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It was always the highlight of Garak's day to see Dr. Bashir arriving at the replimat.
There he was in that black uniform with the turquoise stripe that marked his vocation, making a valiant effort to dodge through a bustling crowd on his way to a replicator, bumping into someone and then pausing to placate them with what was undoubtedly a very nervous and effusive apology. Garak observed him with a smile as he finally managed to secure his Tarkalean tea. When he turned around, Garak greeted him with a little wave from their usual table.
"Busy today," the doctor commented as he claimed his customary seat. "Must be that huge science expedition headed for the Gamma quadrant."
"Doctor, am I entirely mistaken in my estimate of your schedule?" Garak asked. "Is today not your afternoon off?"
"Why do you need to know my schedule?" Dr. Bashir arched an eyebrow with suspicion. "Is that valuable information to someone?"
Garak raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I simply like to stay informed about when I may have the opportunity to see a bit more of my friends. Besides, your duty roster is hardly classified. I can't imagine anyone who did want to access it without authorization would have much trouble."
"Alright, it is my afternoon off," the doctor admitted with a smile. "I was going to catch up on some reading and correspondence after this, actually."
"I thought so. Then why, if you're off duty, are you still dressed in that drab uniform? It's hardly flattering."
"Well, I don't see why I should sit here and be insulted." A glint in the doctor's eyes betrayed his genuine amusement as he made his retort.
"It's not an insult to you, my dear, it's an insult to whatever dreadful incompetent your Starfleet employed to design it. If I was forced to dress in that one-piece disaster myself, I'd remove it the second I was off the clock."
Dr. Bashir shrugged. "I have a bunch of these and not much else, I suppose. Had to pack light when I started the job."
"'Not much else'?" Garak repeated in exaggerated shock. "I should take personal offense to that, doctor. You know exactly where you could find a wide variety of options to fill out your wardrobe, if you so choose."
"Well, I don't mean to disparage your completely legitimate business venture. I'm sure it's at least well-stocked enough to provide you with a believable cover."
"Cover for what, doctor?" Garak asked with a grin.
Dr. Bashir ignored the question, continuing as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But I really don't much like shopping for clothes, to be honest. Especially not at the sort of place that has to take your measurements. It's awkward. Makes me uncomfortable."
"Truly, my heart breaks to hear you've had unpleasant experiences with inferior salespeople." For emphasis, Garak placed his hand over where his heart would be if he were human. "My customers' comfort is my highest priority, I assure you. If you could consider giving the humble tailoring profession a second chance, I could change your mind completely. You'll walk out of my shop a new man."
"You know, if you're so desperate to get my clothes off, maybe you should just buy me dinner first," the doctor quipped. "It'd probably be easier."
Garak broke into a wide grin. "What a charming suggestion, doctor! I'm surprised I didn't think of it. Tomorrow night, 1900 hours?"
Dr. Bashir opened his mouth to respond, but then paused and seemed to struggle for a moment before he managed to get out the words, "You really—I mean, are you serious?"
"Why? Weren't you?" Garak positively beamed at the simple pleasure of watching his dear friend squirm. He sat back and observed with glee as the doctor stumbled through several disjointed fragments of sentences.
"Well, I—I was just—I mean—but if—you mean you actually want to?"
"Oh, I do."
"Look, you're not just doing this for . . . professional reasons, are you?" Dr. Bashir asked, having apparently recovered sufficiently from the shock to regain some reasoning skills. "Because if you're trying to get information about Starfleet, or—"
"Doctor, you insult me. Even if I were a spy, don't you think I'd have better methods of gathering intelligence than seducing a medical officer with severely limited security clearance? I assure you, my reasons for wanting to go to bed with you are entirely personal." Beneath the table, Garak tentatively placed a hand on the doctor's knee. "Now, if you're not interested, I'll say no more about it, but if—"
"I am!" The doctor exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, before clearing his throat and lowering his voice again. "I mean to say, I am . . . interested."
Garak had suspected as much, or he wouldn't have taken the conversation this far in the first place, but it was still exquisite to receive confirmation from the doctor's own lips.
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear it, doctor."
Dr. Bashir responded with a nervous giggle. "If we weren't already close enough for you to just call me Julian, I think we are now."
Humans were so free with their first names. The doctor had no idea how much more intimate that particular proposal was to Garak than anything else they had discussed so far. Still, Garak wasn't going to say no.
"Julian. Oh yes, lovely name. I think I'll be saying it a lot." Garak let his hand wander slightly further up the doctor's thigh, then gave him a light squeeze before letting go. "Shall we meet at Quark's tomorrow night, then? I do wish I could take you somewhere nicer, but this station of ours sadly lacks variety in dining options, and personally, I prefer to avoid being serenaded in Klingon whenever possible."
"Quark's is fine."
"I'm so fortunate you're such an obliging man. And on the subject of obliging, could you do me a favour and wear something other than your uniform to our rendezvous? Under these . . . unique circumstances, I give you my word that I won't even take it personally if you choose to acquire said alternate apparel from one of my competitors."
Dr. Bashir chuckled. "Alright. I don't know if I can promise to pick something particularly fashionable, but I'll try."
"I do appreciate it. Well, I have a much less exciting appointment with a fabric supplier to be getting to, if you'll excuse me for the time being."
"You're excused."
Garak stood up and made a show of starting to leave before turning back around—all for dramatic effect. His appointment wasn't for at least half an hour.
"Oh, one more thing, doctor. That is, Julian." Returning to the table, Garak leaned down and spoke under his breath, placing a gentle hand on Julian's shoulder. "Do you have a preference as to—now what do humans call it—top or bottom?"
Julian's eyebrows shot up. "I . . . I can go either way," he stammered.
"Ah, of course. A man of many talents. Then perhaps you'd do me the honour of allowing me to top?"
"Sure. Yeah. Sounds . . . nice."
"Oh, I guarantee you it will be. Until tomorrow, then." Garak patted Julian's shoulder and straightened his posture.
"Yeah. Uh, see you tomorrow."
Garak left the replimat with a spring in his step.
He made sure to be at Quark's early the next night, so he could appreciate the sight of his dear doctor crossing the room toward him again.
Julian had stayed true to his word, arriving in a collared shirt that was at least a slight improvement on the uniform, though he still had a long way to go in the fashion department. Garak couldn't help eyeing the seams of the shirt thoughout the evening, envisioning all the different ways he could take it in to better suit the doctor's slender frame.
There was tension and anticipation in the air as they dined that markedly altered the atmosphere from the more casual conversations they'd grown accustomed to as their friendship developed. Julian seemed less sure of himself, shying away from eye contact and stumbling over his words, like he had the first few times they met before growing more comfortable with each other. He talked a lot when he was nervous too, seeming anxious to fill any momentary silence by launching into a new anecdote.
Garak found all that endearing and more than a little flattering, and he was happy to listen, contributing only the occasional comment as Julian essentially orated a non-linear version of his life story. He interrupted at one point, when the narrative touched on Julian's Starfleet Medical Academy graduation day, to ask, "Excuse me, my dear, but what exactly is a 'salutatorian'?"
Julian let out a wistful sigh in response. "It means I had the second best grades in my year. I was this close to being valedictorian—that's the one with the highest grades of all, they get to make a speech—but there was that trick question, remember I told you about the oral exam? One of my greatest regrets."
He was so earnest and serious about it that Garak almost laughed. "You didn't have to admit to that, you know. I genuinely had absolutely no clue what a salutatorian was. You could have told me anything. You could have said it meant you had the best grades in Starfleet history, and I'd have been the none the wiser."
Julian shrugged. "I suppose it didn't occur to me to lie."
"How fascinating." Garak gestured for him to go on. "Forgive the interruption. You were telling me about the robes you had to wear."
"Right. You would have hated the robes."
And the story continued, winding down various avenues whenever one detail reminded Julian of another interesting thing that had once happened to him. It wasn't until they were having one last after-dinner drink—by which point Garak had learned more than he had ever expected to know about medical school classes, several other people Julian had previously dated, and the rules of a human sport called 'tennis'—that Julian stopped in the middle of a sentence with a sudden expression of remorse.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I've been talking your ear off this whole time, haven't I?"
Leaning over the table with his chin in his hand, Garak honestly responded, "I don't mind."
"I don't mean to dominate the entire conversation, I just get nervous, and I—"
"I really don't mind," Garak insisted. "You have a lot to say about the things that interest you."
"Well, yes, but I've found that often the things that interest me don't really interest many other people."
He looked so shy and vulnerable in that moment that Garak just had to lean a little further across the table and kiss him, tasting the antiseptic flavour of synthahol on his lips. Julian responded with an adorable little noise of surprise.
"Julian," Garak murmured, pulling back little enough that they could still feel each other's breath, "I like hearing your voice. In fact, I'd rather like to hear a lot more of it back at my place."
"Oh," Julian practically squeaked. "Well that's, um . . . I mean, should we get going then?"
Garak looked up and waved at a nearby server. "Could I have the bill, please?"
"Oh, you don't really have to pay for me," Julian responded.
"Indulge me."
"It's no trouble, I could—"
Garak kissed him again to stop him arguing.
Julian still talked a lot, even when he was stripped of his ill-fitted shirt and stretched out on Garak's bed, and it was wonderful. He asked for what he liked, and when Garak obliged, he'd respond with pretty little sighs and murmurs of encouragement—phrases like "that's it" and "right there" interspersed with beautifully percussive human curse words. His skin was warm, and incredibly soft and smooth, except when his nipples hardened against Garak's tongue. Intrigued, Garak sucked one nipple harder, letting his teeth graze it a little and relishing the sound of Julian's whimpered response as he gently ran a hand across the fly of Julian's pants. Julian's hips twitched, his hard cock pressing against Garak's hand through the thin fabric.
"Please," Julian gasped between ragged breaths.
On another day, Garak might have teased him, kept his touch light and sparing as he made Julian spell out exactly what he was pleading for in detail. Maybe next time, if he was lucky enough for a next time, he'd make the boy really beg for it. But right now, he wanted just as desperately himself to touch every part of Julian's body, to see him laid out fully bare and to bury himself deep inside him.
If he could manage that last part, anyway. Despite his passionate enjoyment of Julian's body, he wasn't half as hard yet as the one of them who as still blessed with youth. Well, he hoped there was still time for that to change.
He unbuttoned Julian's fly and tugged his pants and underwear off slowly, pressing a soft kiss to his hip. Then he shifted to lean over him on the bed, one hand stroking his shaft while the other reached for the lube in the nightstand drawer. Julian moaned, grasped at the shirt Garak was still wearing, and pulled him down for a kiss.
"Take this off," Julian ordered. "I want to see you."
"If I seem reluctant to undress," Garak said while standing up to more easily do just that, "it's only because my fashion sense is one of my best qualities."
And because he didn't think he had much to show off in a scarred and aging body, nor in one that was entirely alien to the beautiful man in his bed. Yet Julian still looked him up and down with approval as he kneeled back down on the bed, bottle of lube in hand.
He was so unbelievably lucky to have found this man.
And if the sounds that Julian had made when Garak's mouth was on his neck had already been close to divine, Garak's fingers inside him elevated them to sheer transcendence. His voice got higher and breathier, his capacity for coherent words diminished, and his moans resonated so that Garak could almost swear he felt the sound reverberate in his chest.
Garak wanted nothing more to be on top of him and inside him, to be enveloped in the incredible warmth of his elegant body. He wanted to grip his hips and thrust as deep as he could. He wanted to make him scream.
But it was about time to accept that he couldn't. No matter how much he stroked himself with his other hand, his own body just wasn't responding.
He stopped with a sigh of defeat.
"You okay?" Julian asked, his eyes full of concern.
"I'm truly very sorry, Julian. I wanted very much to fuck you tonight, but, well—" Garak gestured downward "—unfortunately, that does not seem to be in the cards."
He lay back against the pillows next to Julian, feeling terribly sorry for himself about how deeply pathetic it was to conclude an otherwise lovely evening with a beautiful young man by disappointing him sexually. And he could try to blame it on too much to drink with dinner, or on the changes in his body's chemistry ever since his fraught recovery from dependence on the cranial implant, but he suspected that Julian would know the truth as well as he did—that he was simply getting old, whatever energy and vitality he'd once had slipping slowly away from him with each day he endured on this cold and hostile station.
"Oh. Hey." Julian said gently, turning toward him and placing a hand on his chest. "That's okay. That can happen to anyone."
"I'm sure it's never happened to you," Garak snapped back a bit more harshly than he had meant to, "not at your age."
"It has," Julian insisted. "When I was even younger, in fact."
"Oh, you can lie after all. Well, I appreciate the attempt."
"I'm not lying. It was a real problem for me once, actually. My first year at the academy, I wanted nothing more in the world than to lose my virginity, but every time I got the opportunity, I just got so nervous about it that I . . . you know. Couldn't perform."
Garak studied Julian's earnest expression. "You really are telling me the truth, aren't you?"
"I told you I was. I wouldn't lie to you."
Garak chuckled bitterly. If only he could say the same. "Well, it's clearly not a problem for you anymore. However did you solve it?"
"I dated a nice boy for a while who was very patient with me."
The context sparked Garak's recognition of earlier in the evening. "Was this that same first year boyfriend you mentioned who—"
"Who later left me for an Andorian engineering cadet, yes! I was heartbroken. But until then, he was very nice." Julian reached out and caressed Garak's cheek. "You really were listening."
"Every word."
Tentatively, Julian shifted his position to lean over Garak and run his fingers through his hair. Garak tilted his chin up to meet his lips, and found warmth and comfort in them. He wrapped his arm around Julian's back and pulled him closer, feeling Julian's cock—still half-hard—pressing against his thigh.
"You know, Julian," he murmured, "if you're still willing, I'm sure I could find some other way to make you come."
"Oh!" Julian exclaimed, his face lighting up with a smile. "I mean, as long as you really want to . . ."
"Please. I've been dying to since I first saw you."
Garak guided Julian onto his back and clambered across him to kneel between his legs. He brushed his fingers across the inside of Julian's thigh and then bent down to press his lips just above his knee, Julian responding with a shiver and a sigh. Slowly, Garak worked his way up, kissing and flicking his tongue against Julian's soft skin until he was tantalizingly close to his cock.
When he moved his mouth to the other thigh instead, Julian let out an almost anguished moan. Garak relished the opportunity to tease him a little bit more, taking his time again before he made his way back up and finally turned his attention to Julian's balls. What a fascinating part of the human anatomy, the way they twitched at the touch of his tongue, and the wanton whimper that light touch drew from Julian's lips.
Julian's legs were already trembling by the time Garak took his cock into his mouth. And as he sucked and licked the head of it, he thrust two fingers deep into the clenched muscle of Julian's ass again.
"Fuck—Garak!"
Swallowing was so satisfying that Garak almost felt like he'd been able to come too.
"Thank you," he said as he lifted his head up to the glorious sight of his dear doctor's face, flushed and sweat-soaked and smiling.
Julian laughed—yet another truly beautiful sound in his expansive repertoire. "What are you thanking me for?"
"For being utterly lovely," Garak explained as he flung himself back down on the pillows at Julian's side. "And for an experience that I anticipate reliving in vivid detail next time I do get hard."
"Fuck," Julian repeated, his breathing ragged and heavy. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Even if you can't . . . you know . . . just anything else you'd like at all?"
As Garak considered the question, an amused smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "There is . . . one thing," he said.
"Anything."
Garak twisted onto his side and propped his chin up on his hand to better observe Julian's reaction. "Would you let me alter that shirt for you? It won't take a minute—just throw it back on so I can put a few pins in it, and then let me work my magic. It will look so much better when I'm done with it. Trust me."
Julian laughed again, but didn't protest. Grinning, he hopped out of bed to retrieve his shirt from the floor.
"Alright," he said as he began to fasten the buttons. "I trust you."