Work Text:
The fever that had rapidly spread across Deep Space Nine was horrific in a way that made Garak wish he could send an account to the Order. What an effective torture method that could be, to completely eradicate one’s inhibitions. What secrets they would spill!
Collecting hypotheses about weaponizing Zanthi fever was a tolerably effective way to distract himself from his blind panic and begin to compartmentalize the events of the day. When Garak had started to feel a sudden surge of dopamine, he thought for one confused moment that the wire had been replaced or reactivated somehow. Thank the State his Order training kept him from pursuing his impulse to seek out the station doctor long enough to lock himself in his storeroom. His dignity was still intact, however much of it he still retained. The doctor had seen him at his lowest point already, and Garak’s life need not resemble a repetitive epic.
A glance at the Promenade from his shop window offered a view of the chaos’ aftermath. Groups of three or four, broadcasting awkwardness in a fascinating cross-cultural display of body languages. Some of the colorful garlands had been torn down and trampled, a few individuals were nursing split lips. Perhaps if Garak were to emerge now having avoided the fever at its peak, the station occupants would think he had been completely unaffected? Allowing himself a small smile, Garak made his way to Quark’s.
Quark’s bar was in true disarray and the waiters were scrambling to organize tables and sweep away broken glass. Garak settled onto a stool, content to wait while he coolly surveyed the carnage. A pair of Bajoran women were gossiping nearby; Garak recognized Nurse Jabara and gave her a polite nod. She offered him a small smile at his acknowledgment and leaned forward to continue speaking with her friends. Garak was sure she still suspected he would eavesdrop, but he turned away to allow them both the polite fiction that he was not.
“I swear, it’s true! I went to the infirmary after lunch and they were going at it, right in front of the door!” Nurse Jabara reported, with a definite note of glee. “I never dreamed of seeing Major Kira anything but buttoned up and ready for battle. I felt like I had walked in on my own mother.”
“Oh, I wish I had been there,” sighed one of her compatriots. “I promise you, I have no such qualms.”
Nurse Jabara swatted playfully at her friend, then continued, “You wouldn’t be saying that if she had been entangled with your boss. By the Prophets, how will I look Doctor Bashir in the eye tomorrow?”
The Bajorans laughed, and Garak felt the sound reverberate through his entire nervous system. The ambient chill of the station seemed to pierce him. He carefully exhaled and did not allow himself to physically react.
“So what did you do? Just run and hide? Since you obviously didn’t ask to join,” another Bajoran asked with a delighted cackle.
Nurse Jabara scoffed. “As if they’d have been interested in a third. They were so wrapped up in each other, I didn’t even register. I heard Odo had to yell at them to get them to Ops, and honestly I’m surprised it had an effect.”
Garak lifted a hand from the bar top and examined it, flicking off the grit from the debris. He rose from his bar stool and crossed the room at a very deliberate pace, cast an assessing glance at the Ferengi waiters rushing about, and shook his head minutely before leaving for his quarters at a pace that was absolutely identical to his normal walking speed. He was not running away. He was not reacting to gossip. He was an impenetrable and dangerous operative and was in no way experiencing distress.
The facade lasted until he was safely within his quarters, when Garak closed his eyes and let himself yield. He would probably have to seek out some kind of treatment even though the fever seemed to have left his system, because his nerves were fraying like loose-woven linen.
Bashir and the Major…
Beautiful Doctor Bashir, drawn to that ferocious Bajoran terrorist-turned-bureaucrat. Garak had to admit they would make an attractive pair. Intellectually, he knew that this encounter was not a culmination of emotional desire and yearning. Zanthi fever was about impulse. Still, even a consummate liar can only lie to himself for so long.
What if Garak had followed that initial impulse to seek out the doctor? What if he had set aside his training, his pride, his fear, and acted on instinct? Would Bashir have welcomed his touch? Fallen into Garak’s arms, those hazel eyes going dark with passion…
Garak walks into the infirmary with purpose, floating on this strange blissful certainty that the moment he lays eyes on the doctor, all will be well. Dr Bashir is standing, gaze moving from the readout on his terminal to the PADD in his hand, but when Garak enters, he turns and smiles. Oh, that lovely open countenance, freely sharing every fleeting emotion. Garak jealously hoards each memory of Bashir’s smile like a rare bottle of kanar, something to be sipped slowly and savored between their lunchtime debates that leave him flushed and hungry. The doctor is such a wanton flirt, even when it isn’t a conscious choice. Now that smile is illuminating his face and he is beautiful, innocent and intelligent and so very tempting…
Garak opened his eyes, exhaled slowly, and made a decision. The fever had lowered his defenses and thrown his orderly mind into turmoil. Tomorrow he would set about restoring order. But tonight, he would indulge.
Making his way to his bedroom, Garak lowered the lights to a comfortable 20 percent. He removed his shoes, put on sleepwear, and stretched out on the bed self-consciously. This unpleasant feeling was why he did not typically bother with self-pleasure; it was harder to ignore the performative nature of sex when there was no one else present. Closing his eyes again helped.
Garak steps forward and turns off the nearby bright fluorescent lamp, watching the shadows caress his dear doctor’s face. That’s better; his smile is just as bright but now it doesn’t hurt to gaze upon.
Bashir knits those darling furry eyebrows of his and asks, “Are you all right, Garak? I’ve never seen you willingly enter my sickbay of your own accord.”
Garak smiles and exhales.“You’re correct, of course, Doctor, but I’m feeling…strange. In a way I haven’t felt since you removed the wire.”
Bashir’s eyes widen and he picks up a tricorder, gesturing for Garak to sit on the biobed. He scans Garak and examines the reading with a puzzled frown. Darling boy, so concerned. So foolishly and naively committed to caring for Garak when anyone in their right mind would have let him die. Without fully realizing it, Garak reaches up to smooth Bashir’s forehead with a gentle hand. Even more surprising than this lapse is the way Bashir closes his eyes and leans into the touch, nuzzling into Garak’s palm with a pleased hum.
“Doctor…” Garak murmurs without moving his hand. “Am I in danger?”
His doctor is pressing into his hand like a cat demanding to be pet, but he glances at the tricorder and looks up at Garak through his eyelashes. “Your dopamine levels are elevated, but not…it doesn’t look like…” Garak softly cards his fingers through Bashir’s hair. The softness and slight prickle of hair against the scales on his fingers is delicious. Garak lets his mouth fall open ever so slightly and scents the air.
Oh, how he loves Bashir’s scent. It’s rare to be so close; normally he contents himself with the faint aroma of coconut oil, sandalwood, and Tarkalean tea from across the lunch table. But like this, so close, Garak can smell the undefinable muskiness that is unique to Julian Bashir. A delicious earthy note. Do humans like…Garak moves his hand to the back of Bashir’s neck and tightens his grasp.
As though a switch has been flipped, Julian is in his arms and they are kissing feverishly, with a ferocity that is as wonderful as it is unexpected. Julian draws Garak’s tongue into his mouth and sucks, then pulls back to mouth at the ridges on Garak’s jaw. Pleasure blooms on his skin with every touch but Garak can’t stand not having his mouth on Julian, has to keep touching him everywhere, everywhere. Garak sinks one hand into that thick lovely hair and when Julian gasps in pleasure, presses his advantage to trail his open mouth down Julian’s long smooth neck. Julian gasps and digs his nails into Garak’s neck ridges, and he cries out in pleasure and shock.
G arak sank into the fantasy gratefully, letting it suffuse his being like warmth in a sauna. Nowhere to go, nothing to do but chase this pleasure. Garak trailed his hands up his torso, tracing the pathway of scales towards his chula and enjoying the sensuality of the act. He traced the teardrop shape with the edge of a nail, hissing softly at the edge of pleasure-pain, and pressed his other hand between his legs. Impossible to say if he was still wet from earlier or if he was reacting to the intensity of this fantasy, but Garak could feel himself becoming soaked. Bringing one hand between his legs, he trailed one finger along his seam and slowly began to press inside.
Garak nips along the soft underside of Julian’s neck and holds back a hiss of pleasure as Julian starts to kiss his eye ridges, his cheek, wherever he can reach. Soft lips against scales. Long fingers roaming along his spine, up his arms, leaving a trail of heat that’s so glorious it takes Garak longer than it should to realize the doctor is trying to remove his tunic. Dimly, through the haze of arousal and joy, he feels a prickle of anxiety.
Garak unfastens his tunic without any more prevarication and unzips Julian’s uniform with little more care. This hideous jumpsuit can’t conceal his long and elegant frame.
The moment both men are shirtless, Garak draws Julian back to him. Julian’s nipples brush the scales on Garak’s torso and he moans, pressing closer. For a moment neither of them move, just revel in the closeness. But the frenetic energy buzzing under Garak’s skin won’t let him sit idly for long. He’s still seated on the biobed, which leaves his legs free to wrap around Julian’s calves, connecting them hip to hip.
A stumbling block, perhaps…humans had some variations in genitalia that made sexual encounters unpredictable. For all his guilelessness, Bashir rarely spoke about the details of his body, and while Garak respected his secrecy, he couldn’t help but long for more information for his own private use. What would it be like, pressing against his beautiful doctor? Would he be hard? Wet? Both? Would he want to be penetrated? Far removed from Cardassia and its established standards regarding sexual encounters, Garak could only theorize how he would touch Julian, given the chance. He settled back on his bed and closed his eyes, anchoring himself back to his fantasy.
Julian steps out of his uniform and climbs onto the biobed, pushing Garak down and straddling his hips. He is resplendent; acres of golden skin, bruises beginning to bloom along his neck, and his eyes are so dark, so warm. Garak needs to taste him. Julian leans forward to kiss Garak again but Garak helpfully puts a hand on his ass to hold him in place, sits up, and bites down on Julian’s collarbone.
“Yes, my beauty,” Garak purrs, “If this is the only time I can have you, I will give you everything.” He’s drenched, he is dripping, and he can feel Julian’s own heat through his black briefs. Stopping for breath, Garak rests his forehead against Julian’s and revels in the tender closeness. “My dear…I want to taste you.”
Keeping hold of Julian’s buttocks, Garak pivots them on the biobed and lies back, pulling Julian to straddle his chest. His scent is so much stronger here, and he’s grinding against Garak’s collarbones, chasing his pleasure and smirking as Garak’s aroused gasp turns into a long hiss. Garak will wear this man’s smell as a badge of honor. He pulls Julian up just a little farther and noses at the coarse dark curls between his legs, so wet, and because of him, for him.
Garak everted with a strangled growl and pressed a firm hand to the base of his prUt, then slid two fingers inside his ajan. He stroked his inner walls, barely brushing his chuva, moving his other hand to pinch along his neck ridges. Oh, to feel Julian’s long fingers fucking into him, that clever mouth biting down on Garak’s collarbones, or gasping in pleasure...
“Chi’ulian,” Garak slurs dreamily, and presses deeper into his lover’s core. Garak presses his tongue deeper and licks a long stripe up Julian’s ajan.
“Yes…” Julian sighs, rocking his hips slightly into Garak’s mouth.
Garak lightly circles Julian’s prUt with his tongue and then sucks. With one hand he squeezes Julian’s firm ass and with the other, strokes his chest. Scales against skin drag and catch, like silk against a wooden spool, and Julian thrusts up into the touch, arching his back with pleasure, and groans, “Garak, oh yes, like that…”
Garak moans into him.
Garak can feel the rain soaking the bed beneath him and he is drunk on pleasure, overcome with desire.
‘Yes, beautiful boy, let me taste you,’ Garak thinks as he dips his tongue lower. ‘Soak me with your rain, let me drown in your scent.’ His tongue presses deeper into Julian’s ajan and Garak is overwhelmed with his beloved’s taste, his scent. Julian digs his nails into Garak’s neck and yes perfect boy, what an excellent incentive to stay put.
There is nothing in the world but Julian, Julian, his heat and his moans, his desperate thrusting against Garak’s lying tongue. Garak circles his tongue as he sucks, listening for his lover’s gasps to direct him.
The fantasy was glorious but he shouldn’t stay vulnerable for long, and he was keenly aware that his inevitable shame couldn’t be put off forever. With a few desperate rubs to his chuva, he came, too fast and too hard and not nearly satisfyingly enough.
In the haze of his orgasm, he thought of hazel eyes and strong hands, holding him like something precious. If asked, Garak would blame the fever, but in that moment of tender longing, he allowed himself to hope.