![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
corpus_invictusHere's Volume Two of the ST: DS9 Faces of Porn meme drabbles. Expect at least one more volume in the future.
Title: Interrogation Techniques
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Spoilers for the end of season six. For "Scared" and "Softly." Found here.
Julian sat on Garak’s bed wearing nothing but his own guilt. He had come here to relax but could do nothing of the sort, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he watched Garak undress. The sight should have stirred something in him - especially as they’d had little time to themselves these past few weeks - but he was too locked in his own head to truly appreciate it.
“Stop that,” came the gentle admonition from the foot of the bed where Garak was fastidiously folding his clothing and setting it on top of a dresser.
“Stop what?” he asked dully, knowing his heart wasn’t in the game tonight.
“Feeling guilty over what happened. You didn’t kill her. Dukat did that.”
“I couldn’t save her.”
“No one expects you to save every patient, even with your genetic enhancements. You’re a human, not a god.”
Julian shrugged, not sure what to say in response to that. He kept his gaze locked on his own knees, unable to meet Garak’s eyes.
He felt more than saw the shifting at the foot of the bed, the sudden dip of the mattress as Garak lowered himself onto it. Garak settled in front of him, not touching him but sharing a certain closeness all the same. He said nothing, seemingly content with the silence for as long as Julian would allow it to go on.
Even knowing that this was one of Garak’s most successful interrogation techniques, Julian couldn’t help but allow it to work on him. “It isn’t… It isn’t just Jadzia,” he admitted quietly, still not looking at him.
Garak remained silent. Julian spared enough of a glance at him to see the eyeridge raise a little in question.
“It’s something Miles said a few days ago. Something about appreciating his friends now, because one day he’s going to look around and someone will be missing. And we’ve already lost one from that circle.” He let his head rest on his knees, focusing his full attention on Garak now. “How many more are we going to lose before this war is over?”
Still nothing from Garak, although he reached out a hand and placed it over Julian’s wrist sympathetically.
“There are so many I don’t want to lose. Miles. His family. The captain. The major.” Quietly. “You.”
Garak’s hand tightened on Julian’s wrist, pulling one of his hands free. He brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm softly before pressing it to his own rough cheek. “You know I can make no promises regarding my safety, doctor. The same goes for you.”
From anyone else, that would have only made him feel worse. But something about Garak’s practicality in the face of his own - sometimes misplaced - idealism made it… not better, perhaps. But bearable. “Yes,” he agreed, stroking a thumb over the ridge below Garak’s eye.
“What we can agree upon, however, is to enjoy ourselves now, while we still have the opportunity. These trysts of ours are going to become less and less frequent as we near the end of this war. And I, for one, would appreciate your undivided attention since neither of us has any ability to vouch for the future.”
Julian let out a deep breath, trying to exhale his guilt and fear along with it. Garak was right; it made no sense to dwell on these things when they had so little time together as it was. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
He couldn’t help the slight tug of a smile at that insufferable smugness. “Of course,” he echoed, more amused now than distraught.
Garak took his other hand as well, kissing it and tugging at it gently. “Come here, Julian,” he murmured, indulging in the use of his given name. “Come here and forget for a little while.”
Julian found himself sprawled over the man’s lap, a reptilian face nuzzling at his own, a contented rumble echoing through the thick chest. Yes, he thought, pressing a fierce, suckling kiss to a center scale on Garak’s neck. Yes, I believe I can do that.
Title: Dichotomy
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir, Gaila/Bashir, implied Gaila/Garak
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Mirror Universe fic with some AU thrown in for fun (hence Mirror Gaila's existence). For "Horny" and "Passionately." Found here.
The thing about having sex with Gaila is that she never. shuts. up.
Which is saying something when Bashir, of all people, notices. She can’t stop running that pretty mouth of hers no matter how much he tries to distract her by digging his fingers into her ass and pulling her down onto his cock with each thrust.
“Bet he’d love this,” she breathes hotly over his mouth, not quite kissing him. “Bet he’d open wide for you, baby. Wrap those thick legs around your waist like this,” and she demonstrates, arching her back deliciously, “and ride you until you were gasping and begging for it. Bet he’d-“
“Shut up,” he snaps, sinking his teeth into the cords of her neck until he can taste the musky orange blood. “I’m not fucking you for the conversation.”
“No,” she agrees in what’s almost a cheerful tone of voice, if not for the way her smile makes her look almost feral. She rakes her nails down his chest, scraping painfully over his nipples. And while he should be annoyed at that, it just makes him gasp and fuck up into her harder. “You’re fucking me because you don’t have the balls to fuck the Cardassian.”
He snarls at her, retaliating by removing one hand from that perfectly shaped ass and digging bruising fingers into her breast, letting her feel just how much he can hurt her if he doesn’t reign in that genetically enhanced strength of his. “Shut up,” he hisses again, shifting around in an effort to flip them over, maybe pin her underneath him and gag her until they’re finished.
Except she does that thing where she clenches around him and swivels her hips on the downstroke, which effectively wrecks any fancy move he might have made to throw her on her back, not to mention short-circuiting most of his higher brain functions.
“Just think,” comes that hot little whisper right up against his ear. “I taught Garak how to do that, too.”
And that should be infuriating, the sudden realization that when Gaila says she’s had sex with everyone she meets, she includes Garak in that statement. His brain shouldn’t be melting all over the image of them wrapped up in bed together, of Gaila scraping her nails over rough, leathery skin, of Garak’s head thrown back as he snaps his hips forward-
Bashir comes with a rough gasp, head dropping to Gaila’s shoulder and sinking his teeth into her neck, creating another bloody lovebite there that’s apparently enough to get her howling - because not even a decent orgasm will get her to shut her damn mouth.
“Oh, baby,” she coos at him, brushing suddenly gentle hands through his hair, grooming him in that strange way of hers, “you’re gonna be so good for him.”
“Shut up,” he says for the umpteenth time, pulling her face in for a kiss to make it stick that time.
*******
The thing about having sex with Garak is that he becomes eerily quiet.
It’s not at all the way he’d imagined, or the way Gaila had described to him in increasingly filthy detail as he tried to work up his courage for this. Garak isn’t aggressive the way Bashir had assumed he would be. He doesn’t fight. He barely speaks. It’s almost as if it’s a relief to give over responsibility to someone else, as if he relishes the absence of that weight from his shoulders.
He has Garak spread over the floor of his spacious quarters on Terok Nor, one thigh draped over Bashir’s waist and the other leg hitched high over his shoulder, opening him so wide that he shivers for the few seconds it takes for Bashir to rearrange himself and thrust in smoothly.
And then it’s like he becomes another creature entirely, curling his fingers in the hair at Bashir’s nape and almost cradling his skull as he kisses him, slow and lazy and unhurried. Any urge Bashir had to grab the man’s legs and fuck him into the floor dissipates entirely as their tongues tangle together, and he settles for an easy rhythm between them, one hand on the floor supporting his weight and the other traveling over the thick, undulating body, thumbing over scaly ridges and fine leathery skin.
He’s not stupid enough to think Garak might love him. He’s not even stupid enough to think Garak is showing him some measure of trust - they both know Garak could throw him off and snap his neck if he really wanted to. But at the same time, Bashir finds himself lost in the pale blue eyes, marveling at the openness he sees there. It may not be trust, but borders on sincerity, which is the next best thing.
Garak may well decide to kill him in the morning, Bashir admits to himself even as he wraps a hand around the ridged cock, unable to keep from smiling when Garak emits a low, rumbling hiss at the sensation. But if he has to die, there are certainly worse ways of going about it.
Title: Reeling Him In
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG
Notes: For "Sexy" and "Embarrassed." Found here.
Bashir doesn’t realize it yet, but Garak has him.
Of course, it would hardly seem that way to an outsider. They have the same routine as always, sometimes even the same conversations, but Garak knows they’re at a point where he simply has to choose his moment and he’ll be able to reel Bashir in like one of those comically gape-mouthed fish from his planet. The metaphor seems apt considering Bashir hasn’t shut up for thirty seconds straight ever since they sat down together.
It amuses him how Bashir, for all his vast intelligence, doesn’t have the first clue. In fact, he’s sitting there ranting about Jadzia Dax for what must be the third time this week alone. And despite all his ranting, all his grand posturing and mock pouting, Garak can’t help but smile indulgently.
“…and she just keeps laughing at me, as if I were some sort of amusing little brother. I’ve tried everything I can think of, Garak, and it just isn’t working!” A long sigh, slumping over the table. “Clearly there’s something the matter with me.”
And really, Garak couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity than that. He reaches over the table, cupping a hand under the doctor’s chin and pretending to look him over clinically. It’s difficult not to flash him a smug smile when Bashir’s expression switches from surprise, to shock, to something like embarrassment. Garak darts his tongue out to moisten his lips before speaking, and it doesn’t escape him that suddenly Bashir’s gaze is fixated on his mouth. Excellent. “I see nothing out of the ordinary at present, doctor.”
“…oh,” he says weakly. He offers no resistance whatsoever to the touch, even leaning forward a bit to rest his chin against Garak’s fingers.
“However, should you wish to explore the possibility, I am more than willing to assist you later this evening. Perhaps in my quarters?”
And there’s that comical gaping expression Garak was thinking of. But still no resistance. In fact, he can feel the tentative brush of fingers against his wrist, like Bashir wants to touch him back but can’t quite work up the nerve. “Your quarters?” he repeats, not because he hasn’t heard him but because he seems dazed by Garak’s brazenness.
“Or yours. I’m not terribly picky where you’re concerned, my dear doctor.”
Caught you, Garak thinks, watching the decision reach Bashir’s eyes before he even says a word. “That sounds… interesting,” he says, long after Garak knows what the answer will be.
Garak finally allows himself the smile he’s been holding back, projecting all the warmth he can through his face since he’s not willing to put anything quite so intimate into words. “Yes,” he agrees.
Title: Endurance
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For "Come to Me" and "Painful." Found here.
His brain is going to short-circuit soon. It’s not the least bit comforting to know that if it does, Garak will tut at him and bemoan how all the extra work that went into genetically engineering him will have gone to waste.
Bashir is spread out on Garak’s too-small, too-hard mattress with one hand wrapped around his cock and the other gripping the sheets hard enough to tear them. Or at least, he’d be tearing them if they were Starfleet issue. These are Cardassian-issue, made to withstand the sleep habits (and, well, mating habits) of tough, scaly skin.
Which only adds to the plethora of sensations taking him over. There’s the roughness of the bedclothes against his back, triggering memories of Garak draped over him doing sinful things with his mouth and fingers. There’s his own hand on his cock, stroking and rubbing and dragging this out for longer than he’s ever managed before. And there’s the weight of Garak’s stare, full and heavy, making him throb painfully as he strokes his thumb over the head.
“Garak,” he hisses, the plea evident in his voice.
“Not yet, my dear.” Garak sounds the same as always; light and airy and unconcerned, as if he weren’t standing there torturing his bedmate to the limits of endurance. Bashir dares a glance at his face, and that’s where the difference is apparent. The voice may sound distantly amused, but the eyes… the eyes are burning.
The fire makes him bite his lower lip and squeeze his eyes shut again, groaning because the image seems to be burned into his retinas. He can’t escape that expression even with his eyes closed, and the orgasm threatening in the base of his spine shoots another spark through his entire nervous system. “I-” he chokes out, fingers clenched into the sheets so hard that he knows they’re going to ache tomorrow morning. “I-“ He can’t even get another word out, his energy focused entirely on holding himself back, on keeping himself on that razor edge.
Garak looks him over as if he were a particularly interesting laboratory specimen, fiery eyes roaming over him from his tortured face, to the painfully hard erection, to the toes curled into the mattress. “Hmm,” he hums at him, hovering closer. Bashir can feel the heat of his hand as it skims over his shoulder, along his arm, fingers tracing feather-light over his forearm, his wrist-
Bashir’s mouth falls open in a howl as that fine, calfskin hand bats Bashir’s away and curls around him. With two more strokes he’s gone, unable to hold it back any longer, coming all over Garak’s hand in thick spurts.
It takes him longer to recover than it should, given his increased stamina, but the amount of time Garak left him hanging combined with the look on his face right now… well, he can’t help if it gets to him. He cracks his eyes open to the sight of a smug, self-satisfied Cardassian tailor looking at him as if he were some sort of treat, even going so far as to lick his lips before speaking. “Come here, my dear.” And he holds out a hand, looking both dangerous and inviting in equal parts. “You deserve a reward for such an enticing show of obedience.”
“I hate you,” Bashir wheezes as he tries to catch his breath, but he reaches out to take the hand anyway.
“Yes.” And the arousal in Garak’s voice isn’t enough to mask the amusement. “I rather thought you might.”
Title: Aubergine
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG-13 / borderline R?
Notes: For "Receiving a Blow Job" and "Feeling Irritated When Getting Bitten." Found here.
“My dear doctor, what could possibly be the matter?”
There was a long-suffering sigh. “Nothing.”
“Have I ever mentioned that you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met?”
“All the time and mostly in bed. You do have a certain talent for charming pillow talk.”
Garak ducked his head in mock humility, unwilling to keep the grin from forming on his face. Julian was sitting astride his hips, looking down as if trying to see the damage done. Dark, wicked-looking bruises were blossoming over the otherwise smooth, unmarred skin, showing the trail Garak had blazed over his body earlier.
“You know, I’ve always been rather fond of you in purple,” Garak offered, the smug smile still plastered all over his face.
“No you haven’t. You tell me I look like death every time I wear it.”
“No, darling. You look like death in that awful velour thing you wear in the holosuites. This color, however,” and he emphasized it by smoothing a thumb over one on Julian’s shoulder, digging in just enough to make him wince, “is eminently suitable on you.”
Julian batted his hand away, rubbing at his shoulder to ease the ache. “This possessive streak of yours is becoming rather painful, not to mention unnecessary.”
“On that we must agree to disagree, my dear doctor.” He shifted underneath him, grabbing him by the waist and flipping them easily, pinning Julian to the mattress in one smooth, quick movement. “At least so far as necessity is concerned.”
Julian just stared back up at him, his expression telling Garak just how unimpressed he was.
“Come now, doctor. Let me make it up to you.”
“Keep a dermal regenerator in the room, do you?” Julian sassed him, but his hands reached out to settle on the thick neck ridges, thumbs smoothing over the scales in a way that renewed his interest most pleasantly.
“Actually I do, but I had a different suggestion in mind.” He ducked his head to press a kiss to each bruise, exerting enough pressure to ensure they didn’t come across as apologies. Even then, Julian’s hands in his hair felt too much like forgiveness.
As he worked his way back down the slender torso, those hands in his hair suddenly exerted more pressure than he was used to. He ceased somewhere in the vicinity of Julian’s navel, looking up at him curiously.
“Turn around,” he murmured. “I’ve got a suggestion in mind as well.”
“Far be it for me to argue with a medical professional.”
That earned him an eyeroll as he rearranged himself with his knees on either side of Julian’s shoulders. “I’m sure you can think of better uses for that mouth right now.”
“Of course.” And he set about proving just that.
Title: Interrogation Techniques
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Spoilers for the end of season six. For "Scared" and "Softly." Found here.
Julian sat on Garak’s bed wearing nothing but his own guilt. He had come here to relax but could do nothing of the sort, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he watched Garak undress. The sight should have stirred something in him - especially as they’d had little time to themselves these past few weeks - but he was too locked in his own head to truly appreciate it.
“Stop that,” came the gentle admonition from the foot of the bed where Garak was fastidiously folding his clothing and setting it on top of a dresser.
“Stop what?” he asked dully, knowing his heart wasn’t in the game tonight.
“Feeling guilty over what happened. You didn’t kill her. Dukat did that.”
“I couldn’t save her.”
“No one expects you to save every patient, even with your genetic enhancements. You’re a human, not a god.”
Julian shrugged, not sure what to say in response to that. He kept his gaze locked on his own knees, unable to meet Garak’s eyes.
He felt more than saw the shifting at the foot of the bed, the sudden dip of the mattress as Garak lowered himself onto it. Garak settled in front of him, not touching him but sharing a certain closeness all the same. He said nothing, seemingly content with the silence for as long as Julian would allow it to go on.
Even knowing that this was one of Garak’s most successful interrogation techniques, Julian couldn’t help but allow it to work on him. “It isn’t… It isn’t just Jadzia,” he admitted quietly, still not looking at him.
Garak remained silent. Julian spared enough of a glance at him to see the eyeridge raise a little in question.
“It’s something Miles said a few days ago. Something about appreciating his friends now, because one day he’s going to look around and someone will be missing. And we’ve already lost one from that circle.” He let his head rest on his knees, focusing his full attention on Garak now. “How many more are we going to lose before this war is over?”
Still nothing from Garak, although he reached out a hand and placed it over Julian’s wrist sympathetically.
“There are so many I don’t want to lose. Miles. His family. The captain. The major.” Quietly. “You.”
Garak’s hand tightened on Julian’s wrist, pulling one of his hands free. He brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm softly before pressing it to his own rough cheek. “You know I can make no promises regarding my safety, doctor. The same goes for you.”
From anyone else, that would have only made him feel worse. But something about Garak’s practicality in the face of his own - sometimes misplaced - idealism made it… not better, perhaps. But bearable. “Yes,” he agreed, stroking a thumb over the ridge below Garak’s eye.
“What we can agree upon, however, is to enjoy ourselves now, while we still have the opportunity. These trysts of ours are going to become less and less frequent as we near the end of this war. And I, for one, would appreciate your undivided attention since neither of us has any ability to vouch for the future.”
Julian let out a deep breath, trying to exhale his guilt and fear along with it. Garak was right; it made no sense to dwell on these things when they had so little time together as it was. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
He couldn’t help the slight tug of a smile at that insufferable smugness. “Of course,” he echoed, more amused now than distraught.
Garak took his other hand as well, kissing it and tugging at it gently. “Come here, Julian,” he murmured, indulging in the use of his given name. “Come here and forget for a little while.”
Julian found himself sprawled over the man’s lap, a reptilian face nuzzling at his own, a contented rumble echoing through the thick chest. Yes, he thought, pressing a fierce, suckling kiss to a center scale on Garak’s neck. Yes, I believe I can do that.
Title: Dichotomy
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir, Gaila/Bashir, implied Gaila/Garak
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Mirror Universe fic with some AU thrown in for fun (hence Mirror Gaila's existence). For "Horny" and "Passionately." Found here.
The thing about having sex with Gaila is that she never. shuts. up.
Which is saying something when Bashir, of all people, notices. She can’t stop running that pretty mouth of hers no matter how much he tries to distract her by digging his fingers into her ass and pulling her down onto his cock with each thrust.
“Bet he’d love this,” she breathes hotly over his mouth, not quite kissing him. “Bet he’d open wide for you, baby. Wrap those thick legs around your waist like this,” and she demonstrates, arching her back deliciously, “and ride you until you were gasping and begging for it. Bet he’d-“
“Shut up,” he snaps, sinking his teeth into the cords of her neck until he can taste the musky orange blood. “I’m not fucking you for the conversation.”
“No,” she agrees in what’s almost a cheerful tone of voice, if not for the way her smile makes her look almost feral. She rakes her nails down his chest, scraping painfully over his nipples. And while he should be annoyed at that, it just makes him gasp and fuck up into her harder. “You’re fucking me because you don’t have the balls to fuck the Cardassian.”
He snarls at her, retaliating by removing one hand from that perfectly shaped ass and digging bruising fingers into her breast, letting her feel just how much he can hurt her if he doesn’t reign in that genetically enhanced strength of his. “Shut up,” he hisses again, shifting around in an effort to flip them over, maybe pin her underneath him and gag her until they’re finished.
Except she does that thing where she clenches around him and swivels her hips on the downstroke, which effectively wrecks any fancy move he might have made to throw her on her back, not to mention short-circuiting most of his higher brain functions.
“Just think,” comes that hot little whisper right up against his ear. “I taught Garak how to do that, too.”
And that should be infuriating, the sudden realization that when Gaila says she’s had sex with everyone she meets, she includes Garak in that statement. His brain shouldn’t be melting all over the image of them wrapped up in bed together, of Gaila scraping her nails over rough, leathery skin, of Garak’s head thrown back as he snaps his hips forward-
Bashir comes with a rough gasp, head dropping to Gaila’s shoulder and sinking his teeth into her neck, creating another bloody lovebite there that’s apparently enough to get her howling - because not even a decent orgasm will get her to shut her damn mouth.
“Oh, baby,” she coos at him, brushing suddenly gentle hands through his hair, grooming him in that strange way of hers, “you’re gonna be so good for him.”
“Shut up,” he says for the umpteenth time, pulling her face in for a kiss to make it stick that time.
The thing about having sex with Garak is that he becomes eerily quiet.
It’s not at all the way he’d imagined, or the way Gaila had described to him in increasingly filthy detail as he tried to work up his courage for this. Garak isn’t aggressive the way Bashir had assumed he would be. He doesn’t fight. He barely speaks. It’s almost as if it’s a relief to give over responsibility to someone else, as if he relishes the absence of that weight from his shoulders.
He has Garak spread over the floor of his spacious quarters on Terok Nor, one thigh draped over Bashir’s waist and the other leg hitched high over his shoulder, opening him so wide that he shivers for the few seconds it takes for Bashir to rearrange himself and thrust in smoothly.
And then it’s like he becomes another creature entirely, curling his fingers in the hair at Bashir’s nape and almost cradling his skull as he kisses him, slow and lazy and unhurried. Any urge Bashir had to grab the man’s legs and fuck him into the floor dissipates entirely as their tongues tangle together, and he settles for an easy rhythm between them, one hand on the floor supporting his weight and the other traveling over the thick, undulating body, thumbing over scaly ridges and fine leathery skin.
He’s not stupid enough to think Garak might love him. He’s not even stupid enough to think Garak is showing him some measure of trust - they both know Garak could throw him off and snap his neck if he really wanted to. But at the same time, Bashir finds himself lost in the pale blue eyes, marveling at the openness he sees there. It may not be trust, but borders on sincerity, which is the next best thing.
Garak may well decide to kill him in the morning, Bashir admits to himself even as he wraps a hand around the ridged cock, unable to keep from smiling when Garak emits a low, rumbling hiss at the sensation. But if he has to die, there are certainly worse ways of going about it.
Title: Reeling Him In
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG
Notes: For "Sexy" and "Embarrassed." Found here.
Bashir doesn’t realize it yet, but Garak has him.
Of course, it would hardly seem that way to an outsider. They have the same routine as always, sometimes even the same conversations, but Garak knows they’re at a point where he simply has to choose his moment and he’ll be able to reel Bashir in like one of those comically gape-mouthed fish from his planet. The metaphor seems apt considering Bashir hasn’t shut up for thirty seconds straight ever since they sat down together.
It amuses him how Bashir, for all his vast intelligence, doesn’t have the first clue. In fact, he’s sitting there ranting about Jadzia Dax for what must be the third time this week alone. And despite all his ranting, all his grand posturing and mock pouting, Garak can’t help but smile indulgently.
“…and she just keeps laughing at me, as if I were some sort of amusing little brother. I’ve tried everything I can think of, Garak, and it just isn’t working!” A long sigh, slumping over the table. “Clearly there’s something the matter with me.”
And really, Garak couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity than that. He reaches over the table, cupping a hand under the doctor’s chin and pretending to look him over clinically. It’s difficult not to flash him a smug smile when Bashir’s expression switches from surprise, to shock, to something like embarrassment. Garak darts his tongue out to moisten his lips before speaking, and it doesn’t escape him that suddenly Bashir’s gaze is fixated on his mouth. Excellent. “I see nothing out of the ordinary at present, doctor.”
“…oh,” he says weakly. He offers no resistance whatsoever to the touch, even leaning forward a bit to rest his chin against Garak’s fingers.
“However, should you wish to explore the possibility, I am more than willing to assist you later this evening. Perhaps in my quarters?”
And there’s that comical gaping expression Garak was thinking of. But still no resistance. In fact, he can feel the tentative brush of fingers against his wrist, like Bashir wants to touch him back but can’t quite work up the nerve. “Your quarters?” he repeats, not because he hasn’t heard him but because he seems dazed by Garak’s brazenness.
“Or yours. I’m not terribly picky where you’re concerned, my dear doctor.”
Caught you, Garak thinks, watching the decision reach Bashir’s eyes before he even says a word. “That sounds… interesting,” he says, long after Garak knows what the answer will be.
Garak finally allows himself the smile he’s been holding back, projecting all the warmth he can through his face since he’s not willing to put anything quite so intimate into words. “Yes,” he agrees.
Title: Endurance
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For "Come to Me" and "Painful." Found here.
His brain is going to short-circuit soon. It’s not the least bit comforting to know that if it does, Garak will tut at him and bemoan how all the extra work that went into genetically engineering him will have gone to waste.
Bashir is spread out on Garak’s too-small, too-hard mattress with one hand wrapped around his cock and the other gripping the sheets hard enough to tear them. Or at least, he’d be tearing them if they were Starfleet issue. These are Cardassian-issue, made to withstand the sleep habits (and, well, mating habits) of tough, scaly skin.
Which only adds to the plethora of sensations taking him over. There’s the roughness of the bedclothes against his back, triggering memories of Garak draped over him doing sinful things with his mouth and fingers. There’s his own hand on his cock, stroking and rubbing and dragging this out for longer than he’s ever managed before. And there’s the weight of Garak’s stare, full and heavy, making him throb painfully as he strokes his thumb over the head.
“Garak,” he hisses, the plea evident in his voice.
“Not yet, my dear.” Garak sounds the same as always; light and airy and unconcerned, as if he weren’t standing there torturing his bedmate to the limits of endurance. Bashir dares a glance at his face, and that’s where the difference is apparent. The voice may sound distantly amused, but the eyes… the eyes are burning.
The fire makes him bite his lower lip and squeeze his eyes shut again, groaning because the image seems to be burned into his retinas. He can’t escape that expression even with his eyes closed, and the orgasm threatening in the base of his spine shoots another spark through his entire nervous system. “I-” he chokes out, fingers clenched into the sheets so hard that he knows they’re going to ache tomorrow morning. “I-“ He can’t even get another word out, his energy focused entirely on holding himself back, on keeping himself on that razor edge.
Garak looks him over as if he were a particularly interesting laboratory specimen, fiery eyes roaming over him from his tortured face, to the painfully hard erection, to the toes curled into the mattress. “Hmm,” he hums at him, hovering closer. Bashir can feel the heat of his hand as it skims over his shoulder, along his arm, fingers tracing feather-light over his forearm, his wrist-
Bashir’s mouth falls open in a howl as that fine, calfskin hand bats Bashir’s away and curls around him. With two more strokes he’s gone, unable to hold it back any longer, coming all over Garak’s hand in thick spurts.
It takes him longer to recover than it should, given his increased stamina, but the amount of time Garak left him hanging combined with the look on his face right now… well, he can’t help if it gets to him. He cracks his eyes open to the sight of a smug, self-satisfied Cardassian tailor looking at him as if he were some sort of treat, even going so far as to lick his lips before speaking. “Come here, my dear.” And he holds out a hand, looking both dangerous and inviting in equal parts. “You deserve a reward for such an enticing show of obedience.”
“I hate you,” Bashir wheezes as he tries to catch his breath, but he reaches out to take the hand anyway.
“Yes.” And the arousal in Garak’s voice isn’t enough to mask the amusement. “I rather thought you might.”
Title: Aubergine
Fandom: Star Trek DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: PG-13 / borderline R?
Notes: For "Receiving a Blow Job" and "Feeling Irritated When Getting Bitten." Found here.
“My dear doctor, what could possibly be the matter?”
There was a long-suffering sigh. “Nothing.”
“Have I ever mentioned that you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met?”
“All the time and mostly in bed. You do have a certain talent for charming pillow talk.”
Garak ducked his head in mock humility, unwilling to keep the grin from forming on his face. Julian was sitting astride his hips, looking down as if trying to see the damage done. Dark, wicked-looking bruises were blossoming over the otherwise smooth, unmarred skin, showing the trail Garak had blazed over his body earlier.
“You know, I’ve always been rather fond of you in purple,” Garak offered, the smug smile still plastered all over his face.
“No you haven’t. You tell me I look like death every time I wear it.”
“No, darling. You look like death in that awful velour thing you wear in the holosuites. This color, however,” and he emphasized it by smoothing a thumb over one on Julian’s shoulder, digging in just enough to make him wince, “is eminently suitable on you.”
Julian batted his hand away, rubbing at his shoulder to ease the ache. “This possessive streak of yours is becoming rather painful, not to mention unnecessary.”
“On that we must agree to disagree, my dear doctor.” He shifted underneath him, grabbing him by the waist and flipping them easily, pinning Julian to the mattress in one smooth, quick movement. “At least so far as necessity is concerned.”
Julian just stared back up at him, his expression telling Garak just how unimpressed he was.
“Come now, doctor. Let me make it up to you.”
“Keep a dermal regenerator in the room, do you?” Julian sassed him, but his hands reached out to settle on the thick neck ridges, thumbs smoothing over the scales in a way that renewed his interest most pleasantly.
“Actually I do, but I had a different suggestion in mind.” He ducked his head to press a kiss to each bruise, exerting enough pressure to ensure they didn’t come across as apologies. Even then, Julian’s hands in his hair felt too much like forgiveness.
As he worked his way back down the slender torso, those hands in his hair suddenly exerted more pressure than he was used to. He ceased somewhere in the vicinity of Julian’s navel, looking up at him curiously.
“Turn around,” he murmured. “I’ve got a suggestion in mind as well.”
“Far be it for me to argue with a medical professional.”
That earned him an eyeroll as he rearranged himself with his knees on either side of Julian’s shoulders. “I’m sure you can think of better uses for that mouth right now.”
“Of course.” And he set about proving just that.