Work Text:
The transformation of the heart is a wondrous thing, no matter how you land there. - Patti Smith, M Train
***
It’s only dawn but already it’s blasting hot. Devastatingly hot. Even for Garak. This summer has been the hottest on record thanks to the environmental destruction wrought by the Dominion, and it’s the first time in the nearly three years he’s been back on Cardassia that the heat is simply too much. It’s dreadfully unpleasant, but it is a kind of milestone. He thought he’d never get the chill of seven years of exile out of his bones, but here he is, too hot. And looking on the bright side, such as it is. This must be how Julian feels most of the time. Both overwhelmed by the heat and ridiculously optimistic.
Speaking of Julian. His new bondmate of three days, the probable source of this outlandish, giddy optimism, lies, his back to Garak, in deep sleep on the other side of the bed.
Julian is his bondmate, and he’s Julian’s.
How did this happen? Elim Garak isn’t supposed to be this...content. Placid. Domestically fulfilled. Fortunate. Yes, it’s a strange match by Cardassian standards. Many would pity him. A first marriage in middle age is bad enough. That no suitable children are likely to be the fruit of this union, since Julian is both a man and an alien, means that many would wonder why they bothered in the first place. Same-sex marriage is all very well and good on Cardassia, but only after a fertile first or second marriage has come to its natural conclusion. But that doesn’t really matter, not now.
When he was a child, before he had learned his true place in the machinery of Cardassian society, young Elim Garak had assumed that marriage and a family were in his future. He knew what he was from an early age, but still, it was not unknown for bastards who worked hard and proved good character to form marriage bonds. Especially in the serving classes. But Tain had seen to it those misconceptions were corrected early, and from then on Garak had taken it as a given that he’d never share his life with anyone in a meaningful way. And that it was all worth it for Cardassia.
But the war changed everything. It makes not a bit of difference to Cardassia if a clerk in the diplomatic corps is bonded or not. In fact it benefits Cardassia that a brilliant human doctor has decided to build a life here. So if the scolds and muckrakers of Cardassia want it, they are perfectly welcome to their pity.
Julian’s kicked the cover down and he’s wearing his usual sleepwear on Cardassia, a pair of black Starfleet-issue briefs. Normally, upon waking this early, Garak would enfold Julian in his arms, marking him with his scent, and go back to sleep. But it’s too hot right now. And he doesn’t want to wake Julian. His dear doctor hasn’t slept properly in weeks, what with work, the enjoinment ceremony, taking care of the off-world guests, finally seeing the last ones off home, and now this heat. It’s good to see him finally resting, but it’s also a shame, because it’s the first real day off they’ve had together in a long time, and there’s talk of relocating the more heat-sensitive Federation personnel, like the Betazoids and the humans, to cooler parts of the planet for the duration of the summer. That is regrettable, given that they’ve only just been enjoined, but they are enjoined, after all. Garak feels a sense of security in this that has been absent every other time Julian has had to leave. Of course Julian will come back. Garak’s not sure if this secure feeling is attributable to a deeply entrenched sense of Cardassian tradition and faith in the family bond - which would definitely be a good thing - or, again, to this strange, fluttering sense of optimism that is probably un-Cardassian, certainly un-Elim Garak, and decidedly Federation. But maybe a good thing? A little optimism is needed on the new Cardassia, but he hasn’t decided yet just how much.
In any case, Julian is fast asleep and Garak is wide awake and would rather be doing something with Julian - talking, reading silently, eating breakfast, having sex. But at least (bright side, Elim!) watching him sleep from here affords a good view of his body.
And what a lovely body. Julian’s hip juts up provocatively, the band of his briefs accentuating the curve of his bottom. His legs are splayed out, revealing that so-human dusting of body hair on his inner thigh. Also very human is the sheen of sweat on Julian’s skin and the tendrils of hair curling damply on the back of his neck. It’s still hard to believe that Garak can reach out and caress any part of this glorious creature that he wants.
It’s just that right now he won’t.
Julian sighs and flops onto his belly. The movement is so Julian, awkward and graceful at the same time, even in sleep. The scent of him wafts through the hot, still air, and the combined sensations are...very stimulating. There’s a rush of warmth and wetness. He knows that the scales on the lips of his ajan have engorged a little, then decides that if he won’t touch Julian he will at least touch himself. His fingers creep down, and brushing his dampening slit he ponders what position he’d like to have Julian in this morning, when he finally wakes up.
Sometimes Julian likes to be on his front, almost immobile from Garak’s weight pressing him down into the mattress. The hip thrusts can be a little tricky to get right, but Julian arches nicely into Garak when Garak hits the sweet spot, and holding Julian close and feeling his whole body shudder as he comes is a delicious experience. But it’s far too hot for that kind of thing today. Something with less body contact would be better.
Briefly he envisions Julian’s head bobbing between his thighs, lips wrapped around his prUt, eyes flicking up to check. It’s an engaging vision to be sure, and Garak feels another warm liquid rush as he opens a little more. But no. Assuming Julian is in agreement, and there’s no reason to think he won’t be, Garak wants to possess that lanky body this morning. He wants to take him, do what he knows will undo Julian. It feels like forever since he’s fucked Julian.
Garak adores fucking Julian. He responds so beautifully to every thrust and stroke. That amazing organ, the prostate, that most human men have, means Garak is able to do things to Julian that he couldn’t do to a Cardassian lover. Julian claims that Cardassians have a similar organ but it unfortunately doesn’t have that particular feature, and that it’s just a lucky fluke of evolution that the human prostate is located where it is and that it can produce such a pleasurable sensation when stimulated. Garak teases Julian sometimes that he’s not so sure about this ‘fluke of evolution’ business, that sometimes it seems like Julian is just designed to be fucked. He enjoys it so much. And the fact that Julian’s anatomy allows him to be taken just as easily from the front or the back means that there are so many more ways a Cardassian can fuck a human than the reverse. They’ve tried nearly everything over the years, of course. But the Cardassian cloacal opening is quite a bit further to the front of the body than any human orifice, and Julian is not able to get in very deeply from behind. It’s also uncomfortable for Garak. Neither of them find it very satisfying, so when it’s Garak’s turn to be fucked, they’re usually face-to-face.
And of course he enjoys being fucked by his dear Julian. He’s absolutely darling in his intensity. The way he concentrates when he’s guiding his cock in. The open-eyed way he searches Garak’s face as he thrusts, for assurance that he’s pleasing him. The experimental way he places Garak’s legs so that he can find purchase at different angles. The way he grins wickedly when he elicits gasps and moans from Garak, and then thrusts a little harder for good measure. His weight after he climaxes, and has collapsed onto Garak’s chest, defenceless for a dangerous second.
Garak’s Obsidian Order training sometimes bubbles unwelcome into his mind at these times. This vulnerable moment is the opportune time to do three things. One is to kill your lover, of course, although this can be messy and is a last resort. Garak has only done this once in the course of his work. The second is to make your lover trust you; after he comes into you, you tenderly hold him, or allow him to hold you, and caress him, or whisper to him, or sigh contentedly. The third, following along naturally from the second, is to coax information from your lover. An obvious trick but an effective one; it seems men of all species are fools after copulation. Garak was particularly skilled at this in his younger days, when he’d put his round baby face to good use. A thoughtless answer to an innocent, even foolish, question in a charmingly working-class accent from the sweet young assistant gardener in his bed had been the undoing of a number of powerful guls and legates. It had even worked on Romulus; Garak had simply swapped out the accent for a shy post-coital confession that he’d never bedded an alien before, and he hoped he’d been satisfactory, sir. It disarmed older Romulan men amazingly well, and Garak had had three ‘first alien lovers’ by the time he’d left the planet.
With Julian it was different. When they’d met Garak’s days of playing the wide-eyed innocent were long behind him, and in any case, how could anyone have been more wide-eyed and innocent than Julian that first time in the Replimat? But he’d needed to make a connection with the station’s new masters, for survival more than anything else, and the young doctor was the obvious choice. So he’d slipped a thin veil of ‘innocence’ over a general mien of mystery and danger, sure to appeal to a naive but adventurous Starfleet officer, and, after considering that it would probably be very effective on a clever young doctor, second in his class, eager to please, a slightly chiding professorial manner too. And he’d been right. Young Doctor Bashir was in his bed within a week of arriving on the station.
That Julian turned out to have a ‘thing’, as he puts it, for spies had been an unforeseen boon. No doubt it had hastened the seduction of Julian Bashir. Julian’s told him as much. But what really pleasantly surprised Garak had been the young man’s quick mind, his eagerness to absorb anything Garak would tell him, but at the same time to boldly and shamelessly argue any point he did not agree with, despite the fact that Garak was his elder and that, at first, he was clearly still a little afraid of Garak. When, three weeks in, an offhand comment during a post-coital cuddle had led to a literature discussion, and he’d given Julian Relish the Fray to read, and he’d actually read it and wanted to talk about it, and had had some decent insights, for an off-worlder (though Garak still hasn’t told him that), Garak had realised he was dangerously besotted with the Starfleet doctor.
He’d considered withdrawing at that point, sentiment being a deadly weakness, but he still needed a channel to the Federation, and the next best prospects, friendship with the Trill or some kind of mentor relationship with young Jake Sisko, had been too prone to scrutiny and fraught with risk. So he’d continued the relationship, even nurtured it, and at the same time tried to stay as distant as possible.
Though it had torn at his heart, he’d encouraged Julian to see other people, to think of himself and Garak as no more than friends who enjoyed sex with each other when it was convenient. And to Garak’s professional satisfaction but his personal dismay, Julian had had a string of relationships that, though generally short-lived, were more ‘real’ than whatever it was he and Garak had in that they were public and, well, defined as relationships.
But it had been necessary both for his own safety and for Julian’s that neither become too attached, and certainly not in a public way. To his delight and growing unease, however, the doctor seemed to like him as a person more and more as the facade of mystery necessarily fell away and little pieces of Garak’s real personality showed through. Still, sometimes Garak thought he must be imagining the way Julian looked at him over the table at the Replimat. Yes, they were sleeping together (sometimes) and yes, they were friends, but it wasn’t possible that he was the only beneficiary of the dazzling radiance of Julian Bashir’s full attention. Certainly Julian must have been looking at other friends and lovers the same way he looked at Garak. Garak was just a pathetic old fool, projecting his desires and seeing what he wanted to see. Even now Garak is not sure. He supposes he could ask Julian, but would Julian even know?
It still amazes Garak sometimes that this human who was going to be nothing more than an attractive object to amuse himself with and to ensure his safety on an enemy space station has become the most beloved and important person in his life.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t still see Julian as an attractive object sometimes. Garak tastes Julian’s sweat in the air and continues to fondle himself. He is fully open now, and his prUt is emerging, lazily, as if it knows there is no hurry and that there will be plenty of time for languorously fucking Julian today. Garak strokes the slick head, not really trying to coax the rest out just yet. He is just enjoying the sensation.
When Garak fucks Julian, they exemplify the Terran proverb ‘variety is the spice of life’. Facing each other, from behind, sideways, sitting, standing, kneeling, lying down, squatting, feet on Garak’s shoulders, legs wrapped around Garak’s waist, Julian’s feet nearly at his ears, in bed, on the floor, in the bath, against the wall, in front of the window in Julian’s quarters under the swirling wormhole. Julian is fuckable in any situation. Garak slides one finger into his unfurled ajan to play with the sensitive scales on the inside of the lip, rerunning in his mind the time he and Julian discovered that the back of the sofa in his quarters on the station was exactly the right height over which to drape one’s human lover and absolutely ruin him.
Perhaps he’ll take Julian on all fours this morning, in the position Julian calls ‘doggy-style’. Garak’s seen an Earth doggy and can’t for the life of him understand why humans would name a sex position after such a foolish creature. But humans can’t really seem to take sex seriously the way Cardassians do, and he is resigned to this after being with Julian for so many years. It is a very appealing position, in any case. He loves the view it allows of Julian’s bottom and back. The way Julian’s anus slyly winks at him as he relaxes in anticipation of Garak’s prUt. Garak will never tire of watching his prUt sliding in and out of Julian’s tight little ring as he renders Julian helpless and mewling into his pillow.
It’s Julian’s favourite position. Julian claims it’s because of the angle, but Garak has noticed his bondmate is fond of taking a submissive role in bed. He likes being told what to do, being held down, rendered ‘helpless’. Garak suspects it’s because of the genetic enhancements. Though he hides it well, Julian’s ‘gifts’ mean he is usually the most powerful being in the room. Garak knows he resents this, and has a certain amount of self-loathing about it. From what he’s learned about human sexuality over the years, power, resentment, and self-loathing are all elements that mix themselves up into sexual desires. In any case, Garak is happy to hold Julian down sometimes. He’ll even use ‘that voice’ once in a while, because Julian has asked him to. He’s relieved that Julian has never asked him to go any farther than that, though. They don’t really talk about that aspect of Garak’s former life. Julian rarely asks, and Julian is his warmth, his sunlight, after a life spent in the shadows. He still goes into the shadows, occasionally, in his new job, although never as deep as he used to, but most of his life now is spent in the light. It disturbs him when his two worlds collide.
On Cardassia, human men are fetishised. Garak’s lost count of the number of times someone’s found out his partner is a male human and asked, leeringly, if it’s true that they can be taken from behind, and what’s more that they love it, and moan and beg for more. Sometimes it’s a political rival trying to unnerve him. Sometimes it’s a fossil from the upper classes, unsure, even on the new Cardassia, how to reconcile Garak’s serving-class name and accent with his high position, and disquieted by the very idea. With this second group Garak usually thickens his accent to a degree that would have had Mila rolling her eyes and deals an appropriately cutting remark in the serving-class vernacular. Sometimes, especially with military men, it’s a misguided attempt to bond. This last group usually don’t know about Julian, just that Garak spent seven years on a Federation-controlled station. How they can look at Garak and imagine men were throwing themselves at him, Garak has no idea.
But whatever the circumstance, it’s never anyone of Garak’s own class who is so crude. No well brought-up Cardassian of any class, even the notoriously dissolute ruling class, should ask such questions about someone’s partner or sex life, but members of the serving class view this kind of impropriety as particularly undignified. Although he is in theory supposed to be in favour of an increasingly open society in which, among other radical ideas, one’s class at birth does not restrict one’s opportunities later in life (though not to the ridiculous extent they have, or at least claim to have, eliminated class altogether on Earth - how unsettling not to know one’s place in society), he is glad to see that his own class seem to be maintaining their sense of decorum. You can still tell serving class children by their impeccable manners and dress and by the way they respect their elders.
The Cardassian fetishisation of human men is even worse for Julian, of course, and Garak knows that Julian doesn’t tell him every time another Cardassian man expresses interest. Partly because he’s a little resentful of Garak’s protectiveness, but beautiful Julian, slim, long-necked and fine-boned, and boyish even now in his late thirties, is exactly the sort to attract attention from a certain kind of man. Garak has warned him of this several times. A certain kind of man? Julian snorts. With a human fetish? What a depraved individual. However do you think I should deal with such a person if he approaches me? Garak retorts that Julian should take advantage of the unique expertise being offered to him. Julian responds that things might have turned out very differently if he’d had the benefit of that kind of expertise his first week on DS9. Garak agrees that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.
Julian says he actually had more trouble in this regard on Deep Space Nine, whenever Dukat’s crew or other Cardassian soldiers were on the station, than he has on Cardassia. Garak was surprised at this when Julian first told him; though they’d had no agreement of monogamy on the station, Garak had still taken the liberty of marking Julian with his scent at every encounter. Even at their lunches a brush of Garak’s wrist on Julian’s sleeve should have left enough scent to make it clear to other Cardassians that this human was not available to them. Garak supposes he underestimated the determination of large groups of military men on shore leave, on edge and egging each other on. He suspects Dukat might even have encouraged it among his men, just to get at Garak, because for the greater part of Julian’s first year on Cardassia Garak had had no claim to Julian and so left him unscented, and Julian was mostly unmolested. Most Cardassians, it seems, are able to express polite interest or curiosity and take rejection in stride.
And no one else has ever, Julian is fond of pointing out, hit on him as blatantly as he now realises Garak did the first time they met. Planting his hands on Julian’s shoulders! Inviting him for some ‘enjoyable company’, that old cliched euphemism! Garak usually counters that he was aware at the time that Julian would have no idea what Cardassian flirting was like, so of course he had to be blatant, or he wouldn’t have got anywhere. Humans are no good at recognising subtlety. Second, Julian liked it well enough, didn’t he? Didn’t it work? Julian has to concede that it did work, very well. Garak usually then expresses dismay that Julian always seems to expect him to operate using some complex strategy or other, when really he is quite a simple man who employs simple methods to get what he wants.
In reality Garak is relieved that Julian was genuinely unaware, at the time, of the Cardassian predilection for human men. Because the truth is Garak was struck by Julian’s beauty from the first moment he saw him and was just as curious to find out if the rumours were true as any of the glinns or guls or civilians who’ve hit on Julian since then, and if Julian had realised that he was being objectified he probably would not have been as receptive to Garak’s advances. Garak needles him sometimes about this, because Julian’s since told him that not all humans with prostates enjoy anal stimulation. What an absolute waste, Garak thinks, but such is the human capacity for individual taste and preference. Happily for Garak, Julian turned out to be a living, breathing stereotype. He’d allowed Garak to take the lead for most of the encounter, the only exception being when he suggested Garak ride him from behind. Which Garak was only too happy to do. And when preparing the young man to receive his prUt, his exploring finger had stroked Julian’s prostate and Julian had gasped and started. Garak could hardly believe his luck - not only had he lured this enchanting creature to his bed, but the rumours were true. The noises he’d elicited from Julian that evening had been immensely satisfying and exciting.
Maybe Garak will have Julian on his back today. Julian makes the most captivating face when Garak fucks him. His eyes flutter closed, his mouth drops open, and he arches his smooth, alien neck. Usually an arm is flung over his head, fist clenched. All tension vanishes, and Julian is absolutely lost.
“Elim.” Julian’s voice is throaty with sleep. Still on his belly, Julian has turned his head and is blinking and puffy-eyed. “You’ve started without me.”
“Dear, you’re the reason I’m in this state to begin with. You have no grounds to chastise me.”
“Is that so? And just what have I done?” Julian has rolled onto his side to face Garak. He reaches out one hand to caress Garak’s neck ridge. “Tell me so I can make sure I don’t do it again.”
Garak gasps and catches his breath before replying. Julian has such clever fingers.
“You know very well what you’ve done, and I’m beginning to suspect you do it on purpose.”
“Go ahead and think that, but if you don’t tell me I can’t guarantee I won’t do it again.” Julian pinches, hard. Garak gasps again and closes his eyes.
“It might have something to do with these,” he says when he’s recovered. He slips a finger into the band of Julian’s briefs and snaps it. “You’re enjoined now, dear. What kind of signals are you sending out?”
“Oh, have I broken another taboo?” Julian’s woken up properly, and he wriggles out of the offending garment. “Is that better?”
Without the briefs, it is plain to see that Julian is fully awake now.
“Slightly,” Garak sniffs, maintaining an offended tone and, finally, pulling Julian towards him. “Although it’s more of a social norm than a taboo that you’ve violated.”
“I’m so sorry, Elim. I hope I can make it up to you somehow.” Garak is on his back and Julian is straddling him now. Garak is letting his hands do what he’s been wanting to do all morning: wander over Julian’s smooth skin wherever they can reach. They finally settle on Julian’s buttocks, which they squeeze abruptly. Julian falls forward a little before he catches himself. He leans down and nips Garak’s neck ridge. “Can I ask you a…sensitive cultural question?”
Julian can ask anything he wants if he continues to do that, and he knows it. Garak assents semi-verbally.
“What do you call this?” Julian fingers the neck of Garak’s sleepwear. “Not that I’m complaining, but this hardly seems modest.”
He means by Cardassian standards. All his life Garak has maintained the fastidious Cardassian sense of decorum. A man or boy is covered from collarbone to wrist to toe at all times, except when washing, swimming, or in the most intimate of situations (women are allowed a little more bare skin around the arm and collarbone, but otherwise the same standards apply). When sleeping, modest pyjamas are always worn. The habit some species have of sleeping in their undergarments or naked is regarded as quite disgusting. But last night, in deference to the unprecedented heat, Garak went to bed in a light silk undershirt and shorts. His arms and legs are scandalously bare. It is remarkably freeing, and Garak thinks he might tell Kelas about this radical practice. It’s the new Cardassia, after all. Collectively as a people they are examining their values and beliefs and deciding which to keep, which to modify, and which to jettison altogether, so they must discuss these things without shame.
But that’s no reason he can’t engage in a little foreplay, Cardassian-style, with Julian.
“What I call this is a disgraceful emergence of Federation values. I fear that if even I can be corrupted then there is little hope for the rest of the planet.”
“Mmmhmmm.” Julian has pushed the undershirt up to Garak’s armpits. “If you would remove your hands from my Federation arse for a moment I could help you off with this.”
“Why would I want to do that? I’ve been waiting all morning to get my hands on your ‘Federation arse’.” Garak squeezes again. Julian laughs and allows himself to fall further forward this time. He catches himself so that they are nose-to-nose.
“Have you? You’re a patient man, Mr Garak.” His lips meet Garak’s and his tongue invades Garak’s mouth. Garak kneads Julian’s buttocks as they kiss.
Kissing. Another practice introduced by the Federation; unlike a lot of Federation species, Cardassians don’t really kiss. Or didn’t kiss. It’s apparently becoming popular among young people, which bothers Garak a little. Julian says he’s being hypocritical. Doesn’t Garak enjoy kissing quite a lot? Julian isn’t at all convinced by Garak’s argument that it’s different for him, because he has a human partner, but Cardassians shouldn’t be kissing other Cardassians because it’s un-Cardassian and has no practical purpose.
The first time they discussed it, Julian had rolled his eyes and asked Garak if he wasn’t at least happy that, having been kissing for years before it became popular on Cardassia, he could be considered fashionable by the young people. Garak had been sincerely baffled by that remark, as opposed to the mock-bafflement with Federation mores he usually puts on for get-a-reaction-out-of-Julian purposes. Julian was clearly joking, but what was the joke? Why would a mature adult like himself care what young people thought? And what did young people have to do with what was fashionable, anyway? And, finally, Garak is always classically fashionable. That is an indisputable fact, not a personal opinion. Julian’s aesthetic sensibilities are questionable, but surely he could recognise this?
He had said as much to Julian, and Julian, a little sheepishly, had explained Terran youth culture. Ah yes, the curious obsession with youth. Julian had been genuinely upset to be turning thirty back on the station, and now his fortieth birthday is approaching. Garak hopes that Julian has absorbed a bit more appreciation of ageing from his exposure to Cardassian culture, but just the same had made a mental note to research the significance of other milestone birthdays to humans, just in case he needed to prepare for another crisis or, at the very least, another grumpy Julian.
Now when Garak complains about youngsters kissing each other, Julian just kisses him harder. Or threatens to never kiss him again. Or brushes his ear and offers him oo-mox instead. The kids’ll be doing this soon, Elim. Ferengi culture is the next big thing. Don’t you want to stay relevant?
They finally come up for air. Julian’s been manipulating Garak’s neck ridges the whole time, and they are throbbing and tender all the way down. He’s ready for Julian to talk him into taking his shirt off.
“I could probably do more with these if I could reach them better.” Lightly, Julian mouths Garak’s shoulder ridge through the fabric. Garak can hardly feel it. The ghost feeling of Julian’s mouth is irresistible and nearly painful.
“You are an impenitent jorak moEs,” Garak hisses. Ridge-teaser, and a very ugly word that Garak would not have used except he knows vulgarity in bed pleases Julian.
“Am I?” Julian goes for the other side. “It’s not my fault I can’t reach them properly.”
After a final grope Garak reluctantly unhands Julian’s delectable bottom. He slides a finger down Julian’s cleft, which is hot and slick with sweat, and presses teasingly on the little knot of muscle he’s planning on paying more attention to later. Julian starts and his ring puckers under Garak’s finger. Garak smirks and lifts his hands over his head, allowing Julian to shrug the shirt off.
“Be careful, Julian,” Garak grouses, more because he knows Julian expects it than out of any real concern for the garment. “That’s delicate.”
“Yes, I will,” Julian says absently, more focused on exposing Garak’s body than on anything else. He tosses the shirt anything but carefully over the side of the bed and moves in to pay some attention to Garak’s shoulder and neck.
Garak certainly wants that, but first he wants to get a rise out of his bondmate. So he stops Julian with a hand on his chest and raises the other to take a long sniff of the finger that’s still damp from Julian’s sweat. The odour sends another rush of dampness and heat to his groin, and his prUt protests against the thin fabric of his shorts.
“Ugh. Really, Elim? My arse sweat?” Julian’s dismay isn’t real. He’s laughing. He knows very well that Cardassians are an olfactory people and that Garak is quite taken with the smell of his sweat. Not to mention his arse. “I can make you a spray with that scent if you’d like, for when I’m away.”
“It wouldn’t be the same, dear. I prefer the genuine experience.”
“Mmmm. So do I.” Julian applies himself properly to Garak’s shoulder ridges.
There are no words for a while, and the shorts Garak has shamelessly been moistening all morning somehow find themselves on the floor too. In the end, Garak has Julian Julian’s way. Impatient Julian doesn’t want to wait. Garak stays on his back as Julian lowers himself carefully onto Garak’s prUt. They both gasp, and, once Garak is firmly, deeply inside him, his hands on Julian’s hips, Julian begins to move up and down, slowly at first, then speeding up, until he is bouncing vigorously on top of Garak. He kindly stops just before bringing Garak to climax and turns his focus onto himself. Perhaps because he is normally so considerate, Garak loves Julian like this, selfish and louche, pleasuring himself as if Garak is not even in the room, as if he doesn’t still have Garak’s unsatisfied prUt inside of him. It’s a gargantuan effort to do nothing, but Garak allows Julian to stroke himself nearly to completion.
“Are you forgetting something, dear?”
“Fuck me, Elim!”
That’s enough self-restraint. Garak’s hands firm their hold on Julian’s hips and he thrusts upwards. Julian whimpers and Garak takes this as an invitation to go faster. A few more strokes and Julian has reached release, his pearly semen in a warm pool on Garak’s belly. Garak, past the point of return, comes soon after. Julian collapses for a few moments into Garak, but in the morning heat they soon roll away. Garak reaches into the side table for the soft cloths they keep just for this purpose and hands one to Julian, and they clean themselves, and turn on their sides to face each other. It’s too hot to embrace, but there’s no real need to leave the bed either. Julian will be after coffee soon - it’s too hot to really want food - and Garak will chaff him for his Federation-sanctioned addiction, but there’s no reason they can’t get some books, some coffee, some rokassa juice, and stay in bed all morning. Tomorrow they work, and then Julian will go away. But today they have each other.
“Do you want to stay in bed, love, and I’ll get the rokassa juice?” Julian has read Garak’s mind.
“Thank you, dear. Could you get my PADD from the sofa as well?”
A wind stirs the curtain and just like that, the room darkens. A bang sounds outside, and a few seconds later a flash of light, followed by the exhilarating smell of ozone. The rain comes next, first pattering lightly on the makeshift roof Garak fashioned when he first returned to Cardassia, then increasing in intensity. The temperature of the room drops. They exchange glances, and Julian goes to close the window as Garak, shivering a little, wraps himself up in the blanket.
“There wasn’t any rain forecast, was there, Elim?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
This is a good and unexpected thing. The rain has tamped down the heat already and the thunder and lightning have broken the tension of the heatwave. The region was not yet desperate for rain, but there were concerns that crops would be stunted if it was a dry summer. And this rain has already guaranteed that Julian and the other Federationers will not be going away after all, at least not yet. Perhaps sometimes optimism is not misplaced.
Julian returns from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with coffee, rokassa juice, fruit, and their PADDS. A second blanket is draped over his shoulder.
“I thought you might be cold,” he says, setting the tray down and settling the blanket over the two of them. It’s definitely not cold for Julian, but he cuddles up anyway, and reaches for his coffee with the arm that is not warmly resting on Garak’s shoulders.