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What would it have been like? Immediate, passionate kissing? Running into each other’s arms? No, surely even the influence of Zanthi fever wouldn’t completely rob Garak of his infamous restraint. They would draw together… slowly, but inescapably…like the tide…
My dear…
Elim…
A long, breathless gaze. Perhaps Julian would bring up a hand to trace an eyebrow ridge, so gently. Such a slow, soft touch as if hoping the caress might go undetected. Tracing down one of those lovely ear ridges, over Tholian silk sleeves to find Garak’s hand. Stroking fingertips before finally, finally, bringing palm to palm.
Would he sigh in pleasure? Would those blue eyes close, or — perhaps droop, treating Julian to a sultry, lidded gaze?
Julian closed his eyes and sighed. The rational thing to do would be to cease this line of inquiry, to not torture himself with possibilities and what might have been. But Julian Bashir, for all his intelligence, was not noted for being sensible.
Yes, Garak would press into his palm, then step forward and rub his cheek against Julian’s —oh! What would it feel like? Those rough scales scraping against his jaw, sending a thrill of sensation down his spine as Garak murmurs “my dearest…”
Julian bit his lip and pressed his knees together.
“Elim,” Julian breathes, holding Garak in place by the back of the neck, stroking just shy of his neck ridge and making him hiss with pleasure. Delicious sound — Julian longs to taste it but he can’t bear to pull away, not while Garak is holding him so close and beginning to mouth at his neck, his exposed collarbone. “Did you make this shirt to seduce me?” Julian laughs breathlessly, half-moaning as the kissing turns into biting. Yes, you devious creature, more! Julian yields to the desire that’s simmered in the back of his mind at every lunchtime literary debate for the past two years and bites down on Garak’s neck ridge. Garak moans and shudders, and Julian must taste every inch of him, must make his beloved make that beautiful music again.
Julian is curled on his side, still fully dressed, fingers circling his cock through his underwear. It would feel better if he took the time to strip but he’s been so turned on for hours, he’s soaked and throbbing and this fantasy is overwhelming him. He’s spent so long avoiding this precise train of thought, but his defenses have crumbled. He can’t stop, not now.
Feverish heat blooms everywhere Garak touches. Large hands squeeze his hipbones, then Garak’s thumbs gently caress over his iliac crest, fascination in those bright blue eyes. “Julian… let me…” he breathes, starting to kneel.
But the moment Garak pulls away, Julian’s skin howls at the loss and he is aching with the desire to be touched. “Elim, please,” he gasps, not sure what he is begging for. Grasping for his beloved, half-blind with desire, hands landing on that sleek dark hair and tugging. Garak hisses and bites Julian’s hip bone, sharp teeth nearly drawing blood and making Julian cry out in shock and pleasure.
Oh yes, this fever is a gift. No inner monologue or second-guessing, no self-conscious performance or anxiety. Just desire. Just sensation. Julian drops to the floor himself and runs his hands up and down Garak’s immaculately constructed tunic, desperate to feel more, to be closer, but not so desperate that he’s willing to destroy anything made by his beloved. However does this garment open? It doesn’t matter, Garak made this tunic and it is therefore an extension of him, just as worthy of adulation. So reasoned, Julian strokes Garak’s chest and kisses the fabric covering his chula. Is it the gesture, or the sensation that provokes Garak’s gasp? The thought drifts across Julian’s mind, but then Garak is unzipping his uniform and nothing, nothing, nothing, is more important than those clever hands on his skin.
Julian moans aloud, rocking his hips into his hand and rolling onto his stomach, grinding against the bedspread. Oh yes, those hands on him, firm and scarred and perfect.
Elim’s hands are cool against Julian’s overheated skin, trailing down his spine and firmly squeezing his arse. Julian begins to mouth along Garak’s neck ridges, moaning in bliss at the way Garak feels. Smooth scales, rough scutes, his beloved’s broken gasps just barely audible and with every touch, that indescribable need continues to bloom, unfurling like a chysanthemum in hot water. New layers of tenderness and unforeseen desires.
“You can let me hear you, Elim. You’re safe with me,” Julian gasps, and because this is a fantasy, Elim murmurs, “Oh, my dear Julian. Touch me.”
Elim unfastens his tunic and Julian splays his hands on Elim’s torso, needing to feel more, more, more. Someday he will trace the whorls of scales that give way to smooth skin, lovingly and reverently caress his dear Elim to show him he is cherished, he is forgiven. But right now Julian just needs to touch, and Elim has let go of one buttock to press between Julian’s legs and yes, oh yes…
“Please,” Julian gasped, coming hard against his fingers, crying out in bliss but just managing to avoid screaming Garak’s name. Itch barely scratched, he moved his hand lower and pressed the heel of his hand against his cock, squeezing gently. Not enough, he could never have enough of Garak, and if he was yielding to temptation now, might as well make it count.
Julian rests his forehead on Garak’s chula to gasp as those strong, thick fingers begin to stroke. Garak hisses softly in pleasure and the touch turns into a nuzzle, then Julian traces the teardrop shape with his tongue hungrily. So beautiful, so much. A little teeth, just a nip, and then Julian bites down on Garak’s collarbone and brings his hand between Garak’s legs.
Damn Cardassians and their caginess; Julian has only the faintest idea of what Garak’s anatomy might look like. Bless Zanthi fever once again for keeping him from hyperfixating on this puzzle and letting his imagination run riot. Still grinding against his palm, Julian sat up a little and braced himself against the wall.
Julian holds Garak in his arms, on his bed, chest to chest. There now, the wily creature has been captured and Julian has him where he wants him. He strokes Garak’s glossy hair, traces an aural ridge with his nose, trails his hands down Garak’s spine to take hold of his arse, then lifts his left leg to bring them together just a little bit closer.
Garak moans softly at Julian’s heat, and Julian pulls his love closer to feel the soft scales on his pelvis against his cock. They cling to each other, gasping for breath but unable to fully stop moving. Julian flexes his fingers and Garak moves impossibly closer as Julian begins to roll his hips.
Julian moaned into his forearm and worked his fingers faster. Thinking of Garak undone was overwhelming in the best way, and he was so close again… he was tempted to edge himself but he needed to come too badly. Just a little more….
“Yes,” Garak breathes, wrapping his leg behind Julian’s back and holding him in place. Garak is flushing a deep blue, his mouth open and his eyes so heavy but that bright blue still staring into him, into his soul and his everything and his heart is so full, the pressure is so lovely, Garak is too beautiful and Julian starts to babble because even in his own head he talks too much.
“Yes, Elim, you’re perfect, you feel so good. Let yourself feel, enjoy, let me savor you,” Julian murmurs, kissing anywhere he can reach while staying where Garak wants him most.
Garak falls onto his back and cries out as he comes, eyes closed and throat bared, completely unguarded. Julian rides him through it, caressing his collarbones and urging him on, reveling in the hedonism of it all.
Julian’ s cock throbbed and it felt like every muscle tensed up as he came a second time, hitting his forehead against the wall as he tried to cover his scream with his forearm. The sharp pain jolted his eyes open and the rush of endorphins suddenly receded without warning.
He was alone.
Julian leaned his forehead against the cool wall and exhaled, long and slow.