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Limitless	By : CyreliaJ Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 2154 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek Deep Space Nine of any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Note: We’re moving steadily towards the crux of the explicit rating so stay tuned for that. Also I want to give warnings for blood, more somewhat dubious consent, and mind fuckery. This got very long but there really wasn’t any way to break it up. C&C is always welcome and thank you to everyone reading!
5
Julian sat back in the chair in front of the large display, arms crossed thoughtfully as he examined the screen.
“Alright, Jules, we’re getting close to the final transmission and Liz said they need to hear from you directly. They’re not content with just the recordings. She says she’s not a natural orator and if you want to get anything done properly… They need to be tossed a few bones- just enough to convince some of the more… skeptical converts that what we’re about to build on our new world is worth the sacrifice. That when the abandon their positions, when they leave behind the mighty Federation… And you need an engineer, Jules because those supplemental engineering classes just aren’t going to cut it with the time...” Julian trailed off with a sigh resting his head back against the chair. “Good. Better. Bested.” He replayed the day’s earlier conversation with Miles frowning. “I’m not counting you out yet, Chief. You’re angry now but… you’ll see it you have to. If you don’t understand when I’m not even so sure I do myself then…” He sat up suddenly looking piqued. “I’m not playing God, dammit I am-”
“Saint Julian.” A vial was tossed in his direction and without conscious thought Julian caught it mentally cursing himself as he pulled off what should be an impossible feat by human standards. He’d raised his head at the name he hadn’t heard in almost fifteen years and nearly cringed at mistake number two. He considered the potentially damning content of the screen and reached the third strike before he even turned around.
“Computer, end program.” Julian looked down at the vial in his hand before turning to see Michael Eddington standing behind him in the darkened doorway. It wasn’t his old name but the catalyst for the drug to which Eddington referred. He considered the vial again realizing that feigning ignorance would require a master feat of acting that he wasn’t sure he was up to. Julian looked at him warily, almost nervously as he set it down carefully on the console.
   “It’s ah... rather late to be about, isn’t it?” He turned the warm cylinder around in his palm.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line, Doctor Bashir,” Eddington answered with a wry grin. “Now that’s not a very nice expression.” Julian took a deep breath unaware of how quickly and easily his face betrayed his anger at being called “doctor”. It was only in hearing that mocking tone that Julian seemed to become painfully aware of the tightness in his facial muscles. He forced a neutral expression back to the forefront bringing fingers up to his temples with a pained expression
“Sorry I just… I tend to get caught up in my work which is um… private so… something I’m working on…” Julian coughed, eyes flickering like the monitor only a few moment ago. “And I’m still having a few difficulties here and... Would you mind terribly just giving me a moment to-”
“Oh that’s right, you do go by ‘Jules’ now, don’t you?”Eddington stepped further into the auxiliary room of the infirmary. The metamorphosis in Julian’s demeanor was immediate- Eddington’s shrewd eyes didn’t miss any of it. Julian set the vial down carefully as he turned the chair around with an assessing gaze. All traces of nerves had vanished.
“I can see you’re a man that doesn’t miss much, Mr. Eddington. Was there… something I could help you with?” His body shifted slightly and he seemed far more like a serpent waiting to strike. Eddington took another step nearly into his personal space not looking the slightest bit threatened.
“I just have a few questions pertaining to the vial and what I’ve caught here and there. You see, Jules, I have a big decision to make and right now you’re the only one who can help me make it.”
“I like to help where I can…” Julian looked up at his looming figure from beneath eyes accented with pencil to be even darker than usual. “I am a man of many talents, after all.”
“Oh I’m sure you have many talents indeed but I need to be sure of your loyalties shall we say before I decide whether or not to turn you over to Odo or…”
“Or?” Julian looked more curious than afraid. He scoffed lightly. “Mr. Eddington, if you truly wished to… do your sacred duty to the Federation as it were, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” Julian watched carefully as Eddington let his eyes pass over in a sweeping, unreadable examination. Julian appeared to process and take note of every focus of that attention
“You’re a smart man, Jules. Now me, I might not be the… Moriarty to your Holmes but I’d like to think that we might be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” Julian assumed an even more calculated look to this, fingers starting to twine the chains which hung around his neck thoughtfully. He was clearly contemplating how he was going to handle the man in front of him. There was a way that seemed to him in how Eddington looked at him from above- an interest that to Julian might warrant exploitation.
He kept his stare steadily letting it rise with all the heat he could muster playing that gamble cooly.
“Well… before you go running off to the good Constable… before you go… baring my dark little secrets for all the world to see… perhaps I might be… amenable to a little tit for tat.” His voice, pitched low was practically a purr, his head resting back against the chair with far more blatant sexuality than Dr. Bashir ever displayed in public or private.
“I gotta tell ya, I tend to prefer tits to the tat.” Eddington smiled far more amused than aroused as he crossed his arms and leaned against the console with a few steps. Julian gave a small shrug.
“Well as vast as my talents are even I-”
“Would you mind humoring me for a second? You can imagine working with the Constable I don’t get much in the way of humor on the job and…” Eddington trailed off with a soft laugh causing Julian to lower his hands, eying him warily. “Just a little test of a theory I have is all.”
“I’m not sure that I-”
“Are you an admirer of Victor Hugo, Dr. Julian Bashir?” The question caught him off guard- the address more so. Eddington had affected a certain command to the name that would have confused him had it not instead caused a more telling initial reaction. Julian had made sure to let everyone know not to refer to him by that name or address as he himself had observed an increasingly more dramatic effect each time it was called. Bearing that out, in that moment the other self known as Jules was erased from the board entirely to be replaced by the serious countenance of Julian proper. His face flickered to a look of genuine thought, a weighty contemplation of the question as if he were completely unaware of the circumstances surrounding Eddington’s presence. Unbeknownst to Julian, Eddington paid close attention to that change with satisfaction confirming an unknown suspicion.
“I…” Julian swallowed and cleared his throat dropping the chains, sitting up straight in the chair looking at him uncertainly. “I’d have to say where nineteenth century earth literature is concerned I’m more a fan of Dostoevsky.” Julian looked away under the scrutiny uneasily. “Is ah… that all you had wanted to ask me?” Eddington stepped away from the console as if deciding something, walking in front of Julian keeping his arms crossed.
“That’s where you and I differ, doctor. I could never live in a world without heroes.” He looked at the monitor above Julian’s head showing nothing but a dark screen. It seemed as if every answer in the universe was to be found in that blackness by the way he examined it. Julian found himself turning back and looking at it as well.
   “Heroes, as you would term them aren’t gods. They’re just as you and I, flawed, imperfect, wretched creatures blindly groping to escape their more ego centric natures.”
“And in your world no one rise above the masses to lead them to God?” Julian sighed with a sad resignation.
“Despite what religion… what God, the Prophets, the man in the moon would have you believe, Mr. Eddington, evil cannot be vanquished by morality alone…” Julian looked down more talking to himself than anything else. “Sometimes only a monster can destroy a monster.”
“I never figured you for such a nihilist, Dr. Bashir.” Julian laughed softly, bitterly, glancing at Eddington’s feet.
“If that were the case I wouldn’t be sitting here damning everything that I’ve worked for, everything I’ve ever believed in to...”He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand given your position-
“But the only true good is to be found in freedom. Is that what you were going to say, doctor?” Julian had started at the sudden interruption, wincing at the tug of hair he’d started to twine around his fingers. He looked at his hand bordering on bewilderment at the long strands. Eddington never took his eyes off of him.
“Why do you refuse to call me by my name?” Julian asked softly. “Why do you keep calling me… that?”
“Because something tells me, doctor, that I don’t want to call you by your name- by that name.” Julian’s face looked pained.
“Then why don’t you just tell me what you want from me, Mr. Eddington. Or hand me over to Odo and Captain Sisko already. I have… I have work to do and-” He brought his fingers to his forehead once again with a pained look. Again the feigned disability went ignored.
“Are you a religious man, Jules?” The name was spoken with sympathetic caution- as if saying it would bring forth from Pandora’s Box all the evils in the world. Yet at the same time Eddington stood in front of him, studying him with undisguised interest. Julian blinked a few times, losing the shrinking posture he’d assumed. His interest in his own appearance faded, eyes lazily twining the lock of hair around his finger with haughty disinterest.
“Without God, everything is permitted,” he quoted with a soft laugh. “If I may make one more allusion to our dead idols.”Eddington laughed as well though the cause did not seem obvious to Julian.
“And here I thought you called yourself a saint.”
“Saint Julian? Is that what you’re referring to? The trigger to activate the Phoenix virus… yes. Your powers of deductive reasoning are astounding Mr. Eddington. Or did Odo have to help you with that one?” Julian tilted his head with a contented smirk. “This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you… but really…” Julian affected an exaggerated yawn. “It’s merely a coincidence that we share a name.” Julian shrugged. “Unless you don’t believe in coincidences, of course but then again.” He stretched with deliberate affectation- the picture of arrogance. “That would be your problem, not mine.”Eddington, far from being baited merely produced an isolinear rod from his closed hand. Julian looked at it warily.
“See, now this is why I prefer speaking to the doctor, Jules.”
“What’s on that?” Julian hissed, looking ready to wrap his hands around Eddington’s throat. That smile was still on Eddington’s face as he pocketed the rod again.
“I told you when I first arrived on Deep Space Nine that I was here to make friends. See, I can be friendly with Doctor Bashir but you-“
“I asked you a question, Mr. Eddington.”Julian rose slowly, nails digging in to the chair. He kept that furious expression trained on Eddington who was making his way languidly towards the door with a few steps back.
“You did at that.” Julian’s eyes started darting back and forth between Eddington’s face and the pocket which held the rod. “You know, Jules, some would say the Maquis also believe that the only true good is to be found in freedom. That as long as we are bound to-“
“What in the bloody hell does a motley group of anti-federation terrorists have to do with anything,” Julian snarled.
“You have something they want,” Eddington answered softly, his own voice taking on a deadly serious tone. Julian stalked him, by now trying to judge whether or not he could just take the rod. His right foot slid just a fraction forward preparing to move. He did not harbor any doubt of his speed or reflexes. Eddington didn’t seem to notice and right when his eyes glanced down, Julian moved. He found nothing but the wall in front of him turning by instinct. “It doesn’t matter how fast you are, doctor-” Eddington wielded the name like a weapon and the moment he heard it Julian faltered. He was slammed painfully against the wall mid-turn, his left arm twisted behind his back. “If I can read what you’re about to do, doctor and believe me, whatever you’ve done to yourself, you’re no soldier.”
The repeat of that name hammered at him and Julian stopped fighting, breathing heavily. He shut his eyes tightly shaking his head furiously.
“Don’t. Call me that.”
“No, I think I’d much rather deal with Doctor Bashir,” Eddington didn’t let up but only used enough pressure to hold Julian steady. “Now I think that whether or not we see eye to eye on all things related to the literature and humanism… well that shouldn’t get in the way of us being buddies? Of us... helping each other, now should it?” Julian opened his eyes looking weary.
“What makes you think I want to help you drag out a pointless fight to even more pointless deaths? Nothing good will ever come from this hopeless crusade.” Julian had ceased any struggle and Eddington let him go. He looked at Julian far more seriously as he slowly turned back around.
“All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come. Hugo again, though I’m sure it means little to you.” Julian reflexively rubbed his wrist looking down at the floor. He was silent for a long while.
Whether contemplating the words or something else, he himself was not certain. Julian shook his head before looking at Michael Eddington with a lifetime of sadness.
“I believe it was Rimbaud who wrote ‘I’m in the depths of an abyss and I have forgotten how to pray’.”
“There’s no need to pray, doctor. Just say yes.” Julian breathed in deeply before squaring his shoulders with the determination of a man accepting his own death.
“Then tell me what you need me to do.”
   The first thing that Garak sees is blood. Or rather, he sees Julian standing in front of him with lips painted a dark brazen red that immediately call to mind the image of the same with blood spilling from between them. Julian brought the knife to his mouth and let the blade slip faintly between his parted lips. The sharpness of the metal cleanly bit through the delicate skin and there seeped over the polished surface a line of crimson that trickled over the blade and down the side of Julian’s mouth. Julian’s eyes shut in that moment, a shiver passing through his body as he swallowed. Garak watched dark eyes open to search his face with a doctor’s careful scrutiny.
“Did you think I was lying, Elim? When I said it was sharp?”
“No.” Julian searched for any sign in that response that Garak might not be completely under his control; he found none. Julian leaned in towards him with that sinful mouth spread wide in a grin that was a masochistic obscenity. Garak the tailor should not have found it half as arousing as he did. It was not the tailor whose breath quickened when Julian’s head tilted, salty tongue swiping over his lips and-
And Garak forces the image from his mind. That isn’t the Julian who’s here in the present. This Julian does not make an intensive study of every facet of his face. This Julian stands in front of him with an expression that’s an obvious mixture of surprise and horror- a surprise which saves Garak the explanation of the silence he’s recklessly allowed to stretch between them. You’re already getting sloppy, Elim. If he weren’t standing there running through a million pretty lies without so much as a how do you do it would be you who appears suspect. Julian does not even stare at him. His eyes are distant as they fixate on some point of his clothing to give an illusion of attention. It does not escape Garak’s notice that Julian is waiting for him to make the first move. But that isn’t how this works, my dear. The first rule of a good interrogation is that it should never be the interrogator who speaks first. Julian stammers his name with a confusion that isn’t rehearsed and it is those words that begin the dance.
   Garak holds his tongue knowing that the more one believes themselves to be watched the more affected their behavior will become. He does not believe- as Julian stands there with those very red lips in the costume Garak had designed for him- that it is some sort of Earth custom to wear one’s finest attire when ill. Julian confirms this with a slight unconscious crossing of his arms. He also does not believe- as Julian next feigns a cough- that Julian is in fact ill. Julian was definitely ill two days ago when the Defiant departed. But today there is a healthy glow to the tanned skin that belies the weak voice that he immediately adopts. Garak does not allow any of this to register on his face. He keeps his expression painted with solicitous concern as Julian places a hand over his mouth and coughs a few more times. A quick mental comparison shows these are closer to the mark.
“My apologies if I’m… interrupting something?...” Garak trails off with just the right amount of hesitance in his voice. He allows that concern to encroach further onto his face which in turn leads to Julian’s posture becoming less defensive. His arms uncross, one pressed to the doorway as if to hold himself up, the other fidgeting with the bodice of the corset. Garak has come to associate that mannerism with shrewd consideration and a quick look to Julian’s briefly unguarded face confirms that assessment. Garak makes a quick study as Julian thinks about his answer. You have, or should I say had- if I recall- some sort of upper respiratory infection and yet you have that cinched tight enough to…
Garak’s thoughts unintentionally stray, much to his chagrin, from analyzing to admiring. It is tight enough to create that exotic hourglass, that flair of hip contrasting the narrow male waist. Really, one might say you’ve outdone yourself, Elim but no matter how delicate the lacework, how perfectly layered and tailored the dark red skirts, they didn’t look half as stunning hanging off the mannequin as they do now. How did you manage to cinch that so perfectly on your own, Julian? Have you been practicing with any of those other garments I had chance to glimpse? And surely even for you that must be just so painfully… tight. He can tell that much even with the black fitted jacket which lay open over top. Garak allows his eyes to travel down further lest he become unforgivably distracted. He notes the boots- these of Julian’s own creation- adding the few extra inches of height. Garak unwittingly remembers a rambling story overheard in Quark’s nearly a year ago involving a taller sex partner and an act he’s certain Morn couldn’t duplicate if paid. It isn’t Morn that he imagines as he blinks slowly, refocusing those pupils to turn them away from a stare that would be all too obvious in its desire.
   “No… no, not at all. You’re ah… not interrupting me.” Julian ducks his head, wearing the doctor’s sheepishness like a carefully crafted armor. Garak’s mind is back to the game. The entire senior ops and security are gone. Julian’s voice is still artfully strained. The only one left on the station of any rank is you. “I must confess to going a bit stir crazy being cooped up here.” Julian looks down at what he’s wearing self-consciously. “Everything fits perfectly… as you can see…” He inadvertently looks past Garak down the hall and that small slip does not escape Garak’s attention. Yes, the esteemed Legate Corat has decided to make a somewhat sudden nostalgic visit hasn’t he? I recall him to be an infinitely hedonistic slug of a man notable for little more than his profligate exploits on Terok Nor while here as Dukat’s guest… remanded suddenly to Cardassia Prime following a suspicious incident. His greatest accomplishment lying in one of his little pets trying to assassinate Dukat with him escaping justice... “I… er… don’t mean to be rude but I’m really not feeling well so was there something you needed?” Major Kira would never let him on the station unless he had business of the state- perhaps not even then. And what reason would he have away from his comfortable life of debauchery? Weapons? Intrigue? No, there’s only one reason that such a man would be here and it all comes down to-
“Garak?” Julian’s voice interrupts his wandering musings. Another look at Julian’s face shows that there still isn’t a single hint of his other self to be found. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want Julian back in his right mind. He’s giving every indication of being the exact same man you remember. There’s only the slightest hint of any of his alter ego’s affected mannerisms. That’s good. That’s the goal in all this… except… If he’s “back to normal” as they say then why is he still going through with this madness? He should be doing whatever he can to stop it. You remember his reactions on the tape…. But you can see that he’s far from comfortable… there’s definitely something there. It nearly gives Garak second thoughts.
“Of course, I’m sure you wish to rest…” Garak trails off before giving a small poke to that nervousness. “I’m afraid however, that I would be remiss if I were to leave you in such a debilitated state so callously.”
“Really, Garak,” The protest is immediate and alarmed as Garak thought it would be. “There’s no need to put yourself out like that surely your customers-“
“-would understand the necessity of my absence.” Garak watches that discomfort grow. What you need right now, Elim, is time, and that’s something you’re running short on. Just do it already. That’s why you’re here, that’s why you can’t afford to let sentimentality get in the way. “Spare me the protests,” he declares dramatically, “I have an entire list of objections Lieutenant Dax was kind enough to provide that she knew you would give me. You don’t need a nursemaid. You can take care of yourself. I’m busy- you are an esteemed doctor and know your limitations. Am I missing anything? No? Now, you’re not going to divert me from the reason for my visit. Lieutenant Dax and Chief O’Brien were quite concerned for your well-being after Leeta’s illness took such a serious-“
“She was never in any-“ Julian snaps his mouth shut immediately his entire body tense. Garak thinks that if he grips the wall any harder he may very well snap a piece of it off. There. That’s the doctor I was looking for. There’s the guilt. There’s the panic, and there’s the confirmation that whatever you’re planning it’s quickly coming to a head. But that still isn’t the why of it. Julian bends over as if in pain to try to hide the slip while he coughs again more forcefully. Garak softens his tone, lowering his voice watching as Julian is forced to bring the fit to a halt in order to hear him.
“I can see, of course that you aren’t nearly that sick, however I did give my word that I would at the very least look in on you and I am if nothing else a man of my word.”
The retort to that bait doesn’t come. Julian straightens up with a deep breath, his eyes flitting nervously sideways.
“I’m well within the normal parameters for recovery...” Julian settles for tracing the line of the corset bodice with his fingers once more before pulling together another uneasy little smile. He also begins to simultaneously smooth the layers of skirt fidgeting. “So you see there’s no need to worry. You’ve had your look. That’s all you need, right? Just a look?... I should be well past any chance of transmission but I... I couldn’t possibly forgive myself if you were to fall ill on my account...” That face pleads with him so earnestly that Garak’s turn of degenerate thought is nearly unforgivable. But rather than prompt him to walk away it only makes him want to come inside that much harder.
You need to hurry, Elim. Everything you remember about Corat speaks to his tendency towards tardiness but you know better than anyone that the more reinforced the pattern the more likely it will be broken at the most inopportune of times.
“Perhaps if you’re still this unwell it might warrant a trip to the infirmary from the patient end… Julian.” Garak makes sure to use the most precise inflection when speaking Julian’s name. He sees a blink of surprise at the unexpected address but it is quickly superseded by the conditioning he’d put into place all those weeks ago. Of course there was the chance that it would fail after the initial suggestion but it seems the rest of the station did their part to unknowingly reinforce it. And even without the right nuance I can tell already that it’s nearly set to perfection.
“Don’t… don’t call me that,” he says with genuine fear that makes Garak feel very cruel. Cruelty is just a byproduct of necessity, that’s one of the first things that Tain, taught you. You’re not doing him any kindness by allowing this to continue in any case- whatever is going on it will surely destroy him. You have to be certain that it’s really him doing this. You have to know that it’s real that’s it’s not just in your head when he… Stop that. Julian stares hard at the floor between them taking a step back.
“Well I understand it might be somewhat familiar,” Garak offers to the protest, “but I think we’ve passed the point of such formality, have we not?”
“That’s not what I… It would really be best… if you forgot about all that, Garak.”
“If I forget?...” Julian shakes his head.
“Nevermind all that I don’t know what I’m saying I just…” He takes a deep breath, eyes far too bright. “The infirmary. Just forget about all that. It’s not that I don’t appreciate doctors of course I am one right but…” He shuffles his feet. “I’ve just never been comfortable myself on the other side of the tricorder is all that I mean- I mean of course they do say doctors make terrible patients themselves but barring all that I…” he licks his lips nervously, trailing off the rambling stream of conscious and brushes the hair behind his ear. Garak cannot help but find himself becoming distracted once more by the turn in the conversation.
“I used to be afraid of doctors when I was a child.”Garak hears that voice echo in his head and he tenses his jaw painfully to keep himself in the present. It doesn’t help. Garak felt the knife hilt placed into his hand even as he watched Julian raise fingers to his bleeding mouth. Julian did not attempt to staunch the bleeding. He allowed the fervent licking of the blood to cause it to flow more freely. Garak watched him feeling Julian’s fingers move over his, closing his hand around the warm grip. An ecstatic shudder passed through Julian’s body with every more delirious swipe of his lips until Garak could swear he was nearing his peak. His own body yearned for the same freedom of expression.
“I used to think,” Julian half panted as he lead Garak’s thumb up the hilt and to the blade, “That they had the power of life and death.” He studied Garak’s face for any reaction as he let his own thumb brush the knife’s edge with a sharp perfect cut. The gasp that escaped Julian’s lips as he shut his eyes, letting the blood flood from the wound was unmistakably sexual. There was an arch to that back, a sway to that posture that just begged to be-
   “Alright…Take me to bed… Garak.” Julian’s voice is little more than a whisper yet he somehow hears it loud enough to cut through his sordid reverie. It is only through years of training that he keeps so much as a shift of his face carefully in check. Garak’s mouth is closed tightly to avert a quick intake of surprised breath and as Julian looks at him he imagines it must appear more severe than he intended. Julian looks for a moment as if he might want to shrink down and disappear but he doesn’t withdraw nor stop looking at Garak. You knew exactly what you were saying when you phrased it that way. The translator does not quite give it the same meaning but they both know with the universal look that passes between them.
“How can I refuse an invitation like that?” Garak alters his tone again to a far more lighthearted flirtation. He gives a blatant look up and down that’s only partly for Julian’s benefit seeing him relax in more familiar territory. It’s enough of a shift for Julian to come back from whatever was troubling him giving Garak a shake of his head and a purely playful smile that he hasn’t seen in months. It nearly catches him off guard. Julian uncrosses his arms as he steps closer allowing the door to close behind them. Garak holds an arm out and Julian looks at him with mock disappointment.
“You’re not going to carry me?”
“Much as I would delight in such cliché human romanticism, my dear, I’m afraid my back might not be so amenable to the experiment.”
“What ever happened to being in the prime of your life?” Julian teases him with a small grin.
If only you knew, Julian that this side of you is far more difficult to handle than the hypersexual predator... Garak takes a deep breath subtle as he can manage when Julian’s arm slings over him.
“I am in the prime of my life, dear Julian my back on the other hand…” He cannot be certain if Julian is overplaying his physical impairment or if he truly does experience a boneless moment as he nearly falls into him. Garak’s arm is around him in a partial replay of the other night however he does not allow his hand to linger on that slender corseted waist. “I’m sure I merely strained it pouring over dress designs.”
“Well I certainly hope it wasn’t on my account.” Julian’s breath is a warm lick to his neck that Garak allows himself to savor.
“You may retire with a clear conscience; it’s more than likely a result of the last minute alterations for the bridal party.”
“It’s more than likely lie upon lie and I’m sure your back is more than able to shoulder the weight of one painfully skinny doctor.”
   Garak chooses to smile at him enigmatically in response as they navigate the cluttered floor to Julian’s room. Julian’s wrist hangs near his face and he looks at it, slender, graceful, long fingers clean and pristine without a hint of so much as a scar. Garak knows it’s only another trick of his mind- of his memory- but as he walks he flashes again to the blood. He smells the overwhelming coppery tang. He sees Julian with no Jules to hide behind licking blood from his bleeding thumb, and he hears the cultured voice breathless but no less eloquent in the silence of the room. “Of course doctors are just as just as fragile, just as fallible as anyone else.” There was a thin red stream running down the inside of Julian’s wrist from that wound to his thumb. He’d cut himself more deeply than he’d thought to perhaps but far from drawing back he reveled in it. “But not me, Garak. Not doctor Julian Bashir.” He reached out slowly, that hand hypnotic in its sway. The blood from his mouth had run down Julian’s neck in a slow tapering off trickle down to that white tunic giving a small stain to the collar.
   “I’m better than that, Garak. I need to be better than that if I want to save the world- if I want to triumph over disease, over death… over everything that makes us painfully, hatefully… fragile.” Julian looked at the cut on his finger, watched it drip on the floor as he walked calmly to his med kit on the dining table. He retrieved a dermal regenerator taking care not to stain the case or the table. Julian walked back around in front of Garak, stroking the side of his face with the tip of the device.
“In one hand, I hold death,” he whispered with a fascinating darkness that Garak had to amend suited him brilliantly. “In the other, life. But it’s not yet time for life...” Julian raised his other hand in front of Garak’s face. “…it’s time for a little death now.” Garak remained intently focused on Julian. “Do you need the blood?” The question was vague, abstract, Garak answering a monotone “yes” to find that thumb smearing sticky over his mouth. He did not lick until he was commanded and then it was with a breathless fervor that could not be feigned. Julian was panting in front of him, eyes bright and wanting, not even noticing as Garak half sucked the blood out of him a soft rumble in his throat threatening to rise to the level of a primal growl. It wasn’t Jules. It was every bit Julian. That realization made Garak so terribly desperate to- Julian pulled that thumb back leaving him wanting. He watched Garak carefully as he spoke, the words passing those lips in a husky whisper. “Hold the tip of the knife blade to your throat.”
   Garak blinks a few times standing in front of the door to Julian’s room. Julian is unreadable. He has been silent but for the shallow breaths drawn in Garak’s ear; a pale imitation of the heavy gasps that still linger in his memory. The door slides open and Garak feels himself fully pulled back into the present with the sight of Julian’s somehow pristine sleeping quarters fully coming into view.
“Computer, lights.” The lights come on, the settings dim and warm. Julian disengages and shrugs the jacket from his shoulders. Under Garak’s scrutiny he folds the garment setting it on the edge of the bed. Julian’s fingers trail over the fabric a moment longer than necessary leaving Garak time to study the skin of his bare shoulders. He turns, sitting down before letting himself fall backwards onto the bed in a flurry of skirts, arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the light overheard. Garak realizes his best chances to finish the task at hand lay with a subtle exit right now. The best place would like be on the shelf against the wall under the-
“Will you be alright… by yourself?” The words leave his mouth of their own volition surprising even him. Julian is not in a position to see the look on his face as he speaks the counterproductive inquiry. He also does not see the way that Garak’s eyes without the counter scrutiny stare at the smooth skin of his armpit or his bared throat.
“Thank you… Garak...” He says sounding tired, “I’ll be fine now.” The dismissal is clear. It makes perfect sense in light of everything Garak knows about the situation and it further cements that no, Julian was not playing some elaborate game of seduction but instead acting wildly on impulse. Garak continues to focus on Julian’s neck seeing a brief flash in his mind’s eye of blood running down. He remembers the salty taste of not just the blood but of Julian’s skin- of Julians thumb in his mouth. Garak finds himself taking a step forward watching the rise and fall of Julian’s chest.
   “You should remove the boots,” he says, eyes moving down to long legs wrapped in leather and laces. Julian moves his arm and sits up looking at him curiously. He appears confused by Garak’s close proximity. Julian opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t get a chance to protest before Garak hurriedly continues. “Surely you wouldn’t want to imperil yourself upon waking suddenly and losing your footing. You said that one of the secondary symptoms Leeta had exhibited was vertigo and I cannot think of a more perilous article of clothing than those heels.”
“You cannot possibly be serious.” Julian scoffs at him half incredulous.
“Oh very serious indeed. Why in your condition, it would only take but a single wrong step, a moment of disorientation and then where would you find yourself? You should be so lucky as to only suffer a blow to your dignity but what if you were to break an arm? A leg?” You are not saying this nonsense. Even in jest you cannot be lowering yourself to such folly in the midst of what should be-
   “Garak, you’re being ridiculous and I don’t... what are you doing?” Garak kneels on the floor in front of him looking up guilelessly. He doesn’t miss the way Julian’s expression changes from half-hearted irritation to an almost slack jawed intensity.
“It would reflect poorly upon me as a caretaker if I were to allow you to come to injury due to such thoughtlessness.”
“I...” Julian swallows not pulling away when Garak guides his left leg to rest a foot on his thigh. “That isn’t...” Julian’s red lips are parted in a heavy panting breath. “That isn’t necessary... Garak.”
Julian’s voice cracks and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes wide. He looks to be afraid that another unintended vociferation will escape him.
“But that is where you are mistaken, dear Julian,” Garak says with a calm that he hardly feels. “It is very... necessary.” Garak’s fingers carefully trace their way up the boots, over the black laces threaded through brass grommets. Julian doesn’t tell him to stop. Garak’s left hand pushes the skirts up, the consummate professional as the hem is lifted above Julian’s knee, mid-thigh where the boot comes to an end. Julian’s hand turns, teeth biting his thumb but he still does not tell Garak to stop. Smooth. Your skin is so very smooth. I had thought human males tended to have more body hair but... But you’re like caressing silk, like the satin of the skirt only so much more than that. He traces the outline of the cuff around Julian’s thigh with a light tickling touch.
“I’m not going to stop… if you don’t tell me to stop...” As the words are spoken Julian’s other hand digs nails into the mattress turning his head away. He kneads anxiously at both the sheers and the nape of his neck.
“I…” Julian’s cheek rubs his shoulder torn between soft laughter at quick hiccupping gasps. His leg trembles faintly, the heel of the boot vibrating on Garak’s thigh sending a heady resonation through his entire lower half.
“Do you want me to stop?” Garak insinuates a finger inside the cuff of the boot feeling sticky sweat skin. There’s another hitch in Julian’s breath as he seems to hit a particular spot at the back of his knee. “It’s rare to find you at such a loss for words.”
“I may… have a few choice words for you right now.” Julian’s voice is slightly muffled and if Garak were to look up he would see the hand hovering once more over Julian’s mouth to muffle not laughter but a soft moan.
Garak’s response is itself wordless. He moves his finger, his hand sliding over the expanse of Julian’s thigh, reveling in the smooth soft skin beneath as he dares to tread higher. Garak sees Julian’s right leg splay ever so faintly to the side as he holds the left still. Garak imagines both legs spreading wide, Julian laying back, holding his arms open to offer everything to him. There is a visceral sense of possession at that thought which forces him to swallow a growl. He feels such a painful urge to crawl up Julian’s body, force those long legs to their limit and hold the backs of his thighs apart- violating, rutting like a savage animal. Garak reminds himself to wet dry lips, to breathe, the initial intent in the room long forgotten.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Garak chastises with a thick voice squeezing Julian’s thigh, purposefully digging his thumb into the sensitive artery until he hears a softly halted hitch of what may or may not be pain emanating from above. Pain, desire, they all blur into the same hedonism, don’t they, Elim? Somewhere along the way you’ve lost that careful restraint and I suspect it’s all thanks to-
“Please, look at me.”
“Look at me.”Garak looks up in spite of his better judgment and sees Julian with dilated desirous pupils, nails scraping the side of his neck trying to control himself. Garak sees the bloodied brazen incubus overlaying the hesitant needy doctor and it makes him aching hard in less than the time it takes him to blink and hear the phantom Julian whispering to him, “Press the point into your throat just enough to make it bleed.” There is a ghost of a memory of Julian’s wet tongue lapping at the wound, fastening those lips to his neck like a creature out of the darkest human horror stories.
   Garak looks at Julian knowing that as impassive as his countenance may be that there cannot possibly be any other interpretation of his hand on Julian’s thigh other than want. There is no utility in his thumb stroking the wildly thumping point of pressure of Julian’s inner thigh. There is no practical purpose of palm sliding higher up, squeezing every bit of flesh that he can grab as the satin slips over the back of his hand The lace bunches on the heavy fabric of Garak’s tunic revealing, as the skirt hikes higher, naked seemingly endless legs. Garak is nearly touching Julian’s hip- the tips of his fingers just brushing that point of boning at the bottom of the corset. He can feel Julian try not to squirm at the ghosting of fingers over another sensitive spot, forgetting entirely about the pretext of footwear as he shifts back on his heels.
   Garak can see Julian’s tongue lick at painted lips almost frantically panting and gasping. Yes, blue would be better, but there is a delightfully human sensuality that red exacerbates against your skin. Say something, Julian, so help me I don’t care if Dukat and half the central command are due on your doorstep in the next five minutes… I can smell it on you, I can practically taste your arousal- the air is thick with it. If Garak were to look down at the darkened shadow cast between Julian’s legs he would even see the hard cock pushing panties obscenely outward, straining against the thin fabric until the head pushes out the top to brush the satin of the skirt. Julian makes an incomplete motion toward his crotch, squirming on the bed, a near pained hiss escaping him. Instead, he clamps Garak’s left hand hard, his nails digging into the back of it pushing the skirts up further.
Garak does see now that faint glimpse, catches another rush of Julian’s heat to his olfactory senses and lowers his head just long enough to bring himself under control. You should be ashamed- mortified at the indignity that a man of your years and experience is acting little better than a fumbling youth with no other thought than how soon he can shove it in. You are far far better than this Elim. You are… Damn you, Julian… Damn your body, your eyes, your smell… every part of you that makes me want nothing more than to have you against all reason. Whatever might happen in the next hour, the next few days there is a need that transcends rationality that he can feel bearing down on him. Garak quickly moves his hand catching Julian’s wrist. The other moves from Julian’s hip to a hard desperate grope of Julian’s flank, half tangled in the skirts as he squeezes and fondles that leg, hand coming to Julian’s inner thigh once more, urging those legs apart, that heel of the boot slipping back to the floor. Garak can feel his self control fading as Julian’s little whispers of “oh God” reach his ears. He is one plea- one breathless begging plea from ripping off the thin slip of fabric separating him from completion inside Julian’s hot, near feverish-
“The… the boots… p-please…” Julian twists his wrist until it is he that holds Garak at bay, the muscles of his arms taut and straining to keep both of his wrists locked in place. He looks lost. Garak’s confusion is a near perfect mirror as he practically chokes out,
“What?” If you’re testing me, Julian… Jules, whoever the hell you are so help me if this is another one of your games… Whatever mercy I’ve shown you I am not a man you can keep toying with and stringing along because I can only take so much even from you.
“The boots…” Garak tests the hold feeling Julian pushing back against him. “That’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it?” There is no way we’re this close in strength. I know you shouldn’t be this strong…
“And then?” Julian doesn’t give and fury wars with desire almost violently. Garak’s mouth is tight as he studies that face above his. “I thought I was to take you to bed, Julian. Or am I somehow misreading your desire?”
“What do you know about what I desire, Garak?” Julian lets go of Garak’s wrists looking down at his own arousal. There is a faint throbbing that Garak feels from the pressure and he feels as if these minutes here and now have allowed him the insight to piece together that brilliant broken mind with stunning clarity. What do I know about what you desire, Julian? An enigmatic smile decorates Garak’s face. He chooses not to answer him verbally but as he shifts again and works pins and needles from his legs he keeps their eyes locked dragging his nails sharply down the insides of Julian’s thighs holding nothing back as the skin raises in bright pink welts. Julian’s eyes shut in pained pleasure, his head tipping back in a moment of pure wanton abandon that all too eagerly surrenders that victory to Garak. It is then that he takes Julian’s unresisting left leg once more and begins to slowly unlace the boot.
   Garak waits. He takes his time to see if Julian will meet him here or if he’ll retreat into Jules or the doctor or any other number of cleverly devised disguises. One liar to another, Julian I should have realized it far sooner. There is a shadow that passes over Julian’s face, his mouth turned in a small playful grin. His foot slips- the soft tip of the boot carefully yet deliberately pressing between Garak’s legs with a pressure that some might consider painful. Garak does not think in the heat of the moment to affect surprise- the hiss that escapes him is as real as the blood running furiously through every vein and artery. He doesn’t need to look up to know there is satisfaction on Julian’s face at the intensity of his reaction. It’s all you, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve been missing. Julian. Jules. All of it separate and incomplete- beautiful, scarred, dirty, degenerate doctor who at the heart still wants to save the world…If you don’t bring it all to ruin first.
   Garak continues to slowly work as if he does not feel that “innocent” pressure pressing on more insistently. His hands remain steady as he carefully, painstakingly unwinds the laces from each of the grommets of Julian’s boot. The only sounds in the room that he can hear are the intermingled pants of the two of them locked in this contest of will. Garak feels that foot shift again and can almost hear the memory of Julian’s teasing voice speaking to him with breathless sadism. “When I was a child I used to play an old game on Earth called ‘Simon Says.” Julian, hands behind his back clasped with tight restraint, stood dead center of Garak’s personal space and gave another catlike lick to the small puncture wound on Garak’s neck.
“It’s a very simple game, really.” He licked again. “The child in charge gives a command preceded by the phrase ’Simon Says’ and the other children mimic the action.” Julian’s tongue traced a long wet lineup his jaw until breathing hot in his ear. “The only caveat is that if one does something that Simon doesn’t say... they must be punished.”
   Garak can feel that blood even now. He can remember it- can see even through the hazy veil in his mind’s eye- the intensity with which Julian watched the knife in his hand. The laces twine around his fingers as if they possess a life of their own. Julian’s foot continues to rhythmically press and that coupled with the persistent vision of Julian’s incidental marking of his face makes him want to take that slender ankle and grind against it. He wants to take that ankle, yank Julian off the mattress, drag him down to the floor, and debase him with all the blood and pain he can stand. Garak’s hand is shaking. He nearly throws the boot across the room but with practiced restraint instead sets it down gently. There is a sock decorating Julian’s foot- white, thin, and quickly discarded. It’s soon lost in the sight of Julian’s smooth skin, ankle in his hand as he runs fingers slowly upwards.
There is a strength that contrasting that deceptive delicacy is distinctly male. Garak finds himself unconsciously brushing the swell of Julian’s calf, feeling the hard muscle tense beneath his fingers. Julian’s toes curl, his body gives the slightest tremor causing Garak to fantasize for a flashing instant of tying him down and tickling every one of those sensitive clusters of nerves until he screams. He lowers Julian’s leg, not allowing himself any more indulgence beyond a light caress to the arch of Julian’s foot. He can see by the brief flutter shut of Julian’s eyes- by the bob of Adam’s Apple accompanying an urgent swallow- that it is enough. Garak lets his fingers trace playfully, face as neutral as he can manage, up the soft leather encasing Julian’s right leg. Again, Garak slides a finger beneath the cuff and it is then that he realizes Julian’s hands have moved to clutch at the skirts, pulling them haphazardly up and out of the way. Garak considers for a moment with a belated tailor’s outrage the indignity to the lace and the wrinkles to the satin with Julian’s rigid clutching grip until his eyes catch an entirely different motion altogether.
Julian’s hips subtly rock- push against the tightly balled fists- as he watches Garak with an intensity bordering on insanity. He can see the discreet motion of those hands pressing back down as a flush highlights Julian’s face. Those are the same eyes, he realizes with damning arousal. The same eyes that watched him eagerly as Julian took one small self-depriving step backwards. He stood in front of the door, blocking escape as if Garak would somehow break the subliminal bonds that held him and take flight. Julian gave a violent rub of the back of his hand- to his bloodied mouth- before forcing out a deliberate, perverse, “Simon says... remove your tunic.” Garak wordlessly shifted the knife hilt to methodically unfasten the top. Julian impatiently shifted from one foot to another, wiping hands on the white of his own shirt leaving streaks of red. He toggled the dermal regenerator between his hands, eyes appearing to make a study of every part of Garak’s body that he wanted to mark. His eyes were focused on the ridges, the dip that was slowly revealed just beneath the hollow of Garak’s throat as he let the tip of the regenerator glide over the skin of his cheek once more with a heavy excited breath.
Julian’s head tilted eagerly to the side, the loose top slipping down off that shoulder again with an unconscious coquettish turn to reveal the white lace of the bra strap. Garak’s fingers felt out every fastening with precision, eyes never leaving Julian’s own. There was nothing that escaped his peripheral vision and his body moved more slowly, more languidly, completely out of his control. He deftly handled the blade even while shrugging the heavy garment from his shoulders to let it fall to the floor behind him. The cold room seemed to grow almost warm enough for his liking beneath that scrutiny. Julian, hands clasped together looked as if he could almost break the device between his them as tightly as he held it. He continued to feverishly lick his lips before half panting out “Simon says remove your undershirt.”
Garak takes another breath, eyes distant for that brief moment unbeknownst to Julian. He isn’t quite sure how long it takes to calm his racing heart- it seems to be infinity contained in the blink shut of his eyelids. He plays the game slowly, carefully, doing nothing but shuttering his eyes for a second when Julian once again maneuvers his foot between Garak’s legs. He presses hard- harder than the last time nearly causing him to elicit a gasp half in pain, half in pleasure. Garak shifts on his knees again, fingers twirling laces with deliberation around his fingers, tight enough to cause pain to distract him. Garak softly, caresses the back of Julian’s knee as he loosens the laces. He hears an aborted whine followed by a stiffening of the leg driving the toe of the boot further against the bulge in his pants. It should hurt. It does hurt. It almost brings him to the edge of completion. His hands snap taut hidden only by Julian’s own distracted shifting. Garak catches himself and allows the indulgence of a quick peripheral glance upwards, half obscured by the ridges around his eyes.
Julian appears to be practically wringing the skirts between his hands. The manner in which his arms push tightly together creates an odd maidenly picture with those lips pursed together half parted. Julian’s shoulder length hair falls into his face wild and untamed with the uncontrolled undulation of his bare, tanned shoulders. It makes Garak picture that face hovering over his with Julian’s thighs locked around his waist, squeezing tighter as his body grips him.
“You should take more care with the fabric, Julian,” Garak finds himself saying as his fingers still midway down the boot, head dipping down to keep his own rapidly heating face from exposing too much. He hears the rustling lessen and die down and it seems as if Julian is trying to catch his breath- he imagines how tightly the corset must be constricting him to create that curve of waistline- of hip. Garak wants to see how Julian’s hips feel with both his hands gripping them with bruising pressure. He can hear Julian’s lack of response bleeding into a steadily increasing series of sibilant breaths making him picture the dark phantom Julian whispering in his mind.
   “Simon didn’t say so.” Julian stood in front of his now nude body, dermal regenerator still in hand as he ordered Garak to his knees. “Let’s do the arm now… the inside of your right wrist yes right there near the pronator… No no let me…” Julian traced a faint line with the tip of the dermal regenerator parallel to the vein with a feather light trail stopping just at the crook of his elbow. “Right there just like that.” Garak thought that he might like a moment alone with whoever the Simon of the distant past was as his hand obeyed the command to slide the most careful line down the vulnerable skin. “Ohhh,” Julian half moaned as he watched him. “That’s absolutely marvelous.” There was already a line of warm blood running down his neck, tickling the sensitive ridges nearly causing him to slip his grip on the hilt. “Yessss, now hold it out for me.” Garak did as he was ordered, offering the thinly trickling arm up and watching as Julian sank to his knees. He dropped the device, taking Garak’s arm with the all the care Doctor Julian Bashir had for a patient, drawing his tongue down the line, making it burn ecstatically. Garak could not hide in his position the arousal as Julian debased the both of them further not so much as shutting his eyes as Julian drew every bit of salivitic blood from him with a series of soft heady groans.
   Garak did not allow a single vocalization in the memory playing in his head but he does now when his finger slips and a small unrefined edge of the final brass grommet cuts him. He blinks and looks down, Julian staring at his finger with a recollection that mirrors his own.
“Are you…” Julian trails off as he realizes how husky and thick his voice sounds. He clears his throat, not looking Garak in the face, still boring the intensity of that stare into the small bead of red pearling at the tip of Garak’s index finger. Garak lets the laces slacken, the wound bleeding a touch more freely as Julian’s foot slips back. “Are you alright?” Julian has forgotten to be sick. He has forgotten in however much time has passed to cough or feign weakness or any other emotion beyond that of desire. Garak does not know why he only now realizes that. He doesn’t dare look up at him as he slides the boot off with his uninjured hand setting it next to his mate.
“Well, I think we can rule out amputation.” Garak’s voice is far too heavy for such light teasing as he divests Julian of the other sock. He looks up with a perfectly placed smile.
“In any case-“
“Let me see it.” Julian’s ragged voice cuts him off. The voice is not the same one which ordered him to draw lines up the insides of his thighs. It is not the same one who ordered Garak to cut deeper into his own flesh while following with a lick and a hasty repair to skin. Julian has given up far too much control in this encounter to sound anything but pleading. Garak sees Julian’s eyes fixated on his finger and definitely sees the man who crawled between his legs on all fours to hungrily lap at his bloodied legs, until the top of his head unabashedly rubbed against Garak’s painful erection. Garak wordlessly holds his finger out but this time he does not remain on his knees before Julian. Instead, he stands, that hand pulled away from Julian’s greedily grasping fingers until he is forced to sit up straight as he can manage. The skirts drop back down. Julian leans bare feet braced on the carpet as he practically lunges off of the bed for it.
   There is a pitiable desperation to Julian’s countenance as Garak makes him dance. There is, Garak finds, something infinitely erotic to Julian held in his thrall this way. He does not seem to realize the childish picture he makes holding his arms out with bright eyes hypnotically focused on Garak’s finger. Julian finally grips his wrist hard, drawing it back towards him triumphantly but all the same afraid to let go. There is a small huff of frustration, an almost disbelieving moment of self-realization which quickly vanishes as Julian digs a thumb into his pulse hard. Oh yes, poor pitiful Julian, indeed. Poor poor… Garak lets a soft hiss escape as Julian wraps made up red lips around his finger, slowly- as slow as to be nearly still- letting only the tip penetrate at first. Garak feels Julian’s hot wet tongue caressing the wound the further inside that his finger slides.
Julian’s eyes are closed but not tightly. He does not wear the expression of one afraid to look but instead of a man savoring every bit of the salty blood that his tongue teases out. Julian gives a long, drawn out suck pulling Garak’s finger out with an audible “thck” before drawing it back in again. Garak cannot be certain if he imagines the soft moan that he hears however he is definitely certain of the color staining Julian’s face. He takes a step forward, led by Julian’s soft mouth tugging him closer until he’s standing between wantonly spread legs. Garak feels his mouth turning dry when Julian looks up at him, eyes open now, moving his mouth just enough to lick the small tear of skin. He licks once, twice- lets his tongue flit back and forth with a series of precise little taps that make Garak’s knees nearly buckle as he sees that tongue- as Julian intends he’s certain- painting his cock with the same erotic brush.
   Julian’s breath is hot. Julian’s face is flushed with what is definitely arousal not malaise. He looks up at Garak, panting as he finally releases his grip on Garak’s wrist with a long lingering swipe of his tongue up the entire underside of Garak’s finger. He smiles, an endearing silly smile; that more than anything else in this this entire surreal encounter is what makes Garak desire the most to push forward those precious few inches and throw him back on the bed to cover that body with his own. Whether the bleeding has stopped or the wet saliva obscures it enough to foster that illusion Julian looks down then up again just a moment.
“Good old frontier medicine, right?” His voice is light with just a hint of self-consciousness, a hint of searching for approval. Julian raises his head in invitation when Garak passes his left hand through thick, slightly sweat dampened hair. Garak turns his body, feeling at last Julian’s hardness pressed to his thigh. Julian’s hands are immediately on his shoulders but he doesn’t push him away.
   “Is that what we’re doing here, Julian?” He speaks the words to the shell of Julian’s ear feeling a tremor, feeling an insistent pulsing of that bulge.
“I don’t know… God I-“
“Not God. Just plain…” Garak lets his lips run around the sensitive skin right behind Julian’s ear as he presses forward. “Simple…” Julian’s hands are a mirror of his own only fisting in his slightly disheveled slicked back hair roughly. Whether he loses his balance or his forced back by Garak’s body weight, Julian falls back on the bed pulling Garak on top of him. There is no further preamble, no banter, no quips as Julian hushes against his neck ridges with ardent fervor.
“Don’t stop. If I tell you stop don’t bloody stop. Dammit I-“
   Garak does not consider nor ponder his actions any further. His left hand is shifted to pin down a bare shoulder, his right going to hike Julian’s leg up as he grinds into him. Julian pushes back, head turned, throat pulsing with moans and unintelligible pleas that spur him to throw any sort of preamble or niceties out the window and instead slake that maddening lust. Garak’s fingers brush the thin string of Julian’s panties, trying to tug at the thin little bit of lace while rutting against him just the same. His teeth nip Julian’s throat, not breaking skin- not yet. He can feel himself half wanting to come just from the few blissful seconds of friction- from feeling Julian’s hot body twisting beneath his. Julian’s shoulder is tight as he strains against the hand roughly holding him down muscles moving beneath the surface. His breath is coming in half gasps that are far too shallow being bound by the corset. Garak debates moving his hand, loosening the stays, and letting Julian catch his breath but the sight of him trying so desperately to take in air, teeth biting his lower lip hard to be silent-
   The door chimes. Garak experiences one of those rare moments of anger that nearly takes his breath away before calls upon decades of experience to tamp it down. He does not move but continues to hold Julian against the mattress, moving to pin the other shoulder as well. Julian stares at the bedroom door, his face shifting in an instant as if he’d completely forgotten that he was expecting someone. He doesn’t struggle but turns his head back to look up with an unreadable expression. They look at each other silently until Garak finally speaks.
“I wasn’t aware that you were expecting company,” he says just a touch too pleasantly. “Shall I tell them how ill you’re feeling?” There’s no answer- Julian turns his lips into a faint frown but remains mute. Take it. I gave you an opening, Julian. I gave you an out that might very well ruin everything but I don’t care. I don’t care if you throw me out right after but if you have any of your wits left you’ll back away from all of this nonsense before it’s too late.
   Julian’s knee remains drawn up still exerting a light pressure against Garak’s waist. The dark color lining Julian’s eyes make them appear as an endless chasm pulling Garak deep into their depths.
“You already know that’s not true… Garak.” He finds the admission almost offensive. Garak releases his shoulders and moves back, taking Julian still bent knee, shoving it to the side as if he were slamming a door. He hides his face as he stands up and turns away.
“Nonsense. I’ll let them know that you need your rest.” Garak walks briskly, exiting Julian’s room even as Julian rolls on his side and sits up abruptly with panic.
“Wait!” Julian is on his feet and after him more quickly than Garak would have thought possible. Garak feels the fingers brushing his shoulder as he exits Julian’s room purposefully.
“Bravado is all well and good, Julian but someone with a clearly debilitating sickness shouldn’t push himself beyond the limits of what he can handle.”
Julian grabs his arm yanking him around with a wild eyed look.
“Stop it. For God’s sake can’t you-”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to betray your friends by letting you entertain anyone further in your condition.”
“That isn’t your decision to make!” Julian runs fingers through his hair in frustration. He looks at Garak as if he’s seriously considering shoving him in the closet for the duration of Legate Corat’s stay. The door chimes a second time.
“Your lipstick is smudged,” Garak observes mildly. “Perhaps you should go into the bathroom and freshen up for Legate Corat lest he think you less than a proper lady.” There’s a fury- half Julian half Jules- which violently springs to light. Garak makes a note of the heightened stress overriding controls he implanted as Julian circles in front of him. Julian has Jules’ calculating expression but he can see wavering beneath that exterior panic and uncertainty. It occurs to him that even in spite of this small break that he likely still has the ability to manipulate whichever Julian he wants to the forefront. Garak is almost frightened by how greatly the idea thrills him.
“If you think for one moment that I’m going to-”
“Are you going to open the door, my dear, or are we going to leave poor Corat outside with nothing but his imagination for company?”
“He cannot see you in here.”
“Much as I sympathize with the dreadful predicament I seem to have placed you in, I cannot help but think the solution is a rather simple one.”
“I can only imagine,” Julian replies acidly. The door chimes yet again and Julian huffs in frustration before yelling, “Come in!”
“You should tell him it’s not a good time.” Garak says from behind him as the door opens. He makes no attempt to address his own state of disarray taking in the sight of the Legate standing there expectantly. Corat is just as portly as Garak remembers during the occupation and just as fastidiously dressed. Garak watches as his face registers a faint hint of surprise before settling on neutral joviality. It seems that while Garak may recall quite a great deal about the Legate from both his file and a chance encounter before his exile, he’s sure the reciprocal hardly holds true. Perhaps he wasn’t as close to that poor fellow Tarn as I’d thought.
“Well, that certainly explains the wait, Doctor Bashir.” Corat ignores him entirely as he addresses Julian. Garak nearly laughs. I cannot imagine the performance you must have given prior to this, my dear if he finds nothing unusual with this scenario.
“You em… have my deepest apologies, Legate, I ah…” Julian takes a deep breath looking at the floor quickly. Garak takes that time to frame his mindset to deal with Julian’s impending metamorphosis. “Please, call me Jules.”
“Jules it is,” Corat says as he steps inside the room. Julian’s answering smile is downright sinful. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your guest’s acquaintance.” Corat gives him a quick glance trying to place him while Julian neatly steps right between the two.
“Yes, well Mr. Garak was just leaving.” The look Julian gives him could freeze molten rock and shatter it.
“Was I?” Garak asks feigning ignorance.
“Yes you were.” Julian gives him an arrogance sideways glance. “And I assure you Legate, there’s no pleasure to be found in his acquaintance.”
“Here I thought our conversation was just reaching a rather… pleasurable moment.” Garak doesn’t miss the sudden switch in demeanor, the slight narrowing of eyes as Corat realizes exactly who it is Julian is associating with. Garak’s grin takes on a more playful cast. Julian for his part smiles back at him nastily and Garak is loath to admit Julian’s other self can be at times infuriatingly arousing. There also is an admittedly masochistic part of Garak who cannot help but want to watch Rome burn if he recalls his human mythos correctly. And you haven’t completed your objective either. You’re moments away from an unceremonious dismissal and if you’d been thinking at all you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to cut it this close. But far from panic, Gara finds only a rush the adrenaline at the challenge.
   “I think you grossly overestimate your oral capabilities, Elim.” Julian lets his fingers toy with the bodice of the corset speaking his first name intimately. He looks far too pleased with himself when Garak allows an obvious shift of his attention to the sensual gesture. He walks toward the couch with a sway to his hips- a teasing reminder of their aborted encounter earlier. “The Legate and I have business to attend to which hardly concerns you.” Julian casts a backwards glance to Corat who for his part seems far too amused at the scenario being concocted solely for his benefit. Yes, it’s a satisfying bit of what humans would call “schadenfreude”, isn’t it? How funny it must be to see the great Elim Garak, reduced to little more than a plaything for the pretty catamite standing in front of you. Enjoy it while you still breathe, Corat.
“Is this the same ‘business’ you had with the Bolean freighter Captain last week? Or perhaps the same business you conducted in the back corner of Quark’s with those two lovely Klingon maidens? Your periodic business with Leeta?” Garak delights in watching Julian’s face darken, that anger barely held back. “Oh then it has to be your little excursions with Chief O’Brien. No? Well in any case I suppose I must concede the point, it doesn’t concern me any more than your usual… endeavors.”
“When business is slow and tired- and prefers the sound of its own voice and lies to the completion of the transaction, Elim then it should come as no surprise when its patrons decide to frequent other establishments.” Garak keeps his amusement in check when Julian stalks past him to the shelf back against the wall. “Do have a seat, Legate, I promise this won’t be but a moment longer.” His smile is honey as he picks up a bottle of kanar. “Can I get you drink?”
Corat nods with a rather unattractive smugness as he takes a seat.
“Garak always has had a reputation for overstaying his welcome.” Julian magics two glasses out of a pile of hosiery. Garak walks over setting his hand down on the table stepping into Julian’s personal space.
“I assure you, Legate Corat, any rumors you’ve heard about me are highly exaggerated. You know how unreliable gossip is. I, for example would not have recognized you without Gul Dukat’s boot in your mouth if I were to give credence to every silly tale that I’ve heard over the years.”
“That’s the sort of humor that’s sorely missed on Cardassia,” Corat replies with a chuckle that’s not entirely in good humor. “It’s a pity you’re no longer around to make us laugh, Garak. Perhaps I can put in a good word for you when I return.”
“Oh I’m sure you have plenty of words you can put in for me, Corat, but I assure you it won’t be necessary…” Julian quickly ducks his head and dances around Garak to set the two glasses on the half cleared coffee table. Garak enjoys the brief view as he bends over noting Corat give an admiring leer from the front He takes that brief distraction to slip his hand beneath a pile of hosiery. “No, I’m rather content with life here and my drab, dull little… business.”
“Then perhaps you should run along now, Elim,” Julian indicates the door apathetically- no longer even deigning to look at him. “I’m sure Legate Corat’s presence here is of no concern to an exiled tailor though if you plan on remaining to fill the void in your social calendar I hope you refrain from talking overly much.” Garak pauses and looks at Julian with a calm, blank expression. Run along? There is a cool anger that settles over him at that particular choice of words. Do you really think to dismiss me with a wave of your hand, Julian? Of all the nonsense… of all the insufferable, thoughtless arrogance, volatile temper, your less than better half has put me through. I’ve been so terribly lenient with you Julian. I’ve tamped down anger, indignity, manipulation, I’ve been, dare I say, proud to see all the things you’re capable of when I should’ve had ended you. I have made allowances for you Julian, I’ve made so many… Not anymore, my dear. No, this game is about to get far more real. Garak inclines his head to his illusory lover and walks up to Julian thrilling at the wariness which overrides that dismissive haughty glare. He makes sure to look at Corat first.
“Yes, a tailor. A plain, simple tailor who minutes ago had you clutching at the bed sheets making such pretty little gasps.” Julian stiffens slightly at that and as Garak leans in further, he isn’t sure that Corat can hear him but he doesn’t particularly care. “A tailor who had you begging, who had you spreading your legs like a whore with your thigh tightened beautifully against my waist, who had your body drawing up and begging me with every shake, every breath to mark it, to claim it, to take it hard.” Julian’s eyes close Garak can see how completely rigid he is- can see the way his chest heaves, the grip of the corset creating the nearly imperceptible bulge of pectorals upwards. Garak is close enough now that not a slip of fabric could pass between them and he settles a hand on Julian’s shoulder delighting in how he makes the smallest hitch at the pressure to that sore spot. Garak is already imagining the lovely bruise that will darken human skin.
“You’re right, my dear, I’m forgetting my place, aren’t I?” Garak moves from his shoulder and strokes Julian’s hair once more raising his voice for Corat’s benefit as he lets the thick soft locks wrap around his fingers. He moves slowly- feather light over Julian’s cheek and down to the line of hair framing his jaw. His lips hover near Julian’s ear. “But see that you don’t forget yours.” Garak takes just that quick second to look at Corat watching them with a look of base desire that he knows all too well. Knowing Corat’s likely reaction nearly makes him hesitate but Garak’s own dominant instinct won’t allow for it. Garak pulls back, letting his cheek brush Julian’s. He can feel the light dusting of makeup powder on his sensitive skin as he does. He smells Julian’s clean skin, the sweetness of his shampoo, and that unmistakable Julian Bashir medical musk. Garak practically growls letting his own scent mark Julian in the possessive of ways.
Julian doesn’t object. He doesn’t pull back nor make any of a number of overtures that any Cardassian would know which would refute such a claim. Garak knew that when he decided to initiate the silent challenge just as he knew that Corat would have little choice but to answer the ownership waved in his face. It is a challenge that he knows will be met tonight with violent abandon and as he looks at Julian’s smooth, unblemished skin there is only anger that the honor will not first go to him. But this isn’t about you, Elim. The stakes are far greater than your desires. If Odo is to be believed and if your own suspicions are truly as dark and damned as you suspect then... Then he has no choice but to walk out the door and let Julian play his hand as he will.
Garak steps back seeing Corat’s drab watery eyes brighten even more furiously at the both of them. Julian is oblivious to the lot of it, looking at Garak slightly confused, those spots of color back into his face and the flickering glimpse Garak sees of Julian proper is nearly enough to make him wince. It’s gone nearly as soon as he sees it and there stands his other self with usual haughtiness.
“I never forget anything, Elim,” Julian all but purrs. Garak couldn’t have hoped for a more damning riposte.
“Of that, I have no doubt, my dear.” Garak turns to leave, unclenching his fist. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d even balled it. His palm throbs with the bite of small half-moon indents from his nails. Garak is not even aware of the furious blur of his vision or the pounding in his head until the bright lights of the hallway come into view.
Garak doesn’t look back as he returns to his quarters. It’s time to contact Odo on the Defiant and let him know that the bug has been planted.
I hope you like the blood when it’s your own, Julian. I promise you won’t be lacking for it tonight.
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