New G/B Fic: Bachelor's Wife
Mar. 6th, 2010 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladydraceTitle: Bachelor's Wife.
Part: 1/3
Codes: DS9, G/B
Rating: NC-17. Cause there's sex in it. *nods*
Word count: 12.251
Warnings: Angst, maybe?
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prelocandkanar . You are a goddess! *grovels*
Feedback: Yes please.
Disclaimer: I don't own any angsting Cardassians or guilty Doctors. *sigh* Not mine. At all. Oh I only wish.
Notes: Not sure about the timeline for this one, but since there is no Ziyal to be found, I think I'll set this after By Inferno's Light.
Summary: Garak is feeling lonely and depressed while going through his shedding season. Doctor Bashir proves to be an annoyance difficult to get rid of. Cue truckloads of angst and misunderstandings. And Sex.
It was a cheerful day on Deep Space Nine. Smiling people were milling around the Promenade, eating jumja sticks and waving colored ribbons as the Bajoran Provisional government got the newly instated Festival for Life off to an amazing start, with acrobats and jesters performing everywhere.
In the middle of it all, Garak the exiled Cardassian was a jarring note of sourness. This day he didn't even bother to hide it. Not that the Bajorans cared. They were all a-flutter with empty-headed joy and quite determined to ignore anyone who happened to hate every bit of their noisy, messy chaos of a desperately made up holiday. It constantly amazed Garak how little it took to distract some races from the important things. Oh, sure they were all protests when the latest failures of their spineless government came to light, but throw candy and music at them and suddenly it was all forgotten.
Garak's mood was particularly dark, because it had finally really dawned on him that all hope of ever returning home was now truly gone. Even if by some miracle circumstances changed and he could return without being immediately executed for whatever the government felt was his crime of the week, it would never be the home he had known. So much of his life had been defined by Enabran Tain, his power and his status. Now he was actually starting to feel that his self-acclaimed title of 'plain and simple tailor' might just be true. He had little else left in his life.
He still had a few connections here and there, but the favours he had earned in his youth were very possibly the only ones he would have to bargain with, as he was now in a very limited position. The Federation was so ridiculously easy to infiltrate and spy on that there was very little he could offer anyone in way of information, that they couldn't procure easier, faster and less suspiciously than by appealing to the most mistrusted man in all of Bajoran Space.
He felt like his life was rapidly slowing to a stop. His years of exile had supplied laughably little change in his mind-numbingly boring daily routine. And since his only friend had apparently decided he had better things to do than have lunch with a mysterious, yet simple tailor lately, he hated to admit it. He was lonely. On a space station full of people, Elim Garak had never felt more alone.
Maybe he felt it more acutely because Tain was now truly gone. He had found some sort of small comfort in the fact that there was someone in the galaxy still connected to him. That connection was now permanently severed and although their relationship had been stormy at best, it still made a difference to him. And despite his rather fearsome reputation before his exile, he had never had to go this long without pleasant company of some kind. During the occupation he could at least pay for it if he got that desperate. But now... powerless and despised, not even the most greedy dabo girls would touch him, no matter how much latinum he threw at them. Not that he had a lot of that either. His life had truly hit rock bottom.
He missed Cardassia. He missed the warm sun and the balmy winds. He missed the smells of the markets and the sounds of his own language. The poor imitation from the universal translator was just not the same. And he missed being touched. He would never have thought such a small thing could mean so much. Just the press of a friend's palm against his own would be salve on his soul right now. Even a good attempt on his life would be more physical contact than he'd had with anyone in ages. The softness of the cloth in his hands seemed only to remind him how long it had been since he had felt living skin against his own.
Even his shop seemed lonely, empty and bare. He had refused to follow suit and decorate like the other traders on the station. Even the promise of blooming business from all the people visiting for the occasion could not persuade him to string up any of the garish streamers and ribbons being peddled all over the station. As a result, his shop was a gloomy pit in the midst of the bright festivities and he hadn't had a single customer all morning. Putting down the coat he had been lining behind the counter for most of the day, he finally decided to close up and make his escape back to his own quarters. The cacophony of cheering and music was slowly giving him a headache and the station seemed even colder than usual in his loneliness. It was making him cranky, not least of all because his annual shedding season was also well underway and the itching was slowly becoming unbearable.
Just as he rose to close up, Doctor Bashir stepped into his shop with a smile and greeted him with that same hateful cheer spreading through the whole station: “happy Life Festival, Garak.”
It was only Garak's honest pleasure at seeing his dear doctor that stopped him from cringing openly. He didn't trust himself to reply to the greeting, so he simply shrugged and hitched on his best customer-serving smile, as his friend stepped up to the counter. “How nice to see you, doctor. How may I help you today? A new shirt perhaps? Or simply a bit of enjoyable company?”
Bashir grinned at him. “The latter! I'm taking you out! Close up your shop and come hear the Life Choir with me!”
That was unexpected. And unwelcome. As much as Garak savored any time spent with his charming young friend –especially these days-, he was very unwilling to venture into the hell that was festive Bajorans by the hundreds.
“Doctor, you may be able to skip off from your duties whenever you see fit, but some of us have a business to run. I cannot simply close up and dally off somewhere with you.”
The doctor smirked and leaned over the counter, resting his chin on both hands. Garak ground his teeth. Why did he have to look so damned inviting, when it was most seriously unwelcome? Why couldn't he have done this at their last lunch all too long ago, when he had been in a position to exploit it to the fullest? Life was cruel. There was no denying it.
“Nice try, Garak. But I have to tell you I've been on the Promenade all morning curing people of their overindulgence and every time I've passed here, your shop has been completely empty.”
For once Garak wasn't inclined to play games. He would much rather retreat to his quarters and deal with his loosening scales. The sensitive areas of the shedding were making him increasingly frustrated. “Thank you for your invitation, but I'm really in no mood for festivities today.”
Bashir was obviously not about to give in and smiled broadly at the Cardassian with eyes half closed and such a flirtatious look that Garak had to will himself not to swallow hard in the face of it. “Well, that's too bad, because I'm not letting you off the hook. You will close up your shop, I will escort you safely through the cloying masses of happy people and we will sit down to a nice, quiet hour of singing, far away from the noisy acrobats and drunkards. They're starting in ten minutes, so we had better get going!”
Garak thought it over. The doctor was in a very interesting mood today, and despite his frustration from shedding and feeling more than a little depressed, he was tempted to go along, even despite the disgustingly cheerful atmosphere. But he wasn't going to give in too easily, either. “Ignoring the slightly insulting fact that you feel I need an escort to survive the throngs of cheerful Bajorans, what makes you think I would want to brave the hellish masses, just to go see more of them perform?”
The doctor let his flirtatious manner drop a little, but leaned in closer with a warm smile. “To tell you the truth, this is all a little too much for me. Too much noise and activity. Especially since I have been forced to trek around in it all morning. But as I'm fortunate enough to be a high ranking doctor, I have stuck my nurses with festival duties for the next hour to have a chance to get away and relax a little. Besides, I've heard that this choir really is superb. Supposedly they have some of the best sopranos on Bajor and I know they have adapted some of the epos of Rana Jormel into a beautiful vocal arrangement. And given your fondness for poetry – even simpleminded Bajoran poetry – I thought you might want to join me. And I would really enjoy your company.”
It smelled an awful lot like pity to Garak and he wasn't happy about it at all. His young friend had apparently noticed that he was feeling down and decided to clumsily attempt to cheer him up. He was gratified that he at least had one friend left in the world who actually cared how he was doing, but he despised pity in general.
“This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that typically Human sense of compassion for anyone who seems a little out of sorts, would it?”
To Garak's surprise, Bashir simply sighed and fixed him with a gaze full of warmth. “Maybe. But even if that was the case, the first reason would still be true. I haven't seen you much lately. I've missed you, Garak.”
The tailor's mouth suddenly felt very dry. In one simple sentence his sweet, young friend had given him more pleasure than he had felt in years. It warmed his semi-reptilian heart and he felt his resolve crumble. He never could say no to the doctor when he was like this. So honest and intimate. He sighed heavily, making Bashir smile at his obvious disgust at the prospect. “Very well, doctor. But bear in mind, I do this only as a favour to you. And I regret to admit it, but you are right. Business has been positively dead today.”
“Excellent!”
The doctor bounced upright again and clapped Garak on the back, thereby making his loosening spinal scales itch horribly as they shifted. He halted and hissed quietly, while the doctor was busy fiddling with his inactive 'closed' sign. “How do you turn this thing on, Garak?”
Rolling his shoulders covertly in a vain attempt at relieving the itch, he made his way out of the shop and gestured for Bashir to exit as well. As he initiated his security locks, the sign turned on automatically.
“Oh...”
The doctor's innocent surprise at the simple arrangement made Garak smile genuinely for the first time in days. What others often interpreted as flightiness or inattention from the doctor – at least outside of his profession - Garak had long since recognized as being a mix of immense physical energy, keeping him constantly moving, and a brain so overflowing with thoughts that there was often not room for mundane matters, such as how shop-signs worked.
While others got annoyed at his constant chatter, Garak loved the chance to get a glimpse of the inner workings of the brilliant mind of his friend. Most people didn't know how to sort through his babble and recognize the gems of ideas often expressed amidst too many words. But Garak had both his training and his race as a solid aid to easily sift through the gravel and discover the lumps of gold hidden there.
Also, he found the doctor's voice soothing and often spent a good deal of time during their lunches simply enjoying the rise and fall of volume and tone, while only listening with half an ear. He stayed tuned in just enough to be able to discern if he was meant to reply, but otherwise, he just poked at his food and let his lunch companion talk.
He did so again as Bashir led him through the noisy crowd with a gentle hold on his elbow to keep them from being pushed apart by the many rough bumps they endured, as they crossed the promenade. The doctor chatted away happily, probably not aware that Garak had not the least chance of actually hearing what he said. But Garak could recognize that particular voice in a sea of others and enjoyed the cadence of it as they slowly cleared the worst of the crowd. He let his mind wander as they walked along leisurely towards their destination.
Maybe it was these little secret insights into a vibrant mind that had kept him coming back to this naïve young man, long after he had given up the idea of seducing him for casual entertainment. Maybe it was the wonder at his own inexplicable attraction to that particular Human face, just as flat and vapid as the rest of his kind. And yet, even the smallest signs of emotion on those soft contours could make his blood rush or his heart burst. Maybe it was simply loneliness that had gotten him in so deep, but the fact of the matter was that somewhere along the way he had fallen in love.
Sometimes he felt he could almost hear Tain in the back of his head howling with laughter at his failure to stay detached and voicing his familiar displeasure with everything Garak had ever dared to like. According to Tain, there were only two things in the world worth having: power and knowledge. Everything else was inconsequential. But Garak had spent a good deal of time after Tain's death to reconsider his options.
He still loved Cardassia. It was, after all, his home and was the only place in the galaxy that really made sense to him. But the Cardassia he had been willing to sacrifice everything for had been Tain's Cardassia. The traditional, proud and ancient world of education and enlightenment. Dukat's Cardassia was as close to sacrilege as one could get on a world beyond religion and to his own personal horror, Garak had begun to wonder if he would still give up everything to serve that world.
Maybe he was simply so starved for company that he was getting silly notions, warping his good sense, but there was no denying it now. Given the forced choice of going home to a world more and more foreign to him as time went by, or to stay where he was mostly hated for the sake of one single unimportant Human... he was terrified to admit that the choice wasn't as easy as it once was.
As they rounded the major bend of the promenade, the noise abated and when they reached the temple it was merely a whisper in the background. The choir had set up rows of low, backless benches outside the temple and were already warming up when Garak and Bashir arrived. Most of the front seats were already occupied, but Garak was all too happy to take a back row seat. If he was to have any chance of enjoying the choir, it would be much easier without hostile Bajoran eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
They had the back bench to themselves and settled down comfortably as the choir began their performance. To his surprise, Garak found the voices pleasing and the songs actually worth listening to. The adapted Bajoran poetry was a lovely arrangement and he found himself relaxing more and more as the hour crept on. Had it not been for the infernal itching, he would probably have enjoyed the whole thing immensely. He would have to thank the doctor for the invitation sometime later, and simply accept the inevitable smugness he knew the doctor would express.
The itching was extremely annoying, however, and eventually he didn't even try to disguise his shifting on the bench. The doctor was absorbed in the performance, but in the end he couldn't help but notice his friend's fidgeting. He leaned in close and asked in a low voice: “Is something wrong, Garak?”
Garak sighed inwardly and shook his head. “No, doctor. Nothing serious at least. Nothing for you to worry about.”
As soon as he the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He should have opted for complete denial, but now it was too late.
“Garak, if something is bothering you, tell me. I am a doctor, after all.”
Damn it all. Now he knew he wasn't going to get any peace until he persuaded the doctor that this was yet another one of those things that did absolutely not concern him in any way. But it was always very difficult to make the young man back off when his pushy doctor-instinct kicked in. “I assure you, this is nothing that requires medical attention. It's a personal matter and I'd much prefer if you would kindly leave it at that and enjoy the rest of the performance.”
Bashir fixed him with a penetrating stare, but Garak had turned his eyes to the choir and refused to meet his gaze. After a minute or so, the doctor finally returned his attention to the singers, but Garak felt the dark eyes dart to him regularly. He knew he would be cornered again later, but for now at least he was left alone.
His peace was cut short however, when the doctor suddenly moved in much closer than strictly necessary and without further ado removed a large loosened center scale on his neck ridge, only just poking out over the neck of his tunic. Garak was shocked to the core by his own reaction. He flinched and gasped in a mix of surprise and rapture. The feeling of those burning hot fingers gently peeling off the loose scale was simply exquisite and as if that wasn't enough, Bashir took his sweet time and even smoothed over the velvety surface of the new scale underneath with his thumb. “There, isn't that better?”
The low-voiced hot breath washing over his ear was the last straw. It was simply too much and he went rigid with something akin to panic at the surge of emotion suddenly coursing through him. Bashir noticed the sudden stiffening and moved away, as if he only just now realized how close he was. “Are you all right, Garak?”
Taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to reply: “I'm... fine, thank you, doctor.”
Having his friend back to a manageable distance helped him collect himself, but just when he thought he had regained control, the warm fingers touched his shoulder again and brushed the new scale. As if it was a joint military strike meant to disable him with one swift stroke, everything happened at once. A flash of tickling pleasure spiked down his back, originating from the exposed, fresh scale. His heart did a double take and lodged itself in his throat while his lower body tightened and pulsed more shockingly sudden than he had ever experienced before. He gasped sharply and jumped off the bench, gaining a disapproving glance from a few people in front of them. Bashir was sticking to Garak like lint to a static sweater and followed him closely as he backed away, hissing quietly:
“Doctor, please don't do that! I appreciate that you're trying to help, but please don't.”
Bashir's face was all confusion as he followed much more closely than Garak would like. Holding out his hands to halt the doctor's progress had no effect as the young man edged even closer. “Have I offended you somehow, Garak? If I have, I apologize.”
Feeling now more than a little desperate to get away, Garak settled for brushing off his friend and simply running away, instead of trying for a polite parting as was his custom. “I'm sorry, doctor, but I really must be going now.”
And with that he turned on his heel and practically ran back to his quarters, leaving Bashir looking stunned and worried.
Next.
Part: 1/3
Codes: DS9, G/B
Rating: NC-17. Cause there's sex in it. *nods*
Word count: 12.251
Warnings: Angst, maybe?
Beta:
prelocandkanar . You are a goddess! *grovels*Feedback: Yes please.
Disclaimer: I don't own any angsting Cardassians or guilty Doctors. *sigh* Not mine. At all. Oh I only wish.
Notes: Not sure about the timeline for this one, but since there is no Ziyal to be found, I think I'll set this after By Inferno's Light.
Summary: Garak is feeling lonely and depressed while going through his shedding season. Doctor Bashir proves to be an annoyance difficult to get rid of. Cue truckloads of angst and misunderstandings. And Sex.
It was a cheerful day on Deep Space Nine. Smiling people were milling around the Promenade, eating jumja sticks and waving colored ribbons as the Bajoran Provisional government got the newly instated Festival for Life off to an amazing start, with acrobats and jesters performing everywhere.
In the middle of it all, Garak the exiled Cardassian was a jarring note of sourness. This day he didn't even bother to hide it. Not that the Bajorans cared. They were all a-flutter with empty-headed joy and quite determined to ignore anyone who happened to hate every bit of their noisy, messy chaos of a desperately made up holiday. It constantly amazed Garak how little it took to distract some races from the important things. Oh, sure they were all protests when the latest failures of their spineless government came to light, but throw candy and music at them and suddenly it was all forgotten.
Garak's mood was particularly dark, because it had finally really dawned on him that all hope of ever returning home was now truly gone. Even if by some miracle circumstances changed and he could return without being immediately executed for whatever the government felt was his crime of the week, it would never be the home he had known. So much of his life had been defined by Enabran Tain, his power and his status. Now he was actually starting to feel that his self-acclaimed title of 'plain and simple tailor' might just be true. He had little else left in his life.
He still had a few connections here and there, but the favours he had earned in his youth were very possibly the only ones he would have to bargain with, as he was now in a very limited position. The Federation was so ridiculously easy to infiltrate and spy on that there was very little he could offer anyone in way of information, that they couldn't procure easier, faster and less suspiciously than by appealing to the most mistrusted man in all of Bajoran Space.
He felt like his life was rapidly slowing to a stop. His years of exile had supplied laughably little change in his mind-numbingly boring daily routine. And since his only friend had apparently decided he had better things to do than have lunch with a mysterious, yet simple tailor lately, he hated to admit it. He was lonely. On a space station full of people, Elim Garak had never felt more alone.
Maybe he felt it more acutely because Tain was now truly gone. He had found some sort of small comfort in the fact that there was someone in the galaxy still connected to him. That connection was now permanently severed and although their relationship had been stormy at best, it still made a difference to him. And despite his rather fearsome reputation before his exile, he had never had to go this long without pleasant company of some kind. During the occupation he could at least pay for it if he got that desperate. But now... powerless and despised, not even the most greedy dabo girls would touch him, no matter how much latinum he threw at them. Not that he had a lot of that either. His life had truly hit rock bottom.
He missed Cardassia. He missed the warm sun and the balmy winds. He missed the smells of the markets and the sounds of his own language. The poor imitation from the universal translator was just not the same. And he missed being touched. He would never have thought such a small thing could mean so much. Just the press of a friend's palm against his own would be salve on his soul right now. Even a good attempt on his life would be more physical contact than he'd had with anyone in ages. The softness of the cloth in his hands seemed only to remind him how long it had been since he had felt living skin against his own.
Even his shop seemed lonely, empty and bare. He had refused to follow suit and decorate like the other traders on the station. Even the promise of blooming business from all the people visiting for the occasion could not persuade him to string up any of the garish streamers and ribbons being peddled all over the station. As a result, his shop was a gloomy pit in the midst of the bright festivities and he hadn't had a single customer all morning. Putting down the coat he had been lining behind the counter for most of the day, he finally decided to close up and make his escape back to his own quarters. The cacophony of cheering and music was slowly giving him a headache and the station seemed even colder than usual in his loneliness. It was making him cranky, not least of all because his annual shedding season was also well underway and the itching was slowly becoming unbearable.
Just as he rose to close up, Doctor Bashir stepped into his shop with a smile and greeted him with that same hateful cheer spreading through the whole station: “happy Life Festival, Garak.”
It was only Garak's honest pleasure at seeing his dear doctor that stopped him from cringing openly. He didn't trust himself to reply to the greeting, so he simply shrugged and hitched on his best customer-serving smile, as his friend stepped up to the counter. “How nice to see you, doctor. How may I help you today? A new shirt perhaps? Or simply a bit of enjoyable company?”
Bashir grinned at him. “The latter! I'm taking you out! Close up your shop and come hear the Life Choir with me!”
That was unexpected. And unwelcome. As much as Garak savored any time spent with his charming young friend –especially these days-, he was very unwilling to venture into the hell that was festive Bajorans by the hundreds.
“Doctor, you may be able to skip off from your duties whenever you see fit, but some of us have a business to run. I cannot simply close up and dally off somewhere with you.”
The doctor smirked and leaned over the counter, resting his chin on both hands. Garak ground his teeth. Why did he have to look so damned inviting, when it was most seriously unwelcome? Why couldn't he have done this at their last lunch all too long ago, when he had been in a position to exploit it to the fullest? Life was cruel. There was no denying it.
“Nice try, Garak. But I have to tell you I've been on the Promenade all morning curing people of their overindulgence and every time I've passed here, your shop has been completely empty.”
For once Garak wasn't inclined to play games. He would much rather retreat to his quarters and deal with his loosening scales. The sensitive areas of the shedding were making him increasingly frustrated. “Thank you for your invitation, but I'm really in no mood for festivities today.”
Bashir was obviously not about to give in and smiled broadly at the Cardassian with eyes half closed and such a flirtatious look that Garak had to will himself not to swallow hard in the face of it. “Well, that's too bad, because I'm not letting you off the hook. You will close up your shop, I will escort you safely through the cloying masses of happy people and we will sit down to a nice, quiet hour of singing, far away from the noisy acrobats and drunkards. They're starting in ten minutes, so we had better get going!”
Garak thought it over. The doctor was in a very interesting mood today, and despite his frustration from shedding and feeling more than a little depressed, he was tempted to go along, even despite the disgustingly cheerful atmosphere. But he wasn't going to give in too easily, either. “Ignoring the slightly insulting fact that you feel I need an escort to survive the throngs of cheerful Bajorans, what makes you think I would want to brave the hellish masses, just to go see more of them perform?”
The doctor let his flirtatious manner drop a little, but leaned in closer with a warm smile. “To tell you the truth, this is all a little too much for me. Too much noise and activity. Especially since I have been forced to trek around in it all morning. But as I'm fortunate enough to be a high ranking doctor, I have stuck my nurses with festival duties for the next hour to have a chance to get away and relax a little. Besides, I've heard that this choir really is superb. Supposedly they have some of the best sopranos on Bajor and I know they have adapted some of the epos of Rana Jormel into a beautiful vocal arrangement. And given your fondness for poetry – even simpleminded Bajoran poetry – I thought you might want to join me. And I would really enjoy your company.”
It smelled an awful lot like pity to Garak and he wasn't happy about it at all. His young friend had apparently noticed that he was feeling down and decided to clumsily attempt to cheer him up. He was gratified that he at least had one friend left in the world who actually cared how he was doing, but he despised pity in general.
“This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that typically Human sense of compassion for anyone who seems a little out of sorts, would it?”
To Garak's surprise, Bashir simply sighed and fixed him with a gaze full of warmth. “Maybe. But even if that was the case, the first reason would still be true. I haven't seen you much lately. I've missed you, Garak.”
The tailor's mouth suddenly felt very dry. In one simple sentence his sweet, young friend had given him more pleasure than he had felt in years. It warmed his semi-reptilian heart and he felt his resolve crumble. He never could say no to the doctor when he was like this. So honest and intimate. He sighed heavily, making Bashir smile at his obvious disgust at the prospect. “Very well, doctor. But bear in mind, I do this only as a favour to you. And I regret to admit it, but you are right. Business has been positively dead today.”
“Excellent!”
The doctor bounced upright again and clapped Garak on the back, thereby making his loosening spinal scales itch horribly as they shifted. He halted and hissed quietly, while the doctor was busy fiddling with his inactive 'closed' sign. “How do you turn this thing on, Garak?”
Rolling his shoulders covertly in a vain attempt at relieving the itch, he made his way out of the shop and gestured for Bashir to exit as well. As he initiated his security locks, the sign turned on automatically.
“Oh...”
The doctor's innocent surprise at the simple arrangement made Garak smile genuinely for the first time in days. What others often interpreted as flightiness or inattention from the doctor – at least outside of his profession - Garak had long since recognized as being a mix of immense physical energy, keeping him constantly moving, and a brain so overflowing with thoughts that there was often not room for mundane matters, such as how shop-signs worked.
While others got annoyed at his constant chatter, Garak loved the chance to get a glimpse of the inner workings of the brilliant mind of his friend. Most people didn't know how to sort through his babble and recognize the gems of ideas often expressed amidst too many words. But Garak had both his training and his race as a solid aid to easily sift through the gravel and discover the lumps of gold hidden there.
Also, he found the doctor's voice soothing and often spent a good deal of time during their lunches simply enjoying the rise and fall of volume and tone, while only listening with half an ear. He stayed tuned in just enough to be able to discern if he was meant to reply, but otherwise, he just poked at his food and let his lunch companion talk.
He did so again as Bashir led him through the noisy crowd with a gentle hold on his elbow to keep them from being pushed apart by the many rough bumps they endured, as they crossed the promenade. The doctor chatted away happily, probably not aware that Garak had not the least chance of actually hearing what he said. But Garak could recognize that particular voice in a sea of others and enjoyed the cadence of it as they slowly cleared the worst of the crowd. He let his mind wander as they walked along leisurely towards their destination.
Maybe it was these little secret insights into a vibrant mind that had kept him coming back to this naïve young man, long after he had given up the idea of seducing him for casual entertainment. Maybe it was the wonder at his own inexplicable attraction to that particular Human face, just as flat and vapid as the rest of his kind. And yet, even the smallest signs of emotion on those soft contours could make his blood rush or his heart burst. Maybe it was simply loneliness that had gotten him in so deep, but the fact of the matter was that somewhere along the way he had fallen in love.
Sometimes he felt he could almost hear Tain in the back of his head howling with laughter at his failure to stay detached and voicing his familiar displeasure with everything Garak had ever dared to like. According to Tain, there were only two things in the world worth having: power and knowledge. Everything else was inconsequential. But Garak had spent a good deal of time after Tain's death to reconsider his options.
He still loved Cardassia. It was, after all, his home and was the only place in the galaxy that really made sense to him. But the Cardassia he had been willing to sacrifice everything for had been Tain's Cardassia. The traditional, proud and ancient world of education and enlightenment. Dukat's Cardassia was as close to sacrilege as one could get on a world beyond religion and to his own personal horror, Garak had begun to wonder if he would still give up everything to serve that world.
Maybe he was simply so starved for company that he was getting silly notions, warping his good sense, but there was no denying it now. Given the forced choice of going home to a world more and more foreign to him as time went by, or to stay where he was mostly hated for the sake of one single unimportant Human... he was terrified to admit that the choice wasn't as easy as it once was.
As they rounded the major bend of the promenade, the noise abated and when they reached the temple it was merely a whisper in the background. The choir had set up rows of low, backless benches outside the temple and were already warming up when Garak and Bashir arrived. Most of the front seats were already occupied, but Garak was all too happy to take a back row seat. If he was to have any chance of enjoying the choir, it would be much easier without hostile Bajoran eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
They had the back bench to themselves and settled down comfortably as the choir began their performance. To his surprise, Garak found the voices pleasing and the songs actually worth listening to. The adapted Bajoran poetry was a lovely arrangement and he found himself relaxing more and more as the hour crept on. Had it not been for the infernal itching, he would probably have enjoyed the whole thing immensely. He would have to thank the doctor for the invitation sometime later, and simply accept the inevitable smugness he knew the doctor would express.
The itching was extremely annoying, however, and eventually he didn't even try to disguise his shifting on the bench. The doctor was absorbed in the performance, but in the end he couldn't help but notice his friend's fidgeting. He leaned in close and asked in a low voice: “Is something wrong, Garak?”
Garak sighed inwardly and shook his head. “No, doctor. Nothing serious at least. Nothing for you to worry about.”
As soon as he the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say. He should have opted for complete denial, but now it was too late.
“Garak, if something is bothering you, tell me. I am a doctor, after all.”
Damn it all. Now he knew he wasn't going to get any peace until he persuaded the doctor that this was yet another one of those things that did absolutely not concern him in any way. But it was always very difficult to make the young man back off when his pushy doctor-instinct kicked in. “I assure you, this is nothing that requires medical attention. It's a personal matter and I'd much prefer if you would kindly leave it at that and enjoy the rest of the performance.”
Bashir fixed him with a penetrating stare, but Garak had turned his eyes to the choir and refused to meet his gaze. After a minute or so, the doctor finally returned his attention to the singers, but Garak felt the dark eyes dart to him regularly. He knew he would be cornered again later, but for now at least he was left alone.
His peace was cut short however, when the doctor suddenly moved in much closer than strictly necessary and without further ado removed a large loosened center scale on his neck ridge, only just poking out over the neck of his tunic. Garak was shocked to the core by his own reaction. He flinched and gasped in a mix of surprise and rapture. The feeling of those burning hot fingers gently peeling off the loose scale was simply exquisite and as if that wasn't enough, Bashir took his sweet time and even smoothed over the velvety surface of the new scale underneath with his thumb. “There, isn't that better?”
The low-voiced hot breath washing over his ear was the last straw. It was simply too much and he went rigid with something akin to panic at the surge of emotion suddenly coursing through him. Bashir noticed the sudden stiffening and moved away, as if he only just now realized how close he was. “Are you all right, Garak?”
Taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to reply: “I'm... fine, thank you, doctor.”
Having his friend back to a manageable distance helped him collect himself, but just when he thought he had regained control, the warm fingers touched his shoulder again and brushed the new scale. As if it was a joint military strike meant to disable him with one swift stroke, everything happened at once. A flash of tickling pleasure spiked down his back, originating from the exposed, fresh scale. His heart did a double take and lodged itself in his throat while his lower body tightened and pulsed more shockingly sudden than he had ever experienced before. He gasped sharply and jumped off the bench, gaining a disapproving glance from a few people in front of them. Bashir was sticking to Garak like lint to a static sweater and followed him closely as he backed away, hissing quietly:
“Doctor, please don't do that! I appreciate that you're trying to help, but please don't.”
Bashir's face was all confusion as he followed much more closely than Garak would like. Holding out his hands to halt the doctor's progress had no effect as the young man edged even closer. “Have I offended you somehow, Garak? If I have, I apologize.”
Feeling now more than a little desperate to get away, Garak settled for brushing off his friend and simply running away, instead of trying for a polite parting as was his custom. “I'm sorry, doctor, but I really must be going now.”
And with that he turned on his heel and practically ran back to his quarters, leaving Bashir looking stunned and worried.
Next.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 04:08 pm (UTC)Just wow, love the idea, love the writing, and I can't wait to read more.
I'm not good at writing reviews, I know, but I really mean it even though I can't express myself very well ;-)
Just the whole scene when Bashir peeled off Garak's scale and how Garak reacted to it left me kind of breathless and full of anticipation. Very well described and written!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 05:51 pm (UTC)*huggles you*
no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 08:55 pm (UTC)Good luck with the madness!