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Garak woke gradually, to the heat of a summer's morning. He could already hear the ceaseless chirring of the insects outside, and through his half-closed eyelids see the white glare of sunlight coming through the chinks in the blinds. Julian was not in his customary position, nestled up to his back with an arm around his waist; when he rolled over he found him sprawled on his own back, arms and legs outflung. The left arm, beside Garak, lay bent on the pillows above his head, while the right, like the right leg, was half-hanging off the far side of the bed. He had kicked off his share of the covers, admittedly only a cotton blanket at this time of year, and lay naked, golden-brown like toffee, droplets of sweat on his forehead.
Sweat was one of the interesting things about Julian, the strange and exotic aspects of his body that he took for granted. Little beads of salt and water extruded from his pores when he got hot, seasoning his skin for Garak's eager tongue, trickling and spreading until he felt as slippery as a fish. It changed the golden-brown smell of him, darkening and deepening it to an acrid musk. Apparently that smell wasn't the sweat at all, but the excretions of bacteria living on his skin and feeding on the salts in the sweat itself. It was handy to have married a doctor, who could be relied on for explanations of things like that as well as for any emergency surgery you might need.
The sweat, and the hair - the wispy clusters of dark-brown hair in Julian's armpits and the thicker, curlier growth in which his cock and balls nestled. He would get mock-defensive about it if Garak drew too much attention to it, as if he thought there was some criticism implied. 'I'm not shaving anything for you, so it's no good hinting,' he'd said once, and despite an emphatic disavowal Garak was still not sure he'd managed to convince him that nothing was further from his mind. The hair, Julian had explained when in a more complaisant mood, served partly to protect delicate areas from friction and partly, it was thought, to concentrate his body's odours and pheromones. Not that human pheromones should really work on a Cardassian. They probably didn't.
Julian's head was turned towards him, his long neck presenting an elegant curve from jaw down to clavicle. What a delight it had been to finally convince him to wear Cardassian clothing, to showcase that glorious neck with the proper necklines. There were many beautiful features on Julian, but his neck was one of the select few that had captured Garak from the beginning. There was a love-bite marring the caramel of his skin, just at the axis of neck and shoulder, exactly where he had wanted to bite him the first time he saw him. A shock and a pleasure, to be so intensely attracted to someone at such a dismal time in his life - though at the time he'd expected nothing to come of it. If he could hop back to that point, tap his earlier self on the shoulder and courteously inform him 'Within ten years, you'll be married to that young man' it would have sounded about as likely as 'Within ten years, you'll be president of the United Federation of Planets.'
Within ten years, you'll know all his most private little sounds - yes, the sounds he makes in moments of passion and joy, but also his coughs and sneezes, his sniffs and grunts, a sudden digestive gurgle in the still of night. You'll recognise him in a completely dark and silent room if you hear him exhale.
You'll lie in bed on a hot summer morning watching him sleep, besotted with the softness of his slightly-open mouth and the way his eyelashes fan on his cheeks. You'll spot one of those devious little grey hairs that from time to time sprout in his beard, that he tweezes out in secret and doesn't think you've ever noticed (not that you can talk, given that you do sit-ups on your office floor in an attempt to retain some semblance of a waist). Sometimes you'll wish he'd shave the beard, so that he'd look like the sweet foolish boy he was when you met him, but when you feel it prickle your cheek as he kisses you that will go out the window.
Ah. And you'll know the way that he sometimes smiles in his sleep. He reached out and shook Julian's shoulder, gently but firmly.
'Mnuh?' Julian's eyes opened and he blinked at Garak before smiling again, properly, a smile like dawn. 'Good morning. What was that for?'
'You were smiling, and I hoped if I woke you we could finally settle what you were smiling at. Do you remember your dream?'
'Um... I think I can, and I don't know why I was smiling because it was rather weird. I don't know why, but you and I had gone back in time to... some big North American city, possibly New York, in I would guess the late nineteen-fifties or early sixties... Just suddenly standing there on a street with all these very well-dressed people walking by us. I was trying to get my bearings and think what we should do and how we could pass unnoticed, and suddenly a voice from about waist height said "Gee, mister, what's wrong with your face?" And we looked down and there was a little kid tugging on your sleeve.'
'A dire predicament.'
'But you, just as calmly and blandly as could be, spun this elaborate story about how we were both actors in a film about a brave young astronaut who befriends a lizard-man from outer space, that we were filming in a nearby apartment that had a very futuristic interior, and we had just sneaked out on our lunch break to see if people reacted to your make-up. I was astonished. The child skipped off completely satisfied, and you smirked at me and said "You're surprised to see me be resourceful?" It was very odd.'
'Good for me, I say.'
'But then... a production assistant came to get us, because we really were, somehow, making the movie, and our lunch-break was already over and we were in trouble with the director. And I hadn't learned my lines - although you knew both of ours, so you were trying to prompt me unobtrusively, but I kept making mistakes and the director was getting furious with me. And there was a scene where we were supposed to kiss and I kept thinking this can't be right, a film from this period would never show two men kissing.'
'Were you smiling about the kiss, perhaps?'
'I don't think we got to film it, because the director stopped everything to yell at me for being unprofessional and disorganised and possibly a Communist.'
'My darling! How unfair.'
'I know.'
'Did I defend you?'
'I don't know. You woke me up.'
'You know, arguably, by doing that I rescued you from an unpleasant situation, being berated by an angry director.'
'You did. I should thank you. Come here.' Julian rolled towards Garak, slung his arm over his shoulder and kissed him drowsily, his lips and tongue soft and undemanding. 'I've just remembered that we both have the day off. I love waking up and remembering that. The only thing better is waking up, remembering you have a day off, and finding it's snowed in the night.'
'I'm afraid there's nothing like that here.'
'Too true.' Julian rolled away and reached for the bottle of water he kept on his bedside table in the summer months, his Adam's apple bobbing as he took a long drink. 'Ah... now tell me, please, what you think we might do today.'
'I thought we might visit the bath-house that's just reopened down the street. It's another place that was excellent before the war, and I think you'll like it. The only problem I foresee is that you're going to get a lot of strange looks. Not necessarily hostile ones - I think the public rather like you after that terrible sentimental magazine interview you did - just curious ones, because it will be their first look at a human with no clothes on.'
'No clothes at all? Are we counting towels and bathrobes as clothes?'
'Towels are carried. Bathrobes are only worn afterwards, if at all.'
'And, er, what sort of... I mean, is it gender-segregated?'
'Yes and no. There are areas used by men only and women only, but the main baths are mixed, so that families can be together. You look uneasy.'
'I'm just not sure about exposing all my bits to public scrutiny. I'm imagining a small child running up and piping "Mister, what's wrong with your willy?"'
'Well, you wouldn't need to come up with a story; just say that it's different because you're human.'
'Could we perhaps keep to the men-only area?'
'We could. However, men who are not with their families are perhaps more likely to be unpleasant to you if they feel any sort of hostility - and while I will defend you valiantly, you may find it tiresome.'
'Why do you want to go, if you think we may be harassed?'
'Because a truly excellent four-stage Cardassian bath, shared with you, is one of the most pleasant experiences I can imagine. I'm told they even have a cold pool, for people to jump into after the sauna.'
Julian laughed. 'You say that as if the cold pool will be so enticing I won't notice that glaring sauna. How can you want to sit in a sauna on a day like this?'
'With the greatest of ease. Come on. I'll scrub your back.'
'Not in front of other people you won't.' Julian rolled over, astride Garak's body on his elbows and knees, and kissed his forehead. 'I might get over-excited.' A kiss to his nose. 'As is my wont.' A deep, warm kiss on the lips, leaning in with a husky little sigh.
'Ah, yes. You do have... tendencies.'
'Mm. And it sounds like Cardassian bath-houses are respectable places.' Julian lowered his head to kiss and nip his way along Garak's collar-bones.
'They're not all respectable, but I hadn't thought to take you to one of those.'
'Why not? Might be nice.' Tongue-tip gently tracing the scales of the ridge running down his neck.
'The etiquette there tends to be share and share alike, and I don't care to share you.'
'Oh. I see what you mean.'
'Even in a completely respectable bath-house, I think there'll still be some men who look at you, then at me, with a touch of envy. I'll enjoy that.' He lifted a hand to stroke Julian's hair as warm lips descended over his chest to his stomach.
'Trophy husband?'
'To those who favour the exotic and recherché, certainly.' He tweaked Julian's earlobe.
'Thank you, darling, I enjoy showing you off too.'
'You do not. Do you? How nice.'
'How can you not know that? You know how proud of you I am.'
'I thought that was for my accomplishments, not for my looks. Don't misunderstand, I never minded. This is an unexpected bonus. I may become vain.'
'Become,' Julian mumbled, or something like it; indistinctly, since he was nuzzling at the base of Garak's cock, then running his tongue softly along its length, laying it up against his stomach and licking from root to tip as it swelled under his touch. 'Don't want to share you either. But I think if you get looked at in the baths I won't mind. Looked is all right. Not leered.'
'My dear, that is very, very sweet, and probably completely unnecessary.'
'Mm... not in a respectable place. Full of respectable family men who would never be thinking oh God I wish I could suck that. That lucky bastard with him.' Julian's mouth covered the head of Garak's cock, tongue swirling lazily, and he moaned softly at the taste of it.
'Ahh... not oh, I wish I could fuck that, that lovely creature with him?'
'Mm-mm.' A very short shake of the head; Garak pushed his fingers through the sweat-damp hair, his eyelids flickering closed, the better to concentrate on how it felt.
'Oh, if he were mine, I'd fuck him senseless... beautiful boy... his mouth and his arse both made to take my cock... nothing like that? No? Not... imagining how you might look with your eyes all dark and your cheeks all rosy and a good load of come dripping down your chin?'
'Garak,' Julian said, lifting his head for a moment, 'you're unusually foul-mouthed this morning.'
'It's not me. It's all those other bad men ogling you. Oh...' He caught his breath, hissing softly between his teeth. 'Oh yes...'
'So they'd be really, really jealous that you get to do this?' Julian hitched himself forward on his knees, positioning himself astride Garak's lap, reaching behind him to hold his cock and rub it up and down the cleft of his buttocks.
'Beside themselves.' Garak reached for Julian's erection, sliding the foreskin up and down, admiring the glorious pink of the exposed head, trying to focus on that to maintain a little self-control. Clear fluid dripped over his fingertips and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean before returning to stroking the taut shaft, skin with the texture of rose-petals.
'And this,' Julian breathed, holding the slick head of Garak's cock to the fluttering pucker of his anus and bearing down. His lovely face was flushed crimson, his brows drawn together in fierce concentration, looking almost pained. Garak grabbed Julian's thigh to steady him, or really himself, as the tightness sweetly yielded and he slid into silk. 'Only you get to do this,' Julian murmured. He let himself down onto his elbows and leaned in to kiss Garak's chin. 'Oh... love you.'
'And you... ooh... my dear, you're on good form today.'
'I feel it.' Julian lifted his hips and pushed them down, rising and falling on his knees as he sat up. 'Ah... if you don't mind, I just want to go very slowly...'
'Why would I mind? I love to watch you fuck yourself.'
'You're a bit more involved than that sounds.' Julian's hand covered his as it worked, a brief grateful squeeze.
'I think I get the best of it - next to no effort, my cock milked and this glorious view.'
'Feels glorious too.' Julian rested his hands on Garak's chest, keeping himself steady as he rocked, gently to begin with, letting Garak's cock just nudge at his prostate, the pleasure growing sweet and sharp. 'I'm so full of you... oh...' He ground down harder, moaning in delight, feeling Garak's hips lift to meet him with a little grunt of effort. They found a rhythm between them, familiar and steady, the solid strength of Garak's body bearing him up with increasing force, the same strength in the hand pumping his cock. 'Oh, my darling!' He ignored the burn beginning in his thigh muscles and rode faster, rising and rising in heat and joy until the wonderful moment of release rolled through him. He had to let himself down carefully, slumping over Garak's chest and whimpering softly.
He felt himself lifted and moved and just let it happen, Garak rolling him over, staying inside him, thrusting in deeper, deeper, his breathing a hoarse growl as he pressed a long hard kiss into his mouth. Julian wrapped his arms and legs around Garak, holding on, flattened and filled by love, rejoicing in the quick stutter of Garak's hips as he came, the exhausted, heavy sigh that escaped him as he went limp.
'Jlyn,' Garak said, at length, or something like that; his face was nestled into the crook of Julian's neck.
'Mm?'
''mI squashing you?'
'Wonderfully.'
'Oh... good...'
'You know... having you on top of me like this is pretty much a personal sauna.'
'Good. Prepares you for later.'
'Aargh, I thought I'd talked my way out of that.'
'No.' Garak turned his head enough to kiss Julian's cheek. 'If I could justify building on to my house - which I can't - a nice little sauna would be first on my list.'
'It's as if you're Finnish.'
'Is there a particular word for "contentedly complaining"? As you're doing now?'
'Mmmm... don't know. We'll need to have a shower before we go to the bathhouse, of course. Can't go into a respectable family establishment all sticky.'
'Perhaps we should go in the afternoon. I'm very strongly inclined to go back to sleep just for a little while.'
'Me too.'
He was drowsy, very pleasantly so, but not truly sleepy. Lying curled and tangled together, Julian watched Garak drifting off. When they had first been together he had felt odd watching Garak sleep, felt separated from him and wished for him to wake up so he wouldn't seem so remote. Things had changed a bit since then, or out of recognition since then, depending on how you looked at them. Now when he lay awake and Garak slept he felt protective of him, wanting to ensure that he slept undisturbed for as long as he needed. He realised that was part of how he'd cast himself in their marriage, though it was probably the opposite of how it looked from the outside; others would have said Garak was the protector because he was older, more worldly-wise, with a job that meant he had a degree of power and authority, and a native of this planet where Julian was an immigrant. He had been Julian's mentor, after a fashion, before he became his lover or his husband, so didn't protector follow from that?
It was in that uninterrupted sleep, though, that Julian saw himself as the protector - the night's sleep, the breakfast and dinner that bracketed the day, the insistence on rest and balance. Sometimes he thought he had just put himself into that peculiar Victorian role of the Angel in the Home, while at others it seemed to fit more neatly with his real profession. Above all, he wanted to keep Garak well, strong and healthy. He calculated and estimated like an actuary at times like this; nutritional requirements, pre-existing conditions, aerobic fitness, body fat percentages, existing data on life expectancy. He had access to far more information than ever before, working in a Cardassian hospital. There were encouraging aspects: when Cardassians reached middle age, they remained in a sort of hale maturity for a good long time. Garak hadn't shown any notable signs of advancing age over the years he had known him - his weight had gone up and down and back up a bit, but never to a worrisome degree. His eyes were bright and clear, his hair was thick and dark, and Julian had known he wasn't getting a young man in the first place.
And if he were really painfully honest with himself, he would count as middle-aged soon himself. Forty loomed ever closer. The thing about being an over-achiever from childhood was that you constantly had it emphasised to you how young you were to read such advanced books or to know such long words, and he was all too familiar with the way child prodigies competed with each other over how many grades they had skipped, how precociously they had reached assorted milestones, often well after the point when it should have stopped mattering to them because after all, they were grown-ups now, weren't they? Once you were no longer notably young, though, that was quite a chunk of what made you remarkable gone, a wedge out of your self-image, and you had better have something good with which to supplant it - like being a devoted husband.
The other day he'd overheard two Federation aid nurses talking about him, and had pricked up his ears hoping for a little massage to his ego. He'd sort of got what he wanted, because what they said was complimentary, but the casting had been wrong - the role they saw him in was the Handsome Older Man (to their Ingenues), and just as he was thinking how wrong that was, and wondering how they had got such an impression, he remembered that the nurses in question were in their early twenties, and had a sudden, stomach-droppingly acute realisation of how long ago his early twenties had been.
You could look at it from another angle, of course, and reflect that he'd packed an awful lot of achievement into those years, and was in fact still young to be one of the senior physicians in a major hospital... youngish.
The truth was he was getting near to catching up to himself; to being a normal age for what he was. Terrible thought!
Better not to dwell on the fact that he was aging out of his old role; better to concentrate on excelling in his new one. And consoling that Garak would still murmur things like 'my beautiful boy' while making love to him. That would last him a very, very long time.