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”Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!”
Julian pants heavily from running for his life. He can hear the sound of footsteps outside the door he just closed in order to hide behind. He is sweaty, dirty, and itchy with adrenaline, having had to leg it down the corridor to avoid detection.
“I can only agree with that sentiment, Doctor.”
A voice from behind. Julian twists around at the sound, shock and horror on his face.
“Gul Garak?!”
In front of him lay the Gul on the floor. Collared, purple in the face, with the lead chain wrapped around his throat. Next to him lay the crumpled Klingon regent, with the chain in his hands.
In a pool of his own blood.
Both are naked. What the…?
“Over here, Doctor.”
Julian lifts his gaze from the grizzly scene. There, by the wall opposite, locked in a steel cage stands…
“Garak! My Garak!" An embarrassed frown. “Not… not that you are mine, of course, Garak, you are your own man - even if we are dating now, I don’t want you to think that I think that you... I just mean that…”
The caged Cardassian waves his hand dismissively.
“Not the time, my dear. Now- my counterpart found his seduction technique adequate, but his assassination attempt… less than optimal, outcome-wise. As I’m sure you can tell.”
Julian surveys the scene again, understanding the story now. The Gul stabbing the Regent - the irate Klingon strangling the bastard with the leash to his collar. Both evidently too embarrassed to call for help, none of them living to regret that pride. Gul Garak really should have considered the way his restraints could be used as a weapon.
What’s with that, anyway? Why is it pretty hot to se Garak’s neck in a collar…
“If you could be persuaded to release me now, I would be most gratified.”
Garak has an edge in his voice, and Julian jumps to attention. Right! His Garak is a prisoner. That can’t stand.
“The keys are on the Regent’s belt. His trousers are… somewhere in the pile of garments over there, Doctor.”
“Yes, of course! I’ll get you out of there in no time.”
Rifling through the hastily discarded clothes, Julian finds an old-fashioned, heavy key-ring sporting a collection of equally old-fashioned, metal keys. He jostles it in triumph and goes to free his lover from his cage. Julian tries a few times before he finds the one that fits the lock.
“Thank you. That was… not pleasant.”
Garak releases a suppressed shudder as he steps out into freedom. Looking Julian up and sown, he wrinkles his brow.
“You’re certainly dirty enough to pass for the captain, but your hair is too short. Not much to be done about that, though.”
Julian blinks, as Garak takes the key-ring from his hands and starts looking through the options hanging from it.
“What? Garak, what on Earth are you on about?”
Garak snorts, selects a key, and walks over to the dead Cardassian on the floor.
“I though that should be obvious! In order to get out of here and make our way back… we shall have to impersonate our doppelgangers.”
Julian walks over to Garak, who is relieving the Gul of his metal restraints, having found the right key to the collar.
“I’m sorry, what? We're on a Klingon vessel, Garak. How will pretending to be Captain Bashir help at all?”
“It won’t, not here. The Bird of Pray we’ll exit in an escapepod or some such. No, this disguise…” He holds up the unlocked collar for Julian to take. “Is for when we infiltrate the rebel base in search of Smiley and his transporter device. You do want to make it back to our home universe, no?”
Julian helps Garak up from his knees, a wrinkle still on his brow.
“Of course I do, Garak. But I still don’t see why this is needed?”
He rattles the chain at the Cardassian, who smiles unsettlingly.
“Why, I shall have to be your prisoner of course, my dear. Or rather, Captain Bashir will have finally caught that dastardly Gul Garak. What a time to rejoice, best let them right into the base.”
Julian’s eyes grow wide. Oh. OH!
“Right... Okay, yeah, that could work.”
This is not an appealing idea. Not at all. Garak is strong and sexy and mysterious. He leads Julian in games of catch-me-if-you-can, and that infuriating, clever, assertive bastard… would look so good collared on his knees.
Oh lord, this is so inappropriate. Julian’s pulse is not picking up, and he is not starting to sweat as Garak dons his dead counterpart’s shed clothes in disguise. He’s just still flustered from running to avoid detection earlier. That’s it.
“Only one detail left, then.”
Garak lifts an eye-ridge, now the picture of military, cardassian virility. He eyes Julian’s hands, still holding the metal device, and Julian licks his lips.
“Surely, that won’t be necessary yet?”
“You need your hands free for this next part. And besides, it’s the least cumbersome way to transport the thing. So... “
And then the smooth fucker slides down on one knee. Like he’s about to propose, old Earth western style. Only, it’s Julian holding the metal band in his hand. His heart is beating in his ears, as he bends down to secure the collar around Garak’s neck. When the key slots in the lock, he pauses. Looks Garak in the eyes. They are blown wide, and his ridges are noticeably flushed.
Oh. Ooooooh. Shit.
Julian holds the ice-blue gaze firm… and locks the collar with a click.
He doesn’t have to look down to know he’s tenting his uniform pants. This was…unexpected. If their lives hadn’t been at stake at this very moment…
Julian straightens his back. Stretches out his hand and strokes Garak’s face. The old reptile leans into the touch. Holding Julian pinned with his gaze, he hands the Human the chain leash. Julian accepts it. It feels like “I do”.
They stay like that for longer than is advisable, until noises from outside the Regent’s bedchamber wakes them from their trance. Julian reluctantly unclips the leash from the collar and slides the strong but slender chain into his pocket. Garak stands up, looking dizzy for the briefest moment. Then he closes his eyes, collects himself, and is back in charge.
“Well. Let’s get out of here.”
-
Stealing a shuttle and making it to Mirror DS9 was surprisingly easy. All the Klingons that were not drunkenly fighting, singing, or fucking, were sleeping off the bloodwine in heaps in the corridors. The Regent had given strict orders not to be disturbed, so no one was checking on him or raising the alarm. Sneaking around unseen was almost too easy. At least for Garak, who was an experienced skulker who lurked recreationally and for sport.
Julian did his best, and luckily it was enough for the occasion.
On screen now was a Human face that Garak didn’t recognise.
“Captain Bashir! I thought you would be away on recon for the next week?”
They had done their best to make Julian up as his gruffer twin. Dressed in assorted Klingon pieces, with soot from ore-processing still on his face, he was hopefully passable.
“I was, but then I run into this one, and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by.”
Julan yanks on the chain, and Garak stumbles into view. He sends his most piercing, hateful glare Julian’s way. Oh, but the steel in the doctor’s gaze is exhilarating!
“Gul fucking Garak!?! Now that’s a catch, come right in and dock.”
“Bashir out!”
Julian turns off the video-link and exhales. The softness in his stance returns, and Garak misses the domineering confidence. For a moment.
“Was that okay? I didn’t pull too hard?”
He is a sweetheart, but this will not do. Julian can’t show any care if this is to work.
“I’m made of stern stuff, my dear. Don’t be afraid to slap me around a bit in there. You know, for verisimilitude.”
The dear Human sets the shuttle to the automated docking sequence. His shoulder tenses up, and then he turns around with cold disdain in his eyes. Pulling on the chain again he sneers:
“You don’t tell me what to do, cardie scum.”
Garak smiles, toothily.
“Much better.”
Julian leans in for a kiss, and the retired spy finds his stomach strangely fluttering. His young, usually pliant companion, holds a tight grip on the chain- pulling Garak in to meet his lips. One mouth-plundering later, Julian slackens the leash and pulls away. He looks a little groggy, and flushes prettily.
“I, eh, I probably won’t get a chance to do that again, so…” Julian scratches the back of his neck, not meeting his lover’s eyes. He clears his voice and turns back towards the consoles. “Anyway, I think I can handle the acting. Just… I’m not going to hit you, Garak. We can fool them in other ways.”
Garak makes a noncommittal sound.
“Perhaps. But don’t hold back, if the alternative is discovery. I can take it.”
It’s Julian’s turn to give a noncommittal grunt
-
Onboard station, things go sideways almost immediately.
“Great catch Bashir. We’ll take it from here!”
A gruff looking Human and her posse greets them at the airlock. Whatever the group intends to do with the hated Cardassian, Julian does not what to know. He tries to channel the gut-wrenching fear into anger.
“That’s Captain Bashir! And like hell you are, this is my prisoner. I will see to his debriefing!”
The grizzled, older woman, who is clearly in charge, does not look impressed. Arms crossing, she shifts her weight to one leg.
“Is that so, Captain? I don’t remember you ranking above me on this station. Why the fuck should I let a notorious hothead interrogate one of our highest prizes yet? This Alliance piece of filth sat at the Klingon Regent’s feet - sucked his dicks too, if the rumours are true. He undoubtedly has valuable intel.”
Julian puffs up his chest and desperately tries to think of a way out of the situation. He has nothing to back up his bluster with, and challenging the old warrior’s authority might be in character for Captain Bashir, but is unlikely to lead to anything good.
He throws a look in Garak’s direction, but he simply stares at him hatefully. Of course. Whatever solution he comes up with can’t depend on Garak’s ingenuity. His role doesn't permit him to speak. This is on Julian.
He let’s himself exhale, shrink into a seething rage. Then he turns his gaze back at the woman heading up their welcoming party.
“I have… personal business with this one. We… once were in the reverse roles to the present, as much as I hate to admit it. Give me some time alone with him before I hand him over to you! I promise he’ll be able to talk once I’m done with him. Hell, he’ll be very motivated for you not to hand him back over to me. He’ll sing like a fucking canary!”
Julian felt sure the woman would see straight through his bluff, see his desperate intensity for the fear it really was. Whatever she did see in his eyes, it touched something in her. She nodded grimly.
“All right, Bashir. You have an hour. I know what it's like to be captured by one of them. Don’t make me regret this!”
Julian crosses his arms to stop his hands from shaking. He nods.
“Where do I take him?”
The boss turns her head and calls out to a man walking past.
“Smiley! Get our guests a room. Captain Bashir here has some… private business he would like to discuss with the Gul.”
Julian yanks the chain hard, and Garak falls theatrically to his knees. The security detail laugh, humourlessly. O'Brien's mirror greets them.
“Sir!" Then with a grimace aimed at Julian, "Captain.”
Smiley O’Brien waves at them to follow, and Julian starts walking without waiting for Garak to get to his feet. The Cardassian falls and stumbles behind them, acting roughed up and cowed. This could work.
-
“Okay, we should be able to talk without being overheard here.”
Smiley shuts the door to the nondescript room.
“You two are a long way from home.”
Julian stutters.
“Wha-what? No, I mean I don’t really have a home anymore, the Rebellion...”
O’Brien waves at him dismissively.
“Stuff it. I know for a fact where Captain Bashir is right now, and it sure as shit ain’t in front of me.”
The Human could have stood his ground for longer, and Garak tries not to fault him for deflating immediately. The doctor is not used to playing roles when the safety protocols can’t be turned back on at a command. Garak steps in.
“You caught us; brava, Chief. Now, how can we persuade you to send us back to our universe? You do still have your nifty transporter device, yes?”
The irishman grumbles.
“I do. And I’ll send you back for free, just don’t rock the boat right now. Were in a delicate political situation on station at the moment, tensions are bloody high, and I can’t have you two wildcards mucking about. Just stay here, I’ll do the rest. Don’t talk to anyone. I mean it! Anything could make this tinderbox blow.”
Garak takes this information in, and inclines his head in understanding.
“It shall be as if we were never here. Thank you, Chief – you are most obliging.”
Smiley huffed.
“I’m getting you the fuck out of my hair, is what I’m doing.”
He nods at Julian, and is off. The doctor exhales.
“Well, that was a lot easier than I could have hoped.”
The collared spy makes a humming sound.
“Let’s hope he wasn’t lying through his teeth.”
“Do you have a backup plan?”
Garak turns around, facing the Human.
“No. Hence my hope for truthfulness.”
He takes a step forwards.
“Now, you should probably rough me up a little, in case the Chief’s machinations are unfruitful and we are once again faced with the interrogators. I very much want the ability to pretend to be softened enough, by your tender mercies, that I might believably sing like that proverbial canary and avoid further harsh treatment.”
Oh, how Julian looks pained at that.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Garak!”
“You won’t be! You’ll be saving me from actual harm. Now, hit my face.”
Julian stares at him.
“I… I can’t. I’m a doctor.”
Garak snorts.
“And as a doctor, you cut patients open all the time in order to hinder further harm coming them. This is no different. Hit me!”
The doctor’s face furrows in a scowl. He stretches his back to tower over the Cardassian, who is feeling a spark of… something, travelling up his spine.
“No.”
So absolute. So very non-negotiable. Garak feels acutely aware of the collar around his neck, the chain hanging down his chest.
“My dear, you must.”
His voice sounds less commanding than Garak had intended. His knees itches with the desire to bend. What the fuck is going on? Why is the stupid collar pulling him down, holding him tight? Julian’s face settles, resolute.
“I will not hit you just in case it might be necessary as a ruse. I believe in Smiley.”
Garak wets his lips.
“Then may I hit myself without your intervention?”
The young doctor’s eyes flash with fury, and Garak can feel himself tingle in response. Julian grabs hold of Garak’s leash, pulls it down with force. The older man falls to his hands and knees, and Julian grabs the chain right by the collar. Yanking upwards, he pulls Garak’s hands off the ground and holds him in place via the hard band of metal around his neck.
“Now you listen to me, you CARDIE VERMIN!”
The Human speaks unnecessarily loudly, screams the slur at him. What the…?
“You are not in control of me anymore! And now I am going to make YOU scream…” The doctor blinks wildly, still speaking performatively and loudly. Garak was catching on, no longer distracted by his surge of horniness. “…so loud they will be able to hear it all the way out into the corridor...” more frantic blinking and staring at the door, at Garak’s face, and back. Garak nods – he understands. The doctor, with his superior hearing, has picked up on eavesdroppers nearby. “…And all the way through the FUCKING STATION! Scream for me!”
Julian stomps his foot loudly on the floor, and Garak cries out in imaginary pain. Oh, but the doctor is radiant! He stomps again, holding the leash tight, pulling on the collar to keep Garak’s posture straight. Once again, the Cardassian screams, a bit louder this time. Then he talks back.
“Really? Brute violence? Is that all you have?!”
Garak makes his voice sound dazed, a bit muffled. Like he had just suffered blows to the head. Julian smiles, happy to have a co-player.
This is… not not hot…
“Mocking me?! You, PATHETIC COCKSUCKER, are MOCKING me?! The Regent had you CHAINED to his BEDPOST when I stole you.”
Julian slaps his own thigh hard, open fisted, and Garak makes an “ooff”-sound. Blue eyes pierce brown ones, and something hot and pulsing grows between them. Julian looking down, his 'prisoner' up. They start to breath heavily.
“Do you know what I think? I think you like it there your knees.”
The doctor is purring, bending down ever so slightly. His voice has lost projection. Anyone listening in would have a hard time to follow.
“Really now?”
He answers the Human in a similar tone.
“I do. I think you would miss the collar, Gul. And I think you want me to hold your leash.”
This is entirely inappropriate. Garak should not be blooming open. This is mortifying. Horrific. He needs it not to stop.
“YOU WILL NEVER GET THAT INFORMATION OUT OF ME!”
A performative shout, but a genuine challenge. Eye-ridge raised. Julian grabs Garak’s chin, puts a thumb to his mouth.
“No? Well, If you’re not going to use that mouth to tell me what I want to know…”
Warm digit pushing in between his lips, his teeth. Julian grabs his jaw and forces Garak’s mouth open.
“…I have other ideas of how to put it to use.”
Garak dares a glance to Julian’s crotch. Oh, the Human is into this as well. Judging by the shifted pheromonic scent to his sweat, he is very into it. That makes it slightly less humiliating that Garak I seconds away from everting.
That’s when the door crashes open, and a few of the old woman’s thugs step inside. Julian freezes, but then he lashes out in very real fury.
“I had an hour! Get the fuck out!”
Rebel number one barks out a laugh. He’s a short, broad man, of a middling brown colour. He looks like he could shake off a photon torpedo. His friends are all similarly rugged and ruff.
“You have your hour, sure. But we wanna watch. There’s not much for entertainment around here. Go on, keep hitting the fucker. We won’t stop ya.”
Julian’s jaw clenches as he tries one last time.
“Your boss said I could have him in private.”
Rebel number two takes a step forward. They sound suspicious.
“Why? Do you have something to hide?”
The doctor has the good sense to scoff in anger.
“Fuck no! Fine. Stay, then. I don’t care.”
Julian sounds convincingly dismissive, but Garak can tell he is stressing out. He decides to throw the man a lifeline.
He tells himself it’s simply the least painful way out of their predicament. It’s not like it's something they haven't done before, and given the circumstances... Garak can suffer an audience.
The thought of an audience is not in any way appealing, of course…
Slurring his words, as if punchdrunk, he spits out in venomous hatred:
“You could not get me to suck you off even if you had a phaser to my head! I’d rather die than be defiled like that, and by a dirty Human!”
Julian starts, as if struck. Then he looks Garak in the eyes and sees the game.
Yes, yes, do it. DO IT.
The doctor stretches out his hand towards their audience.
“Someone hand me a phaser. Let’s make this interesting.”
“Hey! She said no killing him!”
“Oh, shut it, Jenk! I want to see where this goes. Here you go, Bashir – you mad bastard!”
Julian accepts a phaser in his outstretched hand without looking up, without breaking eye contact with his captive. He points the weapon lazily at Garak and lifts an eyebrow.
“You got on your knees for a Klingon no problem. Seemed to thrive there, as a matter of fact. I doubt he ever had to threaten you to get you to open our maw and suck him down to the hilt. I bet you grew to crave it…”
He lowers the phaser slowly, comes to rest it at Garak’s lips. Then he pushes in, forcing his captive's mouth open, and pressing the muzzle down.
“What? Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?”
The ruffians laughs and Garak everts. The sound of his perversion is masked by the onlooker’s mirth. Julian caught it though, and a ghost of a smile haunts the corner of his mouth. Then he’s back in character.
“He’d rather die, he says. Interesting! I have it on good authority that Gul Garak is a snivelling coward, happily turning his coat to wherever the wind might blow. Hitching his wagon to anyone more powerful than him in order to save his own hide. Well…”
He withdraws the phaser from Garak’s mouth and theatrically fiddles with the settings. Then he points it to Garak’s temple.
“…I am more powerful than you. In fact, to you, right now, I am God. And I am vengeful.”
Julian’s eyes spark and there is something beneath all this performance, something real and burning and too charged to touch. Like a live wire between them, making the air shudder with electricity.
“Luckily for you… You have the means to…appease me.”
A pointed look towards his own groin, of a hight with Garak’s face. Julian’s dick is not bothered by the audience either, it seems. If anything, the opposite.
“So…“ He takes the weapon away from Garak’s temple and holds it at his hip instead, forcing everybody’s eyes towards his crotch. “…what’ll it be?”
Garak’s knees hurt, but it’s exhilarating. The snickering and disgusted noises from the audience is making his everted cock tremble and drip. This is where he belongs. At Julian’s knees, his leash in the doctor’s hand.
“You make a convincing argument, my dear.”
Not a Gul Garak thing to say, but he didn’t have time to stop himself. Julian looks worried for half a second, then he sneers in mock distaste.
“Then shut the fuck up and get your mouth on me. If you bite- I shoot.”
Garak lifts his hands and sets to work freeing Julian’s cock. His hands are trembling and he opens his mouth, scenting the air. Saliva fills his mouth in anticipation. Oh, this is perverse.
Depraved!
Correct.
“Let’s see why the Regent kept you around, ey? Be my good, obedient little comfort Cardie. That’s it, good boy.”
A round of laughter. Some exclamations about Bashir being either brave or insane for sticking his dick amongst Cardie teeth. Someone leaves in disgust, muttering ‘fucking rapist, no better than them’. Someone else jeers and eggs Garak on.
They fade. All that exists is Garak on his knees, the collar around his neck, and Julian in front of him – keeping him and needing him to be good. Garak wants to be good. Oh, how he wants to be good.
Everything that is normally complicated becomes simple, as Garak puts his mouth on Julian’s straining cock. Sucks him down, like he has on several occasions before, though in different configurations. Ignoring how overwhelming the taste-scent of Julian is as his dick rubs up at his vomeronasal organ, Garak pushes down deeper.
He normally has so many plans in motion, so many angles to keep track of. Constant vigilance in the the steady boredom off his exile, drilled into him since Bammaren. Since before that, even; Tain’s walks and subsequent quizzes. He must do well, must notice everything, answer every question correctly. Otherwise- the closet. The horrible, cramped, darkness.
But here on his knees, kept safely by the collar and securely leashed by Julian’s hand, there is only one task. Only one thing in the whole universe that matters. Pleasure Julian. Suck. That. Cock.
It’s heady. It’s restful. It’s arousing. And it feels deeply, deeply right. Finally, the place he belongs - in service to a kind master worthy of his undying devotion.
Garak grabs the base of Julian’s dick and jerks him in that rough mammalian manner he likes. He mixes suckling around the tip, swishing his strong tongue around the flange and sounding down the slit at the top, with stroking firmly at the lower shaft.
The taste-scent is taking over his perception, so strong it pushes other senses to the fringes. It’s not entirely pleasant, too musky and sweaty, almost pungent. But it is Julian through and through, and it is the correct order of things that it should be on Garak’s palate. The collared one should not be too comfortable. Love is service is sacrifice.
Julian is breathing heavily, not petting his hair or making soft, broken little noises like he otherwise might during this activity. He is calm. Collected, and utterly in control. Garak is throbbing in his pants, hips bucking, seeking friction of any kind.
“Oh look, the nasty spoonhead likes it! Oh lord, what a disgusting little slut! Good on you for clocking him for a freak, Captain.”
The degradation should rankle, but it doesn’t cut at all. Being on his knees for Julian is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, it’s a kick to be recognized for the wanton whore he is. No proper Cardassian should ever debase themselves like this, not to speak about liking it. Garak is clearly no proper Cardassian. And isn’t that a relief!
He is nothing but Julian’s creature, his cock-sleeve, his mindless, collared riding-bitch…
Garak comes untouched. The shame of it fuels his desire, and he sucks with desperate vigour. He can feel by the way Julian is tensing up that he is not far behind. Oh, come my darling, my love, my superior in every way…
Julian suddenly snaps his hips back, depriving Garak’s mouth of hot, pulsing cock. It’s intolerable! Garak whines… then there’s another, tingling sound…
-
Orgasm takes Julian as he rematerializes. His balls cramp deliciously, as he paints Garak’s face in white stripes and groans in ecstasy. This is so wrong. So very unethical. He has never been more turned on in his life. Marking Garak feels primal, feels correct and good and like everything right in the universe…
“Oh feckin’ hell, JULIAN! Put that thing away!! And get up from there, Garak. God bloody dammit, I can never unsee this... Why does the universe hate me?”
The sound of Chief O’Briens voice is like a sobering bucket of ice-cold water dumped over his head. Cheeks burning, Julian does indeed put his ‘thing’ away, as he blinks and looks around. They are in a transporter room, and Miles is standing by the controls with his back turned towards them.
Garak wipes his face with his sleeve and looks utterly dazed. He does not make any move to rise. Instead, he looks up at Julian and rises an eye-ridge in question.
Asking permission.
If Julian hadn’t just cum, he would be hard again. He nods at Garak and holds out a hand to help him up.
“I’m so sorry, Miles! We had to, eh, get creative undercover and…”
“Oh, bloody hell, do shut up Julian! I don’t want to know anything! I didn’t see anything, in fact. I just came to the transporter-room, as per the instruction of a strange message from my mirror universe self, and caught your patterns as they appeared withing range of station. You were both decent when you beamed onboard, and seeing as you were both unharmed, I left to do my actual job. That’s what happened. Now, good day, gentlemen!”
Miles leaves without looking back at them. Garak holds onto Julian's hands, rocking a bit back and forth.
“Hey, lean on me, darling – you’ve been kneeling for a long while.”
Garak does, and seemed to melt a little.
“Thank you, sir.”
They both tense up at the honourific that slipped out of the older man’s mouth. Neither of them comments on it, though.
“Let’s get you to our quarters, hm? I’ll have to go debrief to Sisko, but I’ll find you after, okay?”
Garak nods.
“That sounds agreeable… my dear.”
The usual pet name feels safer. But if he forces himself to think about it, as Julian does while supporting Garak on the way to the turbo-lift… He does like the feeling of “sir” in Garak’s mouth…
-
Back at his quarters, Garak is freed from the collar and chain. He must also relinquish his stolen Gul’s clothing, as everything from the mirror universe is sent to Starfleet labs for study. It pains Garak to let go of the metal circle for some damnable reason. Julian leaves in a hurry, the quicker to return he explains.
Draped in a dramatic robe, Garak feels unmoored. The weight on his neck had been so very… what?
Comforting. Grounding. Arousing
He wants it back. He want’s it back like he wants the Wire…
Only, he hasn’t pined for the Wire’s sweet embrace for some time. Oh, it comes in random pangs and on lonely nights, but nothing like the constant ache at the beginning. He wants a locked collar around his neck and Julian’s hand on his leash like he wants nothing else in his life.
Garak is weak, of course. Pathetic.
But Julian is not. Julian saw Garak in defeat on his knees, collared and loathsome and wanton… and the doctor desired him still. Wants him there, beneath him.
Garak heads to the replicator. It’s been a while since he whipped up a pattern from scratch, but he has been known to dabble with isolinear rods in the past. Computing is, after all, a hobby of his…
-
Julian is nervous, walking back to Garak’s quarters. He is back in uniform and has had a shower. Debriefing with Sisko was a quick affair– they weren’t gone long, and not much of galactic note happened after all. But while the universe at large would move on unchanged, Julian’s private world is rocked by recent revelations.
He has no idea what Garak will be like when he opens the door to his quarters. It had been a rush rush like nothing Julian had ever expected in his life, feeling the power and the utter trust Garak had handed him earlier. He felt like the king of the fucking Alpha-quadrant - the sly and clever spy rendered putty in his hands, greedy for his cock… It was strange and didn’t fit with Julian’s conception of himself. He had never sought power over others.
…only that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He had seen the power doctors held, as a child, and he had been deathly afraid of it. Then he had coveted it.
He wanted the power that came from the knowledge. From the position. From the title, Doctor Bashir… He has never wanted to use his power to hurt, but…the power to take someone into your care is still power. Julian wants desperately for the damn lizard to let him just… take care of him. Completely.
Julian comes ever closer to the door, feeling giddy and panicky with the utter forbiddenness of his thoughts. He wants to take care of Garak’s health – the man is aging and is paying far too little attention to keeping a varied diet and engaging in regular exercise. Julian wants to keep the Cardassian around, and in good health, for as many years to come as possible.
Garak often forgets to eat entirely when wrapped up in finishing a commission on time, only to compensate with the occasional feast at other times - shooting his blood sugar to hell probably. That simply won’t do! Julian will make him a training schedule and a meal plan if he has to, check in on his progress daily and reward him for good behaviour…
Not to mention Garak's frequent indulgences of a highly caloric or alcoholic nature! Julian would make sure Garak is sated on endorphins from… other activities. Restrict treats to when he has been extra good – all things in moderation including moderation after all, Julian shan’t be cruel. Garak can have his Delavian chocolates… when he’s earned them.
Oh, Julian wants to make sure Garak is sleeping enough, and getting his scales scrubbed regularly, and his claw-care… He gets a little hard as he thinks about taking over the responsibility for filing and buffing Garak’s claws for him…especially his toe claws…
This is bizarre. What is wrong with him?! If anyone in the universe knows how to take care of himself, it’s Garak. He’s done it for years and years. More years than Julian’s been alive even, for sure, and under doubtless very trying conditions.
He shouldn’t have to anymore; he must be so tired. I would take such good care of him… he just has to obey his doctor’s orders, and he will be so happy…
Julian shakes his head to clear the intrusive thoughts out. This is nonsense. Utter depravity. Augmentation sickness, probably – an unholy lust for control! He must put it out of his mind.
Garak is a consummate professional. He correctly identified the least painful way out of a dangerous situation – sucking Julian off under pretence of being subjugated – and if Julian got swept up in the fantasy… that is his problem! Garak may look fetching in a collar, but that is a sight Julian will never see again, and he’s fine with that.
Truly.
It’s fine.
It’s a damn shame. But Julian would rather keep Garak in his life, than risk alienating him by bringing up these new and strange desires of his.
He’ll just not talk about it. Yeah, that will work. Garak never brings up vulnerable topics unprompted. This will work.
Garak’s door. He presses the door chime.
“Enter!”
Julian does.
He is met by a sight that takes his breath away. A sight around which the very universe shifts, and falls into place in a new and more perfect configuration. Transcendent.
Garak is kneeling in the middle of the room. He his naked, his ridges flushing and darkening in blue. Around his neck is a metal collar, less heavy and angular that the one from the mirror universe. It’s smooth and rounded at the edges, with a heavy ring in which a chain leash is attached. Garak would be able to sleep in that. Take showers. Shed, even. He will never have to take it off for comfort reasons…
In one hand, Garak holds the leash. In the other, held up flat as an offering, lies a slender metal key. The key to his collar.
Julian stands frozen. Then he is pulled forward, as if from some sort of magnetism. All doubts are crushed like bugs, swept away by the cosmic force of his love's supplication. He stops in front of Garak. The Cardassian keeps his eyes downcast. Reverent. It’s the most beautiful thing Julian has ever seen in his entire life.
Words come to him then, unbidden. They feel sacred, and they feel right. Julian would never have expected it, but this, he knows in his bones – this is their wedding.
“Look at me, my love.”
Garak raises his eyes. They are big and blue, and brimming with emotion. Julian strokes his scaly cheek and picks up the key from the Cardassian’s offering hand.
“I promise to keep you and to care for you. To love you and to protect you. With this key... I keep you safe.”
He puts the key in his pocket. He will have to string it on a proper jewellery chain later to hang it around his neck - his wedding band. A visible token of their union, kept closest to his heart.
Julian takes the leash from Garak’s other offering hand. Some god of old and strange persuasions must be possessing him, for the words return and they feel correct, and holy, and true.
“With this leash, I thee hold. I thee steer, and I thee love. I swear to guide you and to learn from you, to have you as my own and to never forsake you. With this leash, you are mine. Do you accept?”
Garak’s eyes grow misty, and his voice is thick as he replies.
“I do.”
Julian lets out a deep groan of satisfaction. His cock is hard and he feels drunk and Garak is kneeling, and Garak is his, and nothing has ever been this good.
“I love you, Elim Garak.”
“And I you, Julian Subatoi Bashir.”
The reverence in Garak’s voice breaks something, some last dam of propriety holding Julian in it’s grasp. He pulls at the chain, abruptly, and Garak falls face first into his crotch. Julian pets his head, musses that tightly controlled cardassian hair. He thrusts forward with his hips a little, pokes Garak in the chin with his jutting dick.
“Then, my dear… seal our enjoinment.”
Garak shudders. He looks up with big, blue eyes. Adoring, intoxicated, at peace. He put his hands to Julian’s fly.
“Yes sir.”
He mumbles.
Then his mouth is on Julian, and all is right with the world.