Julian thinks a second, hazily. Thinks about Elim licking the
sweat off of him, and his own half-hard cock weeps in his hand

    "Can
I?" he asks him, looking up into his eyes.

    Elim
smirks a little. "Stick out your tongue."
Julian does, then longer, pushes it out but it wiggles of its own
accord so he bites down on it and holds it stiff. Elim moves
in, and places his cock on Julian's tongue, moves back and forth,
circles it, then relaxes back. Julian relaxes too, swallows.
"Well. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"
Elim asks and Julian laughs out loud and thinks about trying to get
his tongue in there again. He wants to get his whole mouth
around it but guess that that isn't going to happen. Elim
strokes and groans softly.

    "Where
do you want it?" Julian doesn't know. The obvious
place he doesn't dare mention but he grows hot in the cheeks at the
thought. He has tasted his own come, on the lips of a number of
extremely generous girls, and on his own, when the curiosity was too
much to bear. But never another man's. He supposes it's
silly at this point to be afraid of it. Elim is panting
quietly, eyes half- lidded and glossy. "Open up," he
intones lowly and Julian does so without thinking. "Wider."
He does that too. Elim scoots up on the bed with a touch of
urgency, rattles Julian though his whole body is stiff. He
closes his mouth and swallows, then opens it again and feels silly.
Elim groans and a dot of white appears at the tip of his cock.
Julian shuts his eyes in a last instant of sensibility. He has
seen what Elim can do with it. The warmth in small patches hits
his tongue, and he flinches, holds his breath, afraid of it going
down his windpipe. He resists his sense of taste. It hits
his lips, down his chin. He's afraid it will go up his nose,
too. More in his mouth and a bitter tang zips up the side of
his tongue. Elim is breathing raggedly and huffing with each
pulse and then slows and stops, but Julian can feel him in front of
him, still on top of him. He keeps his eyes closed. There
is a moment of nothing, but then he feels the anterior plane of
Elim's index finger as it goes to his lower lip and wipes the cum
from it into his mouth, then the slick and unmistakable cock head is
there at his lips, and it too delivers a final drip onto his lower
lip. Julian's mouth is filling with saliva and it feels like he
is never going to be able to swallow again, his mouth is frozen this
way in permanent nervous rejection.

    Elim
slinks back down to a more comfortable position and his fingers
return and scrape up his chin to push the spilled drops into Julian's
mouth , every last bit, then gently touch his lips and face, stroke
as his facial muscles start to relax. He can't hold them like
that forever.

    Julian
closes his mouth and holds the cavity open with a sunken tongue. He
can feel the shape of the mass in his mouth in the well of his
tongue. It takes six or seven psyche ups, false starts, but he
extends his neck and swallows. It goes down like mostly air and
spit, but with this funny burn after it, a tingle he wasn't
expecting. It coats the inside of his mouth. It is all he
can taste, all he can smell, fiery, salty. Elim pulls him to
him and kisses him, licks away the remnants of stickiness on his
face, sucks on his chin and lips and tongue until Julian is reduced
to fightless semi-consciousness.

    "Perfect,"
Elim whispers to him and turns out the light.
- 4
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- 6
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Black Bottle