Chapter Text
The darkened hallways seemed endless, although he knew that they were in reality distressingly finite. His footsteps and his breathing were barely audible over the background hum of machinery that permeated the artificial world around him, this prison that enclosed his every heartbeat. He moved with the habitual stealth of a trained agent of the Obsidian Order, although his career had long lain in ruins and the urge to scream was always present just below the cold grey sheath of his skin.
At 0247 hours on the night of a workday Garak should have been in bed almost three hours previous. He knew this as well, obviously, just as he knew that he'd be cursing himself come 0700 for spending the wee hours of the morning restlessly wandering Deep Space Nine like a ghost condemned to eternal penance for his sins. Knowing, however, did nothing to ease the underlying physical condition that was causing his insomnia or his general state of low-level and unpleasant excitation. Nor was this his first night unable to bear the confines of his room. Nor would it be the last.
Entask t'porr, the hormonal imbalance caused by lack of regular sexual activity in a mature Cardassian male, was characterized by several different symptoms, not least of which was the restlessness currently making it impossible for Garak to sleep. Hence his long perambulation of the station: down through the habitat ring, onto the Promenade, once completely around it, then back up toward his own quarters. As he walked he turned his mind to anything that had the slightest chance of distracting him — potential fashion trends for the upcoming season, which brand of sizer to purchase next for his shop, the extremely remote possibility that he could find a way to exert some political influence back on Cardassia and get himself recalled home, even the infinitesimally small possibility that he might turn double agent and curry favour with the Federation, which only demonstrated how profoundly out of sorts he actually was. Three years! Three years without knowing the touch of another Cardassian's hand, or indeed the touch of any hand whatsoever other than his own. He'd had small symptomatic tremors before this, including a nasty couple of days after his implant had been deactivated, but until now he'd been fortunate enough to avoid full-blown entask t'porr and its attendant miseries.
Now, however… well, Enabran Tain would be pleased to learn that his son's punishment had taken on a whole new dimension. Once it started the syndrome of hormonal imbalance became more or less permanent until the male in question found a suitable partner, its presence advertised to those who had eyes to see by the blue pigmentation that flared in the rissek structure in the centre of Garak's forehead. Any other Cardassian he encountered would know — and would pity him at the least, or more likely hold him in contempt. Yes, Garak mused as he stepped off the turbolift onto the second level of the habitat ring, Tain would rejoice at the news, and rightly so. For his crimes Garak deserved nothing less than to suffer as much as —
Fifteen meters behind him, an incautious footfall. He did not break his stride or give any outward indication that he'd heard it, but his senses, already keen to the point of pain, went on even higher alert.
Somewhere on the Promenade he'd picked up a "tail", and an inexperienced and highly inept one at that. The man was moving fairly quietly, Garak had to grant him that much, but he was giving himself away in a dozen other little ways that an agent of the Order, even one in the grip of entask t'porr, could hardly fail to notice. The cadence of the footsteps as his pursuer hastened to catch up with him (having gotten off at the next turbolift station down the hall) was familiar enough that it didn't take a genius to take the tail's presence, put it together with Garak's recent lectures to a certain Doctor Julian Bashir about techniques in surveillance, and come up with an end sum that made perfect, if annoying, sense. So the Doctor had decided to put Garak's advice to the test, had he? Well, Garak was in no mood to play the role of a gobbet of meat to train an eager young hawk. He pretended perfect ignorance until he was able to round a corner and turn down a right-angle corridor, and then he slipped sideways into the shadow of a ceiling support without a sound and stood waiting, not even breathing, as invisible as the darkness itself.
Bashir, utterly unsuspecting, strode up the corridor and past the junction — and came to a stop. Garak could easily picture the look of puzzlement on his mobile face as he scanned the empty hallway ahead, wondering where his quarry had gone even as Garak slipped out of the corridor behind him on feet that were truly silent. He moved in behind the naive young man with the sinuous glide of a serpent and reached up to clasp a hand around the slim caramel throat, wrapping his other arm around the slender waist and closing his fingers on the inner curve of Bashir's right elbow. He didn't intend to injure the youth, who had offered him friendship from the day they'd met and whose presence made his exile here tolerable, so he kept his grip relatively light, just hard enough to impress upon the Doctor that he'd been caught.
Bashir stiffened at the contact, then exhaled a disappointed breath. "Garak!" He didn't seem to object to the close physical contact, even relaxing back against the Cardassian in a way that woke up long-slumbering and completely inappropriate pathways in Garak's nervous system. Entask t'porr, like the hydra of Terran myth, reared yet another venomous head in a rush of heat through his entire body. He let no trace of that reaction escape.
"Doctor," he greeted the Human in return, speaking softly into Bashir's left ear. In their current footwear they were almost of a height, with Garak only a scant centimeter shorter. "May I ask what you're doing here?"
A pause, then Bashir said hopefully: "Taking a midnight stroll?"
Garak couldn't suppress a smile. Really, a Starfleet officer should be a much better liar. "I'm afraid I don't believe that for an instant," he said in a tone almost of apology, and tightened his hold just a little to make Bashir uncomfortable enough to pull away. "Would you like to try again?"
To his surprise the physician made no attempt to extricate himself. His slender body was still relaxed, with none of the tension Garak would have expected in a man this close to an Obsidian Order operative. He seemed perfectly at ease, and through the increasing buzz of physical warmth — a blessing on this icebox of a station — Garak wondered at his naive trust. "Odo tells me you've been unable to sleep," he said as casually as if they were talking over their usual table at the Replimat, "and I wanted to see for myself." He brought his left hand up to Garak's right wrist but made no attempt to pry his fingers loose from his throat, and in a quieter voice he asked: "How long has this been going on?"
"My late-night forays, or my justifiable annoyance at —" He stopped mid-sentence, reminding himself that the Doctor, with his usual misplaced Federation benevolence, was only trying to help. Releasing Bashir, he found himself reluctant to do so and even less happy to take a small step back from the welcome heat of that mammalian body. "I'm sure Constable Odo has already told you everything he knows."
Bashir turned to face him at once, making no effort to put more distance between them. His fine-boned face bore an expression just as earnest as Garak would have expected, his dark eyes wide and questioning. "That doesn't tell me what I really need to know." His glance darted to Garak's forehead before locking their gazes once more. "Does it have something to do with your change in pigmentation? I first noticed it six days ago, which matches with the Constable's —"
A flash of irritation almost made Garak snarl and hiss. He confined his external reaction to a snappish tone of voice: "While I appreciate your concern, Doctor, there's really no need for you to lose sleep worrying about my health. I assure you I'm perfectly —"
"Yes," Bashir snapped back with an annoyed edge of his own, "I've certainly heard that before, and I hope you'll pardon me if I don't believe you."
Garak stared back at him, infusing his gaze with amazement. "And I hope you'll pardon me if I ask you what business you have following me around in the middle of the night? I didn't ask for your help, and I certainly don't appreciate you interfering in things that are none of your concern!"
Bashir's stern look collapsed into something far more compassionate, and thus even more annoying. "Garak — I'm your friend. I want to help you." And then, before Garak could do more than open his mouth to offer a scathing retort, his short supply of patience utterly exhausted, the impertinent child stepped forward and put both arms around him as if fear was the furthest thing from his mind.
The embrace was warm and affectionate, the kiss that placed a seal upon it soft and sensuous and lingering. Behind his penile sheath Garak felt a deep pulse of sweet tension, a stirring, a tumescent pressure, even as he stared into the Human's eyes and wondered if he could possibly be dreaming. He stared while Bashir gazed back at him, a silly little smile on his tender blushing lips, until at last he managed to find words at least partially suitable to the circumstances: "How… unexpected of you."
The smile widened, becoming both shy and fond. "It is a hormonal condition, isn't it? Entask t'porr?"
"And what if it is?" As distracting as the throbbing in his groin was it didn't stop the racing of his Order-trained mind. How had the boy known what the pigment change in his rissek structure signified? How much else had he figured out?
"Do you really think that I don't care enough to want to help you?" Another kiss, this one briefer but no less appealing; then, when Garak remained wary and tense, a little sigh. "Enabran Tain included the information in one of the files he provided. Garak, why didn't you tell me that Cardassian males require —?"
"Because it's frankly none of your business." But it was impossible to remain aloof with so much golden skin pressed against him, separated from his own cooler grey flesh by only a few pesky layers of fabric easily removed. He placed his hands on Bashir's slim waist but did not push the boy away, although he managed to resist the impulse to pull him even closer. He did allow himself a small sigh of his own, barely audible, and wondered at his own weakness. "And… because you've never shown any inclination to pursue anyone who wasn't young, pretty and female."
Bashir shrugged. "Just because I haven't talked about it doesn't mean the inclination wasn't there." He took a little step nearer, pressing body length fully against body length, and now Garak could feel the Human's own half-hardness — so strange and impractical, the concept of external genitalia! — pressing against him. "Especially with you. Especially after the way you touched me the first time we met."
"Ah." Garak was finding the younger man's proximity incredibly pleasant, no doubt due to his higher-than-usual hormonal levels… but also because the quality of the embrace was so different from any he'd ever experienced before. In the past people had approached him with deference to his rank, or with fear for his power, or with passion of varying degrees of falsity in an attempt to manipulate him to their will, but in this contact with Bashir he sensed nothing more sinister than concern that went quite a bit further than propriety dictated. It felt friendly, and comforting, and warm in a way that went beyond sexual heat, although that was certainly smouldering just below the surface. "You remember that, do you?"
"How could I forget?" Bashir's hazel eyes were so bright, shining with equal amusement and hope. "You scared the hell out of me, and wound me up so much that I couldn't stop thinking about it for days afterwards."
"It's nice to know that I haven't lost my touch," Garak quipped. Then Bashir reached up and caressed his left neckridge — lightly, the mere trailing of fingertips along the edges of the large scales — and he yielded to temptation and tasted the Human's mouth again, amazed at how it managed to be equally appealing to the eyes and to the lips. "My dear Doctor —"
"You can call me 'Julian' now, Garak." His smile was fond and inviting and just teasing enough to pique Garak's pursuit instinct. "We've kissed each other. It's allowed."
"My very dear Julian." His hands slipped around to the small of the Human's back and pulled him in, as close as was possible without falling against the nearest wall and entwining themselves like snakes. "Medical files aside, I don't think you understand what you're offering — or asking for."
"I'm offering to make things easier for you." He dropped his gaze and then raised it again, regarding Garak through lowered lashes. The boy had talent, Garak had to give him that. "Unless you find me unattractive, of course. I won't be offended if you do."
"Unattractive?" Garak blinked at him, then permitted himself a hot predatory smile. "Have you entirely failed to notice how I look at you?"
"No," Julian responded honestly, "I could scarcely miss that. But I thought you might just be playing a game with me."
"I see all my lessons in Cardassian culture haven't gone for naught." He could feel his breath coming more deeply now and wondered if Julian could perceive the darkening of the blue pigment on his forehead and the mirroring tinge in the scales along his neck and aural ridges. That should have been all the answer required, but the boy was only Human. Garak would have to educate him in this as well. He regarded the man in his arms with genuine curiosity. "Surely you've read the reports of Cardassian atrocities during the Occupation. Yet you don't seem afraid."
"I know you wouldn't hurt me." Such certainty. Garak truly hoped that it would not one day prove to be misplaced.
"Never intentionally," he agreed, and it was as close to the truth as anything he'd ever said to this officer from the enemy side. Leaning in, he pressed a biting kiss to the golden neck with just enough of an edge of teeth to cause a frisson of pain, alert for any sign of revulsion; instead Julian tipped his head back a little and drew a sharp breath, as if the sensation pleased him. The pressure in Garak's sheath increased almost to the point of eversion. Oh, it had been too long indeed. "But I don't think this is the place to be having this discussion, do you?"
"No." His gorgeous voice was slightly roughened, which did nothing for Garak's peace of mind. "My quarters?"
Garak released him and stepped away. It was the hardest thing he'd had to do in a very long time, and the yearning he saw in Julian's eyes only quickened his lust. "After you, my dear!