Notes on "Tactics of Pursuit"
… yes, the G/B fic I mentioned in my last post has a tentative name now. Just a few notes on it so that I have ‘em somewhere for reference if/when I get around to writing the thing. More notes will be forthcoming later today.
What I like about this story so far is that it really highlights what a predator Garak is. Once he decides that Bashir is worthwhile sexual prey he sets about pursuing him with calculated manipulation, playing the Human like a violin over the course of at least three months before he finally brings him down. And he enjoys it. Oh, yes: to him, the chase is at least as exhilarating as the climax.
NC-17 material under the cut. ETA: With an NC-17 excerpt. WARNINGS: Sex toy. Voyeurism.
ETA: Added some more parts. Go me! :)
1) First, what set Garak off when he’s already decided that while Bashir is very pretty and enticingly intelligent pursuing him would be pointless, since Bashir hasn’t show one iota of interest in anything male? Well, if you’ll recall I mentioned that late one night Garak’s feeling particularly lonely and irritable and decides to tap into the surveillance feed in Bashir’s quarters (covering his tracks thoroughly in the process, of course). He finds Bashir in bed in those hideous blue pajamas, tossing and turning fitfully; it pleases Garak no end to discover that he’s not the only one having a restless can’t-sleep kind of night. Unlike him, however, Bashir resorts to masturbation as a sleep aid, although Garak doesn’t get much of a show: Bashir only pushes his pajama bottoms down far enough to expose an inch or so of his cock, apparently possessing a certain inherent modesty even when he’s alone. Still, it’s more than Garak expected, so he sits back to enjoy the spectacle as Bashir strokes himself slowly at first, then more urgently, his left hand slipping down inside his pajamas to cup and fondle his own balls. Turns out he’s quite vocal when aroused, gasping and softly moaning, sounds which become more emphatic as things heat up and his left hend moves even lower; he’s quite clearly fingering himself now, and Garak, in spite of his automatic attitude of detachment when conducting video surveillance, finds himself getting rather hot and bothered.
At last Bashir throws back his head, gasps: “Garak - please… oh, yes!” and comes in long thick spurts. And suddenly Garak has a lot more to think about than how miserable his life has become lately.
2) They’re not scheduled to meet for lunch again for another four days, which is fine with Garak: he needs time to think this through. Bashir has been resolutely oblivious to the flirtatious behavior Garak’s tossed his way over the past sixteen months… or has he? And if he isn’t, why hasn’t he done something about it? Garak’s pondering such matters while stitching up a hem when Bashir comes into his tailor’s shop, and for a moment the Cardassian has to hide his amusement: Bashir seems open and friendly, with no hint that just last night he was crying out Garak’s name in the heat of passion… perhaps the “naive” Doctor is not as open a book as Garak’s always supposed. He finds the prospect quite stimulating, actually.
I’m not sure yet why Bashir’s come to the shop, but it’s something quite innocuous. The two men end up leaving together: Garak hasn’t had lunch yet and Bashir’s just heading back to the Infirmary, so they walk up the Promenade a little ways while continuing their conversation. They’re momentarily halted by a loud party of Gallipeans crossing their path, and when the obstruction clears Garak decides, on the spur of the moment, to test the waters: he places his hand on the small of Bashir’s back, guiding him forward. Bashir glances at him briefly, his eyes widening a little as Garak maintains the contact for two full seconds, but he doesn’t object and he doesn’t pull away.
Garak smiles to himself. Oh, this promises to be more fun than he’s had in years.
3) So, Bashir seems susceptible, and Garak... well, Garak's always found him attractive. He has no intention of hurrying things, though: after all, Bashir might only be comfortable thinking of him "that way" in the realm of masturbatory fantasy. Preparing the ground properly is vital. So over the next several weeks he begins slipping in subtle touches -- on the small of the back, on the elbow, on the wrist across the lunch table... nothing very obvious, but enough to prime Bashir if he's amenable to being primed. And it soon becomes obvious that he is quite amenable: surprise at such contact becomes smiles and evident pleasure, although the Human makes no effort to take things further and Garak is quite content to let things simmer at this level for a while yet.
It's still possible, of course, that Bashir is interpreting the increased physical contact as an expression of simple friendship, but... well, Bashir really should know better than to take anything Garak puts before him at "simple" face value. And as time goes on Garak notices a change in his demeanor, an anticipation of being touched and unspoken disappointment when Garak moves as if to initiate contact and refrains at the last second. Outwardly Garak continues to present the facade of an amiable friend, but secretly his predatory instincts are fully awakened, along with a quality of physical desire he hasn't permitted himself to experience in years.
He continues to secretly monitor Bashir's quarters. The results are most encouraging.
4) Then, over lunch, the conversation turns to the nature of courtship rituals (Bashir loaned Garak "Pride and Prejudice", I think) and Cardassian and Human rituals in particular. Bashir contends that if he should ever find a Cardassian female attractive such knowledge would be vital, and Garak jests in return that he'll have to fight for her: after all, Garak hasn't seen a woman of his own kind in a very long time. He proceeds to enlighten Bashir on certain points of Cardassian protocol: the importance of stimulating conversation, for example, and of intellectual compatibility and the giving of gifts, and the fact that inviting the subject of one's interest into one's personal space is a clear signal of intent. Bashir takes it all in earnestly, but before he can launch into a lecture on Human customs his comm badge delivers a summons from Sisko. Rising hastily, Bashir promises to continue the discussion another time.
Smiling, Garak assures him that he looks forward to it.
5) When, at their next lunch, Bashir invites Garak to dinner in his quarters (ostensibly because he's having difficulty with a particularly thorny chapter of The Bitter Blade), Garak accepts with a graciousness that conceals his tremendous satisfaction.
6) Dinner goes well, especially with Garak's gift of an exceptionally good bottle of kanar from his personal stock. They spend the evening discussing The Bitter Blade and Bashir gets a chance to hold forth on Human mating customs. When, at 21:30, Garak excuses himself -- he has, after all, a shop to open in the morning -- Bashir manages not to look too disappointed.
7) For a month and a half they meet twice a week: for lunch at the start of the week and for dinner toward the end. Garak increases the frequency of touching and for the first time, Bashir starts to reciprocate in kind: a hand on Garak's elbow, fingers briefly brushing his wrist. The first time he tries it Bashir looks quite adorably nervous, but Garak beams at him and he quickly relaxes.
He's never been with another man before. Garak would stake a ticket back to Cardassia on that. But Garak is a patient teacher, and the boy is learning.
8) One evening after dinner, relaxing on Bashir's couch and discussing Romeo and Juliet (which Garak, predictably, found both insipid and ridiculous), Garak notices a tiny gift from the Hebitian Gods on Bashir's shoulder: a loose thread. (Bashir has only recently begun to wear civilian clothes during their evenings together, a development which Garak considers another victory in this sexual campaign). Delicately he points this out and reaches over to pick it off, taking light hold of Bashir's upper arm with an admoniton to hold still... and another gift presents itself.
"Why, Doctor, you're so tense!" Bashir confesses that he's been bent over a spectral analyzer all day and his neck's a little stiff. At once Garak insists on doing something about it, and overriding Bashir's half-hearted protests he directs the Human to turn around on the couch and move closer, then starts to administer a massage, starting at Bashir's hairline and working up and down. The result is very gratifying: closed eyes, a hum of surprise and pleasure, then sighs as Garak, using the knowledge acquired as a torturer, skillfully manipulates muscle groups to bring relaxation and relief. Within minutes Bashir is leaning back toward him and surrendering to his touch.
With a smile that Bashir can't see, Garak runs his thumbs lightly down the line of Bashir's spine. That prompts a gasp; the dark eyes open again, briefly wide, and he gets as far as "Garak --" before stopping himself.
"Yes, Doctor?" He presses both hands to the small of Bashir's back and runs them slowly upward. Bashir's eyes drift closed again and he shivers, leaning back into the contact.
"Nothing," he breathes, and Garak moves closer, expanding his field of operations: up Bashir's back, to his shoulders, to his neck, back down his shoulders, down his upper arms... reverse, repeat. Bashir's breathing deepens and quickens, and when Garak leans in close enough that his breath tickles the Human's neck Bashir tilts his head a little to one side, offering access. Resisting the impulse to bite, Garak settles for whispering in his ear: "There... is that better?"
"Mmm." New tension enters Bashir's body, but it's the kind of tension Garak wants to see: sexual, with a note of vulnerability.
"Well, then." He keeps the laughter out of his voice with great difficulty, gives Bashir's shoulders a little squeeze, then pulls away. "It's late, and I really shouldn't be keeping you up, especially now that you're nicely relaxed."
As he rises from the couch Bashir turns and looks up at him, visibly perplexed. "Garak, I --" Garak looks at him mildly. He shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind. Of course, I... you're right. It's late." He rises, a little unsteady for a fraction of a second. Garak does not reach out to touch him this time: if he did, things might proceed more quickly than he's planning. "Thank you, that was... wonderful."
"I'm so pleased to be of service." With a little bow of his chin he allows Bashir to escort him to the door. Just as he's leaving he pauses, turning in the doorway. "Oh, by the way, Doctor... if you ever find yourself stiffened up again, please let me know. I'd be more than happy to lend a hand."
And on that double entendre he departs, leaving Bashir staring after him with a slightly dazed expression.
9) After the audacious move of 8), Garak dials things back for a while, letting Bashir simmer. He can see more curiousity in those dark eyes now and sense a new flowering of the Human's desire to reach out to him, but still Bashir holds back. Is he uncertain about the nature of Garak's signals? Or is he just apprehensive about initiating a sexual relationship with a male, particularly an older alien male who used to be an Obsidian Order operative and who is still very much an agent of the government that exiled him? Any and all of those might be factors, but of course simply asking Bashir is out of the question.
Their delicate dance continues. No more loose threads present themselves. Then comes the Defiant and Bashir is off to the Gamma Quadrant with less than a day's notice.
And then comes the news, gleaned from Garak's "back door" into the Starfleet database and from whispers on the Promenade, that regular communications from the Defiant are no longer being intercepted. Quark surprises Garak, who comes into the bar for a drink after work, by offering him a glass of kanar on the house, and when Garak demands an explanation Quark evasively replies that he just thought Garak might be in need of a little relaxation. Their conversation ends with Quark assuring Garak: "He'll be back. Sisko looks after his people, and he could get a tangar out of a sessa pit if he had to." Garak stares after the Ferengi as he goes to wait on another customer, realizing that his overtures to Bashir, and presumably Bashir's responses, haven't gone unnoticed.
Two days later contact with the Defiant is reestablished, and two days after that the crew returns, including Bashir, who Garak is scheduled to meet for lunch the following afternoon. He expects Bashir to be full of excitement about his adventure; instead he finds the Doctor subdued and pensive. Having already read the classified reports concerning the incident, Garak is aware of the Dominion simulation and that his simulacrum died in it, but he reveals none of this to Bashir; instead he gently observes that his friend seems distracted, and wonders if Bashir is well.
Bashir, who's been picking at his food, looks up. For a moment his expressive face reveals everything: sorrow and pain and the memory of his grief. He reaches across the table and lays his hand on Garak's, and says so softly that it doesn't carry to anyone else in the Replimat: "I thought I'd never see you again."
That moment of emotional honesty startles Garak, who's not accustomed to being surprised. But the contact is fleeting; Bashir withdraws his hand and goes back to his meal, and the conversation turns to safer topics. It should be a point of triumph, another confirmation that Garak has hooked this fish solidly. And it is. But it also makes Garak aware that a single flash of those hazel eyes can strike him to his own emotional core. And that is dangerous.
10) After that the quality of the emotional landscape between them begins to change. Bashir now appears more engaged in the game Garak's been playing all along; often their conversations, which have always been multilayered, seem to have an additional dimension of innuendo that skirts but does not quite cross into the realm of outright eroticism. Well... sometimes they do, but never for more than a swift exchange of a sentence or two. Garak senses that Bashir is leaning closer but is not yet ready to commit himself... which is fine as far as Garak's concerned. The longer the foreplay the more tension will build, and the more impassioned Bashir will be when the time is at last right. Idly he wonders who will ultimately make the final move, but of course that is a matter to be decided intuitively, on the spur of the moment, and trying to predict it is an exercise in futility (but oh, such a satisfying subject to contemplate during the long silent nights).
It's around this time that he catches, via secret surveillance, Bashir exploring certain sexual options. The spectacle has the unexpected side effect of elevating Garak's own lust to a level that actually threatens his mental equilibrium. Up to this point he's desired Bashir but been fully in control of his own responses: now the occasional impulses to take Bashir into a quiet alcove (or the back of his shop) after lunch and ravish him, or reach out across the short length of couch that separates them and show Bashir that the real thing is so much better than the toy he's been experimenting with, are almost overpowering. He has no doubt that Bashir would react favorably -- the way the Human whispers his name while fucking himself with that dildo provides clear proof of that -- but still he plays the game, still he holds back.
It begins to occur to Garak that he, himself, has some reservations about taking the next step. The reasons why trouble him, because they reveal that Bashir, even at the distance he's maintaining, is getting far too close.
11) The Bajoran festival of Sorakar comes once every three years and Sisko is holding a traditional masked dance to celebrate the occasion. Starfleet personnel, Bajoran senior staff, prominent civilians and their friends and family are cordially invited. Garak is not, but it's no great matter to whip up an invitation, a new suit, and a small draconic mask to suit the theme. After all, you'd be surprised what a spy can overhear when the alcohol is flowing and tongues begin to loosen... among other things.
When Garak arrives late in the evening he finds the ambience to be perfect for his purposes: the holosuite is a vast club, and the lights have been turned down to allow the hundred or so people present to mix and mingle in a more casual atmosphere. The place is crowded and Garak slips through it largely unnoticed; the only exposed skin on his body is the parts of his face not concealed by the mask, and since some of the Bajorans are wearing face paint his skin tone doesn't stand out as particularly noticable, especially in the dimness. As he glides through the crowd he scans the club for the real reason he's come -- and there he is, dressed in a loose linen shirt and form-fitting pants, his face partially concealed by a catlike mask. Garak would recognize his slim form and body language even without the Starfleet comm badge attached to his vest. He paces Bashir on the left side, keeping an eye on him.
From afar Garak follows him and watches him try a few times to charm a series of pretty young ladies, only to be rebuffed each time. He's so entertained by the spectacle, in fact, that he doesn't notice that a small group of young Bajoran men have noticed his ridges and style of hair -- until they surround him and one of them gets up in his face. He's in the middle of trying to talk his way out of the situation (because the young men in question have clearly had a lot to drink and are equally clearly inclined toward violence when presented with a Cardassian in their midst) when Bashir's voice behind him says, firmly: "He's with me."
The Bajorans, faced with a Starfleet officer and aware that technically they're supposed to be on their best behavior, melt back into the crowd, leaving Garak to thank Bashir for his timely intervention. (Bashir's comment: "You look splendid. Did you make the mask too?") Bashir's in a somewhat pissy mood -- after all, he's made an approach to several women in the last hour and been shot down each time, but now that Garak's here he seems quite content to change focus. The volume of the music has risen considerably -- modern Bajoran dance tracks, which are more exciting than you might expect from such a God-fearing people -- but they manage to find a quieter table and sit down to do what they do best: talk.
Every so often a beautiful woman walks by, masked, and Bashir's attention drifts. Garak tolerates this for a while, then reaches out and runs his fingers lightly down the back of Bashir's hand. Aside from the massage incident it's the most blatantly seductive touch he's ever delivered and it has the desired effect: the Human's eyes are locked onto him now. He continues to converse, leaning closer under the pretext of being better heard, and is pleased to see that Bashir's wandering gaze has evidently been thoroughly tamed.
When a slower song comes on and he asks Bashir if he wants to dance, Bashir scarcely hesitates before saying yes.
12) They're in a darker area of the simulated club, so when they slip in amidst the couples on the dance floor nobody really pays any attention. At first Bashir maintains a bit of distance, manifestly nervous but nonetheless game; Garak breathes a few whispered words into his ear and he moves closer, body length pressed to body length. The contact sends a surge of fire through Garak's blood: he's everting, and he can feel his companion's erection even through the thickness of his tunic. In the shadows he finally dares to touch his lips to that slender throat and feels the shock of it run through Bashir's entire body.
A little breathlessly, Bashir asks him if he'd like to go back to the Doctor's quarters. Garak counters that it's a little late to be discussing literature. Bashir draws a steadying breath before replying that that's not what he had in mind.
With a smile, Garak responds that he looks forward to whatever topic his friend might suggest. They leave the party without a backward glance.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]
ETA: A scene from a chapter not too long after the massaging incident. Garak's monitoring Bashir's quarters again, and sees that Bashir's brought something new home: a seven-inch dildo. And he's intent on using it, lying back naked on his bed with his legs opened wide, but for now just fondling his erection and his balls as he concentrates on his fellatio technique...
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Oh, my dear Doctor… you're preparing yourself for me. He smiled in the darkness. How sweet of you.
He was mouthing and licking the dildo quite intently now, stroking his own cock the while. When at last, visibly nervous, he slid the wet length from between his lips and positioned it between his legs, Garak found himself leaning forward in anticipation.
Not quite the same, he thought clinically as Bashir closed his eyes and pushed the dildo forward. For one thing, Cardassian shafts lubricate quite well on their own. For another, your little toy isn't ridged.
Bashir grimaced faintly as the rounded head pressed his tight little hole, then began to slip inside. For an instant Garak had to fight off a powerful impulse: to interrupt the good Doctor's experimentation with a comm message, then head straight over to his quarters and continue his education personally. Certainly cool living flesh - with ridges - would be far preferable to the soulless sensation of whatever it was that appliance was made of.
"Oh." Bashir was moaning now, as the first white inch slid into his presumably virgin depths. "Oh… yes." He began to pump it in and out, slowly and carefully, delving a little deeper with each cautious thrust. "Oh, mmh…" Shifting restlessly, he opened his thighs wider and transferred one hand to his cock, concentrating on the swollen head. "Yes, that's - oh! Deeper! Please!"
"My dear." Garak found himself breathing the endearment aloud as Bashir suited deed to word. "Yes, as deep as you'd like - that's it, play with that darling cock, and imagine it's me between your legs, taking you."
What I like about this story so far is that it really highlights what a predator Garak is. Once he decides that Bashir is worthwhile sexual prey he sets about pursuing him with calculated manipulation, playing the Human like a violin over the course of at least three months before he finally brings him down. And he enjoys it. Oh, yes: to him, the chase is at least as exhilarating as the climax.
NC-17 material under the cut. ETA: With an NC-17 excerpt. WARNINGS: Sex toy. Voyeurism.
ETA: Added some more parts. Go me! :)
1) First, what set Garak off when he’s already decided that while Bashir is very pretty and enticingly intelligent pursuing him would be pointless, since Bashir hasn’t show one iota of interest in anything male? Well, if you’ll recall I mentioned that late one night Garak’s feeling particularly lonely and irritable and decides to tap into the surveillance feed in Bashir’s quarters (covering his tracks thoroughly in the process, of course). He finds Bashir in bed in those hideous blue pajamas, tossing and turning fitfully; it pleases Garak no end to discover that he’s not the only one having a restless can’t-sleep kind of night. Unlike him, however, Bashir resorts to masturbation as a sleep aid, although Garak doesn’t get much of a show: Bashir only pushes his pajama bottoms down far enough to expose an inch or so of his cock, apparently possessing a certain inherent modesty even when he’s alone. Still, it’s more than Garak expected, so he sits back to enjoy the spectacle as Bashir strokes himself slowly at first, then more urgently, his left hand slipping down inside his pajamas to cup and fondle his own balls. Turns out he’s quite vocal when aroused, gasping and softly moaning, sounds which become more emphatic as things heat up and his left hend moves even lower; he’s quite clearly fingering himself now, and Garak, in spite of his automatic attitude of detachment when conducting video surveillance, finds himself getting rather hot and bothered.
At last Bashir throws back his head, gasps: “Garak - please… oh, yes!” and comes in long thick spurts. And suddenly Garak has a lot more to think about than how miserable his life has become lately.
2) They’re not scheduled to meet for lunch again for another four days, which is fine with Garak: he needs time to think this through. Bashir has been resolutely oblivious to the flirtatious behavior Garak’s tossed his way over the past sixteen months… or has he? And if he isn’t, why hasn’t he done something about it? Garak’s pondering such matters while stitching up a hem when Bashir comes into his tailor’s shop, and for a moment the Cardassian has to hide his amusement: Bashir seems open and friendly, with no hint that just last night he was crying out Garak’s name in the heat of passion… perhaps the “naive” Doctor is not as open a book as Garak’s always supposed. He finds the prospect quite stimulating, actually.
I’m not sure yet why Bashir’s come to the shop, but it’s something quite innocuous. The two men end up leaving together: Garak hasn’t had lunch yet and Bashir’s just heading back to the Infirmary, so they walk up the Promenade a little ways while continuing their conversation. They’re momentarily halted by a loud party of Gallipeans crossing their path, and when the obstruction clears Garak decides, on the spur of the moment, to test the waters: he places his hand on the small of Bashir’s back, guiding him forward. Bashir glances at him briefly, his eyes widening a little as Garak maintains the contact for two full seconds, but he doesn’t object and he doesn’t pull away.
Garak smiles to himself. Oh, this promises to be more fun than he’s had in years.
3) So, Bashir seems susceptible, and Garak... well, Garak's always found him attractive. He has no intention of hurrying things, though: after all, Bashir might only be comfortable thinking of him "that way" in the realm of masturbatory fantasy. Preparing the ground properly is vital. So over the next several weeks he begins slipping in subtle touches -- on the small of the back, on the elbow, on the wrist across the lunch table... nothing very obvious, but enough to prime Bashir if he's amenable to being primed. And it soon becomes obvious that he is quite amenable: surprise at such contact becomes smiles and evident pleasure, although the Human makes no effort to take things further and Garak is quite content to let things simmer at this level for a while yet.
It's still possible, of course, that Bashir is interpreting the increased physical contact as an expression of simple friendship, but... well, Bashir really should know better than to take anything Garak puts before him at "simple" face value. And as time goes on Garak notices a change in his demeanor, an anticipation of being touched and unspoken disappointment when Garak moves as if to initiate contact and refrains at the last second. Outwardly Garak continues to present the facade of an amiable friend, but secretly his predatory instincts are fully awakened, along with a quality of physical desire he hasn't permitted himself to experience in years.
He continues to secretly monitor Bashir's quarters. The results are most encouraging.
4) Then, over lunch, the conversation turns to the nature of courtship rituals (Bashir loaned Garak "Pride and Prejudice", I think) and Cardassian and Human rituals in particular. Bashir contends that if he should ever find a Cardassian female attractive such knowledge would be vital, and Garak jests in return that he'll have to fight for her: after all, Garak hasn't seen a woman of his own kind in a very long time. He proceeds to enlighten Bashir on certain points of Cardassian protocol: the importance of stimulating conversation, for example, and of intellectual compatibility and the giving of gifts, and the fact that inviting the subject of one's interest into one's personal space is a clear signal of intent. Bashir takes it all in earnestly, but before he can launch into a lecture on Human customs his comm badge delivers a summons from Sisko. Rising hastily, Bashir promises to continue the discussion another time.
Smiling, Garak assures him that he looks forward to it.
5) When, at their next lunch, Bashir invites Garak to dinner in his quarters (ostensibly because he's having difficulty with a particularly thorny chapter of The Bitter Blade), Garak accepts with a graciousness that conceals his tremendous satisfaction.
6) Dinner goes well, especially with Garak's gift of an exceptionally good bottle of kanar from his personal stock. They spend the evening discussing The Bitter Blade and Bashir gets a chance to hold forth on Human mating customs. When, at 21:30, Garak excuses himself -- he has, after all, a shop to open in the morning -- Bashir manages not to look too disappointed.
7) For a month and a half they meet twice a week: for lunch at the start of the week and for dinner toward the end. Garak increases the frequency of touching and for the first time, Bashir starts to reciprocate in kind: a hand on Garak's elbow, fingers briefly brushing his wrist. The first time he tries it Bashir looks quite adorably nervous, but Garak beams at him and he quickly relaxes.
He's never been with another man before. Garak would stake a ticket back to Cardassia on that. But Garak is a patient teacher, and the boy is learning.
8) One evening after dinner, relaxing on Bashir's couch and discussing Romeo and Juliet (which Garak, predictably, found both insipid and ridiculous), Garak notices a tiny gift from the Hebitian Gods on Bashir's shoulder: a loose thread. (Bashir has only recently begun to wear civilian clothes during their evenings together, a development which Garak considers another victory in this sexual campaign). Delicately he points this out and reaches over to pick it off, taking light hold of Bashir's upper arm with an admoniton to hold still... and another gift presents itself.
"Why, Doctor, you're so tense!" Bashir confesses that he's been bent over a spectral analyzer all day and his neck's a little stiff. At once Garak insists on doing something about it, and overriding Bashir's half-hearted protests he directs the Human to turn around on the couch and move closer, then starts to administer a massage, starting at Bashir's hairline and working up and down. The result is very gratifying: closed eyes, a hum of surprise and pleasure, then sighs as Garak, using the knowledge acquired as a torturer, skillfully manipulates muscle groups to bring relaxation and relief. Within minutes Bashir is leaning back toward him and surrendering to his touch.
With a smile that Bashir can't see, Garak runs his thumbs lightly down the line of Bashir's spine. That prompts a gasp; the dark eyes open again, briefly wide, and he gets as far as "Garak --" before stopping himself.
"Yes, Doctor?" He presses both hands to the small of Bashir's back and runs them slowly upward. Bashir's eyes drift closed again and he shivers, leaning back into the contact.
"Nothing," he breathes, and Garak moves closer, expanding his field of operations: up Bashir's back, to his shoulders, to his neck, back down his shoulders, down his upper arms... reverse, repeat. Bashir's breathing deepens and quickens, and when Garak leans in close enough that his breath tickles the Human's neck Bashir tilts his head a little to one side, offering access. Resisting the impulse to bite, Garak settles for whispering in his ear: "There... is that better?"
"Mmm." New tension enters Bashir's body, but it's the kind of tension Garak wants to see: sexual, with a note of vulnerability.
"Well, then." He keeps the laughter out of his voice with great difficulty, gives Bashir's shoulders a little squeeze, then pulls away. "It's late, and I really shouldn't be keeping you up, especially now that you're nicely relaxed."
As he rises from the couch Bashir turns and looks up at him, visibly perplexed. "Garak, I --" Garak looks at him mildly. He shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind. Of course, I... you're right. It's late." He rises, a little unsteady for a fraction of a second. Garak does not reach out to touch him this time: if he did, things might proceed more quickly than he's planning. "Thank you, that was... wonderful."
"I'm so pleased to be of service." With a little bow of his chin he allows Bashir to escort him to the door. Just as he's leaving he pauses, turning in the doorway. "Oh, by the way, Doctor... if you ever find yourself stiffened up again, please let me know. I'd be more than happy to lend a hand."
And on that double entendre he departs, leaving Bashir staring after him with a slightly dazed expression.
9) After the audacious move of 8), Garak dials things back for a while, letting Bashir simmer. He can see more curiousity in those dark eyes now and sense a new flowering of the Human's desire to reach out to him, but still Bashir holds back. Is he uncertain about the nature of Garak's signals? Or is he just apprehensive about initiating a sexual relationship with a male, particularly an older alien male who used to be an Obsidian Order operative and who is still very much an agent of the government that exiled him? Any and all of those might be factors, but of course simply asking Bashir is out of the question.
Their delicate dance continues. No more loose threads present themselves. Then comes the Defiant and Bashir is off to the Gamma Quadrant with less than a day's notice.
And then comes the news, gleaned from Garak's "back door" into the Starfleet database and from whispers on the Promenade, that regular communications from the Defiant are no longer being intercepted. Quark surprises Garak, who comes into the bar for a drink after work, by offering him a glass of kanar on the house, and when Garak demands an explanation Quark evasively replies that he just thought Garak might be in need of a little relaxation. Their conversation ends with Quark assuring Garak: "He'll be back. Sisko looks after his people, and he could get a tangar out of a sessa pit if he had to." Garak stares after the Ferengi as he goes to wait on another customer, realizing that his overtures to Bashir, and presumably Bashir's responses, haven't gone unnoticed.
Two days later contact with the Defiant is reestablished, and two days after that the crew returns, including Bashir, who Garak is scheduled to meet for lunch the following afternoon. He expects Bashir to be full of excitement about his adventure; instead he finds the Doctor subdued and pensive. Having already read the classified reports concerning the incident, Garak is aware of the Dominion simulation and that his simulacrum died in it, but he reveals none of this to Bashir; instead he gently observes that his friend seems distracted, and wonders if Bashir is well.
Bashir, who's been picking at his food, looks up. For a moment his expressive face reveals everything: sorrow and pain and the memory of his grief. He reaches across the table and lays his hand on Garak's, and says so softly that it doesn't carry to anyone else in the Replimat: "I thought I'd never see you again."
That moment of emotional honesty startles Garak, who's not accustomed to being surprised. But the contact is fleeting; Bashir withdraws his hand and goes back to his meal, and the conversation turns to safer topics. It should be a point of triumph, another confirmation that Garak has hooked this fish solidly. And it is. But it also makes Garak aware that a single flash of those hazel eyes can strike him to his own emotional core. And that is dangerous.
10) After that the quality of the emotional landscape between them begins to change. Bashir now appears more engaged in the game Garak's been playing all along; often their conversations, which have always been multilayered, seem to have an additional dimension of innuendo that skirts but does not quite cross into the realm of outright eroticism. Well... sometimes they do, but never for more than a swift exchange of a sentence or two. Garak senses that Bashir is leaning closer but is not yet ready to commit himself... which is fine as far as Garak's concerned. The longer the foreplay the more tension will build, and the more impassioned Bashir will be when the time is at last right. Idly he wonders who will ultimately make the final move, but of course that is a matter to be decided intuitively, on the spur of the moment, and trying to predict it is an exercise in futility (but oh, such a satisfying subject to contemplate during the long silent nights).
It's around this time that he catches, via secret surveillance, Bashir exploring certain sexual options. The spectacle has the unexpected side effect of elevating Garak's own lust to a level that actually threatens his mental equilibrium. Up to this point he's desired Bashir but been fully in control of his own responses: now the occasional impulses to take Bashir into a quiet alcove (or the back of his shop) after lunch and ravish him, or reach out across the short length of couch that separates them and show Bashir that the real thing is so much better than the toy he's been experimenting with, are almost overpowering. He has no doubt that Bashir would react favorably -- the way the Human whispers his name while fucking himself with that dildo provides clear proof of that -- but still he plays the game, still he holds back.
It begins to occur to Garak that he, himself, has some reservations about taking the next step. The reasons why trouble him, because they reveal that Bashir, even at the distance he's maintaining, is getting far too close.
11) The Bajoran festival of Sorakar comes once every three years and Sisko is holding a traditional masked dance to celebrate the occasion. Starfleet personnel, Bajoran senior staff, prominent civilians and their friends and family are cordially invited. Garak is not, but it's no great matter to whip up an invitation, a new suit, and a small draconic mask to suit the theme. After all, you'd be surprised what a spy can overhear when the alcohol is flowing and tongues begin to loosen... among other things.
When Garak arrives late in the evening he finds the ambience to be perfect for his purposes: the holosuite is a vast club, and the lights have been turned down to allow the hundred or so people present to mix and mingle in a more casual atmosphere. The place is crowded and Garak slips through it largely unnoticed; the only exposed skin on his body is the parts of his face not concealed by the mask, and since some of the Bajorans are wearing face paint his skin tone doesn't stand out as particularly noticable, especially in the dimness. As he glides through the crowd he scans the club for the real reason he's come -- and there he is, dressed in a loose linen shirt and form-fitting pants, his face partially concealed by a catlike mask. Garak would recognize his slim form and body language even without the Starfleet comm badge attached to his vest. He paces Bashir on the left side, keeping an eye on him.
From afar Garak follows him and watches him try a few times to charm a series of pretty young ladies, only to be rebuffed each time. He's so entertained by the spectacle, in fact, that he doesn't notice that a small group of young Bajoran men have noticed his ridges and style of hair -- until they surround him and one of them gets up in his face. He's in the middle of trying to talk his way out of the situation (because the young men in question have clearly had a lot to drink and are equally clearly inclined toward violence when presented with a Cardassian in their midst) when Bashir's voice behind him says, firmly: "He's with me."
The Bajorans, faced with a Starfleet officer and aware that technically they're supposed to be on their best behavior, melt back into the crowd, leaving Garak to thank Bashir for his timely intervention. (Bashir's comment: "You look splendid. Did you make the mask too?") Bashir's in a somewhat pissy mood -- after all, he's made an approach to several women in the last hour and been shot down each time, but now that Garak's here he seems quite content to change focus. The volume of the music has risen considerably -- modern Bajoran dance tracks, which are more exciting than you might expect from such a God-fearing people -- but they manage to find a quieter table and sit down to do what they do best: talk.
Every so often a beautiful woman walks by, masked, and Bashir's attention drifts. Garak tolerates this for a while, then reaches out and runs his fingers lightly down the back of Bashir's hand. Aside from the massage incident it's the most blatantly seductive touch he's ever delivered and it has the desired effect: the Human's eyes are locked onto him now. He continues to converse, leaning closer under the pretext of being better heard, and is pleased to see that Bashir's wandering gaze has evidently been thoroughly tamed.
When a slower song comes on and he asks Bashir if he wants to dance, Bashir scarcely hesitates before saying yes.
12) They're in a darker area of the simulated club, so when they slip in amidst the couples on the dance floor nobody really pays any attention. At first Bashir maintains a bit of distance, manifestly nervous but nonetheless game; Garak breathes a few whispered words into his ear and he moves closer, body length pressed to body length. The contact sends a surge of fire through Garak's blood: he's everting, and he can feel his companion's erection even through the thickness of his tunic. In the shadows he finally dares to touch his lips to that slender throat and feels the shock of it run through Bashir's entire body.
A little breathlessly, Bashir asks him if he'd like to go back to the Doctor's quarters. Garak counters that it's a little late to be discussing literature. Bashir draws a steadying breath before replying that that's not what he had in mind.
With a smile, Garak responds that he looks forward to whatever topic his friend might suggest. They leave the party without a backward glance.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]
ETA: A scene from a chapter not too long after the massaging incident. Garak's monitoring Bashir's quarters again, and sees that Bashir's brought something new home: a seven-inch dildo. And he's intent on using it, lying back naked on his bed with his legs opened wide, but for now just fondling his erection and his balls as he concentrates on his fellatio technique...
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Oh, my dear Doctor… you're preparing yourself for me. He smiled in the darkness. How sweet of you.
He was mouthing and licking the dildo quite intently now, stroking his own cock the while. When at last, visibly nervous, he slid the wet length from between his lips and positioned it between his legs, Garak found himself leaning forward in anticipation.
Not quite the same, he thought clinically as Bashir closed his eyes and pushed the dildo forward. For one thing, Cardassian shafts lubricate quite well on their own. For another, your little toy isn't ridged.
Bashir grimaced faintly as the rounded head pressed his tight little hole, then began to slip inside. For an instant Garak had to fight off a powerful impulse: to interrupt the good Doctor's experimentation with a comm message, then head straight over to his quarters and continue his education personally. Certainly cool living flesh - with ridges - would be far preferable to the soulless sensation of whatever it was that appliance was made of.
"Oh." Bashir was moaning now, as the first white inch slid into his presumably virgin depths. "Oh… yes." He began to pump it in and out, slowly and carefully, delving a little deeper with each cautious thrust. "Oh, mmh…" Shifting restlessly, he opened his thighs wider and transferred one hand to his cock, concentrating on the swollen head. "Yes, that's - oh! Deeper! Please!"
"My dear." Garak found himself breathing the endearment aloud as Bashir suited deed to word. "Yes, as deep as you'd like - that's it, play with that darling cock, and imagine it's me between your legs, taking you."