TITLE: Nothing We Can't Cure
AUTHOR: Karmen Ghia
CODES: G/B
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Garak's old flame gives Bashir a new idea.
DISCLAIMER: Copyright 2000 by Karmen Ghia. This original work of amateur fiction based on Star Trek makes transformative use of Star Trek for noncommercial purposes. This work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted material; intended not to infringe on the intellectual property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of Star Trek copyright or their assignees or licensees. Author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.
COMMENTS: Warning - This story contains m/m sex.  If you are offended by this or under age, please move on.  Click here http://google.com and have a nice day.  Read my other stories here: http://karmen_ghia.tripod.com.   Thanks to Jane Skazi, Anita Kite and JA Chapman for the reads.
 
 

"Y'know I was lectured by Tirarian customs on what a waste of resources making textiles, especially this silk, is," Rhiba purred, unfurling the bolt of cloth like a bronze river and watched it flow over Garak's workbench.  Rich, deep chestnut with gold and red undertones, the silk seemed to emanate its own light and warmth.

They had been business associates since Garak set up shop and lovers when the mood and opportunity arose together. Rhiba stood close to the tailor, as if proximity would help his sale. It might also help him get laid later on.

"Is that why the price went up?" Keeping his face pleasantly bland, Garak was determined to have this bolt of cloth but equally determined not to let Rhiba know that.  He gazed calmly at the burly humanoid beside him, refusing to be distracted by the 'come get me' message Rhiba was sending out.

"You're still getting your discount," Rhiba answered. "My expenses go up, I pass them on to my customers, it's business." He brushed his shaggy, sandy mane off his forehead.

"Even customers of such long-standing as me?" Garak asked, seductively.  "Really, Rhiba, I think I might deserve a little more consideration than 10% off extortion."  As in all negotiations, the tailor knew not to let on how much he wanted 'it,' whatever 'it' might be.  He was fully prepared to walk away; from the silk, that is.

"You know you'll sell out of this the minute your customers see it," Rhiba offered, trying not to weaken.  He was fond of Garak and stood a better chance of getting him into bed if the tailor thought he was getting a good deal.

"I haven't sold it yet and, as you know, Rhiba, there are no guarantees in this life."  Garak fixed his sometime lover with a meaningful stare that seemed to say 'you might get laid if you're good, but then again, you might not.'

It was an old game played by old acquaintances.  They did not consider themselves friends.  Rhiba wandered too much to have friends, except among his crew.  Garak preferred to keep his distance from everyone.  This included the rugged freighter captain standing close to him, who ran his import/export, occasionally arms and smuggling operations, so he could drop by Terok Nor, now DS9, to haggle with Garak over luxurious bolts of cloth and then tumble into bed with him for a few hours.

Sex; plain, simple sex, no messy attachment, no remorse, no long looks the morning after because Rhiba usually left in the middle of the night, which Garak preferred.

"How badly do you want to sell me this bolt of silk?" Garak asked, as if he were asking 'how badly do you want to fuck me?'

"Badly," Rhiba answered both questions.  "I'll give you 20% off."

"30."

"Sold!  Let's go to your place."

***

"That freighter isn't going anywhere," Sisko said in support of his CMO's recommendation to quarantine the crew of Rhiba's ship until the Tirarian STD they seemed to have brought to DS9 was wiped out.

"And will you agree to hold the crew and any infected station residents in the brig until the treatment course is completed?" Bashir asked, hoping that rounding up Rhiba's crew over the past few hours had nipped the spread of the infection in the bud.

"Do you think that's necessary, Doctor?" Sisko asked.

"I think," Bashir paused to choose his words with care,  "that most of our residents would behave responsibly, but there is a chance that they might not."

"You're worried about the sex workers, aren't you?" Sisko asked bluntly.

Bashir nodded.  He'd seen economics easily overwhelm hygiene more often than he liked.  "I've got two nurses and a medic, accompanied by security personnel, scanning randomly through the station.  So far we've located eight cases outside of the sex workers, where we expected to find it.  It appears this freighter crew is quite... charming."

"No cases of rape involved?"

"No, fortunately, it's all been consensual thus far."

"Then how did you find it so fast?"

"Another customer roughed up a prostitute *after* she'd had sex with one of the infected crew," Bashir explained.  "I found it during the routine scan, while I was setting her wrist."

"How serious is this virus?" Sisko asked.

"Nothing we can't cure, sir.  But we need to cure it before it spreads farther."

"Have you located the Captain..." Sisko consulted his notes. "Captain Rhiba, yet?"

"No, sir, he seems to be on a spree without his communicator."

'Civilians,' Sisko thought scornfully.  "Very well," he rose to close the interview.  "Round up everyone with the virus and I'll leave it to your discretion who is quarantined and who is not. And no one leaves the station without a clean bill of health. I'll issue orders for Security to give you every assistance."

"Thank you, sir."

Sisko watched Bashir leave the room and thought about voles, STD's and all the other annoying things running DS9 involved. He wondered to whom and how much embarrassment there would be over this minor epidemic.  After all, what kind of "respectable" resident picks up spacers passing through?

***

"Nice of you to spring for breakfast, Garak." Rhiba commented over his tea in the replimat.

"That 30% discount makes me feel rich and generous."

"Oh.  I thought you might be experiencing some kind of mellow afterglow from last night.  You were awfully rich and generous then, as I recall."

"Perhaps." Garak glanced at his chrono.  "When *are* you leaving?" He smiled pleasantly, remembering how the exhausted freighter captain had fallen asleep in his bed and Garak, in a moment of weakness, hadn't thrown him out.

"Soon as I can find my crew, Garak." Rhiba smiled back pleasantly. "And you can return to your monastic lifestyle. Until next time."

Garak nodded.  "Yes, I imagine I'll need more silk in a few months."

"Among other things.  I'll do my best, Garak," Rhiba assured him. "My *very* best to fulfill your needs."

On the verge of a witty riposte, Garak looked up to find Dr. Bashir, flanked by two huge Security officers, scanning his breakfast companion.  "Good morning, Doctor, have you met Captain Rhiba?"

Bashir nodded pleasantly and continued his scan.  "A pleasure."

"Not yet, beautiful one, where have you been all my life?" Rhiba gave Bashir an appreciative once over.

Watching Bashir stare hard at the freighter captain, Garak was amused by the doctor's stony reaction to such a blatant come-on.  However, he was somewhat surprised when Bashir waved the Security officers forward to take Captain Rhiba into custody. "This is a bit of an overreaction, don't you think, Doctor?" he asked as the trader cautiously rose from his seat.

"To what, Garak?"

"Being admired."

"Oh, that," Bashir dismissed it, and, doubting he'd find anything but just to be thorough, turned his tricorder on Garak.  "Captain Rhiba and his crew and now various members of the station are infected with a Tirarian STD.  We've managed to isolate most of the cases and begin an aggressive treatment plan."

"What's an STD?" Rhiba asked.

"A sexually transmitted disease," Bashir was rerunning his scan to make sure.

"Clap." Rhiba said flatly, not looking at Garak.

"Or a bit of a dose," Bashir said distractedly. "Whichever euphemism you prefer."  He sighed and looked at Garak, who seemed to be some kind of cataleptic state.  "I'm afraid you'll have to come to Sickbay as well, Garak." He said so quietly only the Cardassian heard him.

'Oh, wonderful,' Garak thought, rising to join the procession to Bashir's domain.

***

"So, you telling me my whole crew is in the brig until you finish dosing them for this clap?" Rhiba was horrified at the amount of money he'd lose in the delay.

Garak stood by, thinking negative thoughts, and glad Rhiba would be locked up for three days.  Served him right, the bastard. Garak leaned close to whisper, "Why didn't you tell me you had this... problem?"

"I didn't know," Rhiba whispered back.  "Listen, you have any influence with this doctor?  I've got places to go, people to see, things..."

"I'd say you've seen enough people already," Garak hissed.

Rhiba sighed.  "I see you're not going to be a source of solace and comfort."

"Not unprotected solace and comfort, not anymore, no."

"Hmmm, that's actually a good question." Rhiba turned to Bashir, who was approaching with a hypospray.  "How did I catch this thing?"

"It's sexually transmitted," Bashir informed him.

"D'uh.  But how?"  Rhiba ignored Garak's wincing; he *needed* to know, even if the Cardassian wished to remain in ignorance.

"The virus lives in semen and the body absorbs it though the soft tissues of the lower digestive system," Bashir said quietly, applying the hypospray to Rhiba's thick neck.

Rhiba leaned closed to whisper, "So one shouldn't take it up the ass, unprotected, eh?"

"Or swallow," Bashir added coolly and then said in his best CMO voice, "We have made your crew as comfortable as possible, Captain Rhiba, I'm sure three more days with us won't be too horrible for you."  Bashir waved the security officers to take him to the brig.

"No sex, no freedom and a hypospray four times a day? What joy, what ecstasy, what bliss," Rhiba sneered as he was led away.

After applying the hypospray to Garak's neck, Bashir asked the Cardassian to step into his office.

"And if I don't will you call Security to escort me there?" Garak asked, with a shadow of his old playfulness.

"Yes." Bashir gestured 'after you' and followed his patient inside.  He settled into his chair and regarded Garak across his desk.  Maintaining his professional demeanor, he explained the course of the treatment (four anti-viral shots per day for three days) and the side effects, which were minimal: slight nausea and headaches that could be treated with an analgesic. He also mentioned that, untreated, the virus eventually shut down the digestive system and the victim simply starved to death in six to eight months, depending on the individual.

"Charming," Garak said calmly.  "And am I to join the other sexual lepers in the brig?"

"Well, no.  Not if you promise you won't transmit the virus to anyone for the next seventy-two hours and you allow me inject you four times a day in the privacy of your shop or quarters, no.  We will say that you merely escorted Captain Rhiba to Sickbay and no one need know anything more than that," Bashir said gently, adding that it would be noted in Garak's permanent medical record but those records were confidential.

"You're too kind, Doctor.  May I go now?" Garak rose, wanting to be away from this embarrassing situation as quickly as possible now that he was free to leave.

"Of course," Bashir said.  "Will you be in your shop at midday?"

"Yes."

"I'll see you then.  Perhaps were can have lunch together."

"Won't you be too busy hunting other plague victims to stop for lunch, Doctor?"

"I have teams of trained medical personnel to do my hunting for me while I have lunch with you, Garak.  Never fear."

"I shan't," he said and left the room.

Bashir stood lost in thought for a moment longer, wondering if Garak confined himself to burly freighter captains or if he was open to a wider variety of lovers.

***

The object Dr. Bashir's meditation spent the rest of the morning staring at the bolt of bronze silk as if all his troubles were its fault.  In between bouts of staring, he made quite a few sales.  But it was always like that; whenever he didn't feel like doing business, he was besieged by evening clothes buyers.

'What an utterly fabulous life,' he thought grimly. 'I get laid once or twice a year and look what happens?  I wonder what the odds are on that?'

Seeing Bashir entering the shop, he turned off this unprofitable train of thought, put up his 'out to lunch' sign and led the medic into his workshop.

"What a beautiful color," Bashir ran a fingertip over the Tirarian silk.

"Yes," Garak agreed sourly.  "I shall make you a pair of pajamas from it to thank you for your discretion."  He looked into Bashir's startled eyes and wondered why the concept of pajamas was somehow alarming to the young human.  "Or a suit if you'd prefer," he offered soothingly.

"Oh, no," Bashir recovered his poise.  "It's not necessary to reward me for..."

"For...?" Garak prompted.

"For being your friend, Garak."

Leaving the pajama issue to one side for now, Garak murmured, 'You're too kind, Doctor,' and allowed himself to be hyposprayed and shepherded to lunch in the replimat.

***

Finishing his day in the infirmary, Bashir packed a hypospray and set out for Garak's tailor shop.  He walked slowly so he could yet again mull over his reaction to Garak's offer of pajamas, which he had, by the way, accepted.  In and of itself, it was not a shocking offer but the image it had conjured up in Bashir's mind had excited him:  the image of Garak removing those elegant pajamas.

'I really must calm down,' Bashir scolded himself. 'After all, I've just discovered the man likes men, some men, but that's no guarantee he'd like me.'  He focused on purer thoughts as he entered the tailor's shop and found Garak with a customer.

Garak waved urbanely at the back of the shop.  "If you wouldn't mind waiting in my workroom, Doctor..."

"Not at all," Bashir replied.  Stepping into the dim rooms, he looked around for the bolt of bronze silk but did not see it.  He enjoyed the orderliness of Garak's workroom; it was soothing to him.  Garak kept his life as tidy as his shop, so the STD must be a terrible hardship for him.  Bashir was awash in tender feelings when the tailor joined him.

"Retail.  It's wonderful," the tailor said with an exasperated sigh.

"Well, Garak, you're more than halfway through your first day of treatment," Bashir comforted as he applied the hypospray to the Cardassian's neck.  "That's one good thing.  Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Really, Doctor, you must be quite sick of me by now," Garak said dryly.

"Not at all, Garak," Bashir said seriously.

And Garak replied with equal seriousness that it had been a long day and he preferred to retire to his quarters.

"Well, your last shot of the day is at bedtime," Bashir told him.  "What time shall I come by?"

"Wouldn't you rather I meet you in the infirmary?" Garak suggested.

"No, we're being discreet, remember?"

"Yes, well, it's very kind and discreet of you," Garak agreed.  "Let's say 22:00.  I'd like to go to bed early tonight; the shop has been a madhouse all day."

"Did you sell the brown silk you showed me?" Bashir asked.

"Some of it, Doctor, some of it.  Good evening." Garak showed him out and returned to his workroom.  He stood for a moment pondering the doctor's tender concern and then pushed it aside. 'Professional courtesy and a good beside manner are all this is,' he decided.  'He's protecting my privacy and that's very kind of him, not at all out of character.'  Not at all?  No, not at all.  He drew the nearly completed bronze silk pajamas from a cabinet and began to hem the sleeves.  He'd give them to Bashir tonight.

***

Seldom despairing of his wardrobe, tonight Bashir very much wished he had some irresistibly sexy outfit to wear to Garak's. With nothing to be done, he decided to smolder in basic black and hope for the best.

And hope for the best he did as he packed up two hyposprays (one for breakfast, if he was lucky), lube and half a dozen sheaths. Upon reflection, he made it an even dozen and set off for Garak's quarters.

***

"A token of my esteem and gratitude, Doctor."  Garak handed him an elegantly wrapped package, which Bashir tore apart like a child on his birthday.

"They're lovely, Garak." Bashir shook out the bronze silk pajamas.  "I must try them on."  He glanced at the Cardassian's bedroom.  "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Doctor." Garak, ever the gracious host, no matter how capricious his guest.  "I'll wait for you here," he addressed the closing bedroom door and picked up the shredded wrapping paper and ribbon.  He had barely dropped them into the recycler when Julian emerged, barefoot and smiling, in his new pajamas.  Garak allowed himself a moment to admire his own handiwork and then Bashir and then switched into tailor mode at the doctor's next question:

"What do you think?"

"Quite nice, Doctor, I find that color charming on you.  Do they fit well?"  Garak moved around him to tug on sleeves and shoulders.

"They feel wonderful."

"As they should, Doctor, as they should."  Garak stepped back to look again and decided Bashir was enchanting, in a purely aesthetic fashion.  But, since Bashir seemed unattainable, this was not a thought Garak allowed himself to linger on. "May I offer you some Lophorian wine?"

"Yes, thank you." The doctor made himself comfortable on Garak's couch and drew the hypospray from his bag.  "Let's get this out of the way first, shall we?"  He accepted the glass of pale wine with a smile and, setting it aside, administered the fourth injection.  He dug back into his bag and pulled out a padd. "There are a few questions I must ask you about how you contracted the disease, Garak," he said, picking up his glass and sipping.  "This is excellent!" Bashir paused to savor the wine.

"Thank you.  Must you ask me about this?  It's quite embarrassing as it is."  Garak sat back and enjoyed the view of Bashir on his couch, the sweet tartness of the wine and his gentle tiredness.  This might be the lovely end of a long day but the doctor was about to annoy him with questions he'd have to evade, when he'd much rather just relax and enjoy the pretty picture the young human made in the bronze silk pajamas.

"I'm sorry, Garak, it's a public health questionnaire," Bashir apologized.  "Everyone answers these questions, anonymously, for statistical purposes."

"Can't you make up some answers for me?  I'm sure I wouldn't mind."

"No.  I cannot." Bashir was firm and looked down at the padd. "Let's see, I've filled out your age, general health questions, occupation, species...  Oh, yes, 'how virus was contracted?'" He looked up and smiled encouragingly.

"I'm sure you can just imagine, Doctor," Garak murmured.

"Well, there are two answers, both might apply, so I must ask: Orally or penetration?"

"That would be telling, my dear."

"That's why I'm asking, Garak.  So you'll tell me."

"What did Rhiba answer?"

"These questionnaires are confidential," Bashir insisted, recalling that Rhiba had checked both boxes.  "Which box or both?"

Garak spent a moment staring at him, trying to decide if it were worth the struggle to resist and decided:  no, it was not.  "You may check both boxes, Doctor," he said, watching for any kind of reaction.  He saw nothing but professional pleasantness and perhaps a hint of a smile.  'Well, dear Doctor, if the thought of me in bed with Rhiba amuses you, I won't begrudge you your enjoyment,' he thought wryly.  "Any further questions?"

"No, not related to this, no."  Bashir sipped a little more wine, spinning out the small glass so he could ask the questions that really interested him.  "Where did you get this?" he said, referring to the wine.

"From Rhiba."  Garak decided the question was innocent enough. "He always brings something interesting when he visits.  Like that silk."

"Ah." Bashir could not have asked for a better opening than this.  "Have you known him long?"

"Whom, Doctor?"

"Captain Rhiba."

"Long enough; perhaps too long." Garak watched Bashir lower his sable lashes in mild frustration and relented.  "I've known him since I set up shop here.  He seems to have a good instinct for choosing textiles I'll buy.  Such as the silk you're wearing."
 

"And how long has he been your lover?"

"Is this a medical question or personal question, Doctor?"

"Personal."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because this seems out of character for you, Garak," Bashir said, blushing.  "I've known you for years and you seem so closed, so self sufficient, that finding you have a lover is quite amazing."

"Amazing in that I am capable of intimacy or surprising that I enjoy sex enough to have it now and then?"

Bashir pondered that for a moment.  "Neither, really. If you wanted intimacy and sex, you'd get it wouldn't you?  But you haven't pursued anyone on the station... at least that I know about."  He watched Garak drink wine in silence.  "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Pursued anyone on the station?  Sexually, I mean."

"No, not pursued.  Perused, perhaps but nothing more than that."

"Who?"

Garak smiled and offered the doctor more wine.

"Thank you." Bashir accepted a glass.  "Who have you perused?"

"Really, Doctor, do leave me a few mysteries."  Garak looked pointedly at his chrono as if to say, 'get off this subject or get off my couch.'

Bashir decided to switch back to what seemed like a safer topic.  "How often do you see Rhiba?"

"See him or have sex with him?"

"Both."

"Two or three times a year."

"You must not like sex that much if you can confine yourself to two or three times a year."

"There might be other beings I have sex with, Doctor," Garak suggested, musing over the tale he could spin for Bashir, if he were so inclined.

"Oh?  But not on the station?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because that could be... complicated.  I have sex with other transients, like Rhiba."

"That seems a strange place to take your lovers, Garak."

"Lovers, Doctor?  They're not even friends, just beings I have sex with when the mood and opportunity present themselves.  No fuss, no muss, no messy entanglements, no scenes, no tears, no..."

"No joy, no intimacy, no companionship, no love."

"Love, Doctor, like freedom, is overrated.  But this something you are too young and too human to understand."  Garak finished his wine and wished Bashir would do the same.  He was tired, he wanted to go to bed and masturbate.  Rhiba's visits always left him with enough residual sexual energy for a few nights of solitary pleasure before the old, familiar numbness set back in.  Not to mention that the memory of Bashir in bronze silk pajamas would be excellent fodder for his pleasure.  But Bashir seemed to be staying put, studying him over the rim of his glass, open and waiting for something.  'How annoying this creature is tonight,' Garak thought, letting the silence stretch into a mute plea for privacy.  'Lovely in that brown silk but irritating as a...' the words 'viral infection' trailed across his mind and were gone by the time his guest next spoke.

"I wouldn't think Rhiba was your type, Garak," Bashir said, cautiously.

"Oh?  How much time and thought have you given this, Doctor?"

"Oh, I've been mulling it over since he confirmed that he passed the virus onto you."

"The cad!"

"It's part of the public health questionnaire.  We need to know all the patient's sexual contacts so we can treat them."  He paused to see if Garak had something to say, evidently not, and continued:  "As I said, Rhiba doesn't seem like your type?"

"And, Doctor, how would you know?"

Was there a hint of menace in the question?  Bashir looked up to see and met weary but patient blue eyes.

"I think," he said carefully, knowing this might be his only chance to ever say this, "that," he met Garak's steady gaze with a warm one of his own, "I might know you a little," and went for broke, "Elim."

"And what might you know about me?" Garak asked blandly, adding, "Julian."

"That your taste in lovers might..."

"Might...?"

"...might be more..."

"More...?"

"...for someone..."

"Someone...?"

"...for someone like me," Bashir finished firmly.

Carefully suspending his reaction, Garak asked the next logical, to him, question:  "Are you offering yourself to me, Dr. Bashir?"

"It was Julian a moment ago," Bashir reminded him.

"Are you offering yourself to me, Julian?"

"Yes."  Bashir leaned forward to lunge for a kiss and was restrained by gentle hands cupping his face.

"I'm far too tired and sensible to resist you, Julian, however, perhaps a little more conversation might be in line before we fling ourselves headlong into this conflagration."

"Talk all you want."  Bashir moved one hand so he could kiss the palm.  "I shall be listening."

"My pretty child, do you know what you're letting yourself in for?" Garak asked gently.  "I can never give you what you want."

"Which is?" Bashir nuzzled the heel of Garak's hand.

"I've no idea but I'm sure I can't give it to you," the tailor replied vaguely.

"Garak," Bashir said quietly.  "I just want to get laid."

"Then call me Elim and come to bed."  He rose and led Bashir into his bedroom, wondering why the doctor brought along his medical kit.  Did the human think he'd need a dermal regenerator, a tranquilizer or...  His train of thought was derailed by Bashir casually stripping off the pajamas and moving into his arms.  Garak ran his hands over firm, warm skin, enjoying the heat and vitality of it.  Capturing the doctor's mouth, he explored it thoroughly, squeezing his would-be lover to quell any resistance to being subordinate that night.  He did not consider Julian, as he now thought of him, his equal; he was a clever and beautiful creature to pleasure and be pleasured by, primarily the latter.  Therefore, it was a surprise for Garak to have his legs kicked out from under him and, landing on his back in his own bed, be pounced upon by a naked and aroused human.  "Really, Doctor, you move right along, don't you?"

"Call me Julian and how does all this come off?" Bashir tugged at the rough fabric of Garak's tunic until the tailor rose and disrobed for him.

They lay against each other exploring the differences in skin, caress, and taste until Garak asked:

"And how is this to be accomplished, dear Julian?"

"What accomplished?"

"This consummation.  You can't swallow and I'm not inclined to let you... penetrate me."

"You wouldn't let me... penetrate you, Elim?  Why not?" Bashir asked quietly.

"Not tonight, no."

"Because it's the first time with us?  Because you've got to establish dominance over me?  Because you don't trust me?" Bashir demanded, rising to his knees on the bed.

"Well, yes, but my main reason is much less cosmic."

"And it is?"

"I'm still sore from Rhiba."

"Oh."  Bashir sank back down beside him.

"So," Garak continued to cover his amusement at the doctor's embarrassment.  "Under such conditions, how shall we enjoy our evening?"

"Well, I brought some sheaths." He climbed over the tailor and fished the dozen circular packages out of his bag.

"Do you think we'll need that many, Julian?" Garak asked as he examined the discs the doctor held out to him.

"Not unless the scales on your penis rip them," Julian deadpanned.  "Then we'll have to use two, three, maybe four to be sure."

"You've obviously never had a Cardassian lover, my dear."  Garak guided Bashir's hand to his cock.

Caressing the hard shaft, Bashir noted that it was smooth but lightly textured.  A subtly patterned, regular surface, hard and unyielding, but warm and supple at the same time. 'Like holding a big snake,' Bashir mused as his hand glided over the Cardassian's erection.

Gently removing the doctor's hand before things got out of hand, Garak dialed up the lights, too dim for human vision but enough for him to read the little package he held.  "One of these should be fine," he said, opening the disc and clawing at it to test its tensile strength.  "And did you bring some..."

"Lube?" Bashir reached into his bag for it.  He placed the tube on the bedside table, slightly regretting that he'd have to wait that long to feel the Cardassian's natural texture.  He snuggled back into Garak's arm.

"You're very thorough, my dear."  Garak rolled on top of the human and kissed his way down to erect nipples, which got even harder when he nipped them.  As much fun as that was, his real goal was lower and he began to explore what he'd only read about thus far.

Before he'd decided the doctor was completely unattainable, Garak had taken the trouble to research human male sexual practices and anatomy.  On the off chance that he had a chance with the younger man, his research led him to conclude that humans were rather fragile but very easily stimulated.  Running his tongue along the underside of Bashir's erection to test his theory, he was gratified with a long, breathy sigh and wriggle.  'And so lovely like this,' he mused, licking the sweet moisture off the dusky pink tip.  'Amazing what that uniform has been concealing all this time.'

Garak pulled Bashir's hips toward him and rolled him forward slightly.  Exploring the cleft of the doctor's ass, he ran the tip of his thumb over the puckered flesh once he found it and noted the sexy shudder this action elicited.  Never interrupting his massage, Garak reached for the lube and opened it one-handed.  Spreading the gel liberally over his fingers, the tailor gently circled Bashir's very tight ring and cautiously pressed in a fingertip.  "You have done this before, haven't you, Julian?" he asked as Bashir squirmed against him.

"Yes."

"Oh, good," Garak murmured, sinking in up to the first joint. "When?" he asked conversationally.

"In medical school," the human sighed.

Garak stopped to think about this, pumping softly and watching Bashir vibrate with pleasure.  "That was quite a while ago," he commented, caressing the doctor's soft inner thigh.

"Not (pant) that (pant) long ago."

"And you're certain you're up to this tonight?"

"YES."

"I'm merely concerned I'll hurt you, Julian."

"If you (pant) hurt me, I'll tell you stop."

"And I'll stop," Garak assured him.  "If I can," he added, sliding his finger all the way in.

"*IF* you can?"  Chest heaving beautifully, Bashir propped himself up on his elbows to look at the being on the verge of possessing him.

"Yes, dear," Garak said soothingly as he added a second finger. "I'll do my best but you must realize that you're so lovely, I might not be able to control myself."  He was pleased to note the doctor was now stretching beautifully and would only experience minimal discomfort, if any.  Carefully probing the supine human, he began to caress an area he'd read about with great attention.

"Elim... oh!  ...yesssssssssssssssssssss..." Trailing off into an incoherent sibilant sigh as the tailor's gently fingers brushed his prostate, Bashir flopped onto the pillows and didn't care what happened as long as Garak kept touching him there.

Watching Bashir with extreme interest and never leaving off his internal caress, Garak maneuvered the whimpering human until they were face to face.  "Julian," he whispered close to the delectably parted lips.  "This makes you hiss, doesn't it?"

"...yesssss...yessssssss..." Julian panted, arching against Garak's fingers.

"Hiss for me, Julian," Garak ordered.  He wrapped his free arm around Bashir's waist to hold him closer, trapping the human's erection between them and intensifying his strokes on the very sensitive gland.  "Hiss for me, my sweet."

"... yesssssssssss... oh, Elim! ...yessssssssssSSSSSSSSSS..." Writhing against the hard Cardassian skin, Bashir spread his moisture onto Garak's belly as he arched against the fingers that were driving him mad.  His hissing became a continuous howl of pleasure until he sunk his teeth into his lover's neckridges in an effort to keep top of his head from blowing off.

Feeling Bashir's cock jerk and spew against his belly and his ass clench on his fingers, Garak tried not to let these sensations, as well as the human's happy shrieking, overwhelm him.  He might have succeeded but for the teeth clamped onto his neckridge, which caused him to fling the human onto his back and bite his shoulder.  A snarling groan burst from his chest as he parted the silky legs, ready to thrust his cock into the human, who was suddenly putting up something of a fight.  Growling, he pinned his lover more firmly but was surprised by the strength of Bashir's thighs and arms braced against him.  This delay, coupled with Bashir screaming 'WAIT, GARAK, STOP!' directly into his ear, brought the Cardassian back to his senses. He rolled off the human and lay on his back breathing hard, trying to regain control.  Calmer, he shook his head to clear the ringing in his ear.  He licked his lips and tasted salt. "You're bleeding."

Bashir blew out a desperate, shuddering breath and dialed up the lights.  "We're both bleeding," he said as calmly as he could and reached into his bag for the dermal regenerator he'd put there, just in case.  "Are you all right?" he asked as he patched up Garak.

"I'm fine, thank you, Julian," Garak sighed at this banality and took the regenerator from the doctor.  "And how are you?" he asked pleasantly, applying the device to the punctures in Bashir's shoulder until they disappeared.

"I'm fine, Elim.  I shouldn't have bit you on you neckridge. I'm sorry," he said quietly.  "Thank you for stopping."  He reached out to stroke that Cardassian's arm, nowhere near the neckridge.

"Oh, you're quite welcome, my dear.  May I tell you that you're stronger than you look?" he asked, hauling Bashir out of bed.

"Oh... that was adrenaline," the doctor lied.

"It was most effective."  Garak pulled him into the bathroom.

"What are we...?"

"We need a shower and a drink after all that... adrenaline," Garak said setting the water temperature low enough to cool him off and comfortable for Bashir.  He drew the human into a long, deep kiss.  Conversation was suspended as they kissed and played and washed off the blood and cum and sweat.  They dried each other and Bashir slipped back into bed while Garak fetched the wine and their glasses.  They sat in bed, not touching, sipping the pale wine and relaxing in the glow.  At least Bashir was, Garak was planning his next move.  He decided on the direct approach, pulled Bashir into his arms and kissed him senseless.  Pausing only to mop up the spilled wine and remove the wineglass so they would not need the regenerator again, Garak reached for the lube and availed himself of a sheath. "Let's see." He opened the package.  "How does this go on?"

"I'll do it." Bashir took the tightly coiled areoenvirotex and placed it over Garak's erection, carefully rolling it down and testing the security of the fit.  "I hope it stays put," he murmured.

"Yes, me too.  So, just to be certain things don't get out of control," -- Garak rolled Bashir on top of him -- "you do the moving," he said, slipping some lube inside his adorable guest and onto his well-sheathed erection.  He sighed as Bashir arranged himself over his cock and let his eyes fall shut as the doctor sank down.  Hearing the human gasp, he opened his eyes as he penetrated him.  "Slowly, my dear, relax.  We have all night."  He watched the doctor nod, stroked his smooth thighs and made encouraging noises as the human slowly impaled himself.  'Ah, Julian,' Garak thought, caressing his lover's cock once he'd hit bottom.  'How delightful you are.'  And then he simply gave up thinking as Bashir began to move on him and stroke his breastplate and neckridges.

Garak thrust up to meet the doctor's rhythm for awhile and then decided to assert himself.  He'd had a nice rest and was ready to be more active.  Easing a protesting Bashir off his cock, he rolled the human onto his back and entered him in one movement.  Bashir wrapped his long legs around the Cardassian's waist and pulled him down for a kiss.  Not wishing to be distracted by kisses, Garak buried his face in the Bashir's neck, remembering to keep his teeth well away from the soft flesh, and concentrated on his fucking, trying to stimulate the doctor's prostrate with every thrust.  He reached for Bashir's cock.

"Don't." Bashir pushed his hand away, panting.  "I'm very close."

Close himself, Garak stopped holding back and brought them both off in an exceptional climax a dozen strokes later.

They lay, long smooth limbs tangled in sturdy gray ones, trying to catch their breath and hold the glow between them as if mere physical contact could sustain it.

Garak cradled the shaking human in his arms and murmured comforting nonsense.  He carefully eased his spent, but still sheathed, cock out and rolled onto his back, draping Bashir over his chest.  "Are you all right, my dear?" he whispered, removing the sheath and tossing it in the general direction of the floor.

"Yesssss... yessss..." Bashir sighed, sleepily.

Garak held him a little tighter and sighed himself, "I so enjoy it when you hiss for me, Julian."  Feeling very mellow and relaxed, Garak fell asleep with Bashir in his arms.

The next time Rhiba visited DS9, Bashir hardly let Garak out of his sight.

***end***