DS9 FanFic, "For Tain's Sake," G/B, NC-17, 1/1
Title: For Tain’s Sake
Author: PrelocAndKanar (Prelocandkanar@aol.com)
Series: DS9
Part: 1/1
Rating: NC-17 for semi-consensual sex
Codes: G/B
Summary: In “Improbable Cause,” Garak must prove his loyalty to Tain. What if it had been Bashir instead of Odo? Basically a PWP.
Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to Jen Ingram, for her invaluable beta and for her support when I had doubts.
Comments, constructive criticism and other feedback are very welcome!
Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters, even though it never it never played with them enough. I only borrow them.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bashir was trying not to pace. He had been alone in the room - no, the cell - for what felt like hours. "Where the hell is Garak?" he scowled at the door. Probably with Tain, but what were they doing? After having met Tain a few years ago, he knew it could be anything. Was Garak being welcomed back? Or was he being punished for whatever it was that had gotten him exiled in the first place? With Tain, there was no knowing. He'd been here for hours just waiting - this was maddening! What the hell was going on? Why was he being held? What was going to happen to him?
He heard voices outside the door. Someone speaking to the guard. The door opened, and Garak entered.
The doctor's trained eyes ran over him quickly, seeing no damage. He was as impeccably dressed as always, his stance relaxed and almost casual. "I was getting worried about you! When can we get out of here?" Bashir greeted him with relief - until he saw his expression. "Garak?" The other man didn't answer, instead he advanced. The expression on his face darkened and he moved toward him with a hint of menace that was impossible to ignore.
Involuntarily, Bashir backed up. "What the hell is going on?" He demanded.
Garak smiled slowly, coolly. His expression was flat and he looked at him as though he were a stranger. This was not the face of his friend; this was the face of the interrogator. There was something in his body language, too, that made Bashir uneasy. He was like a coiled snake about to strike.
"Answer me, dammit! I want to know what's going on here!"
Silence.
“Garak, what are you playing at?” Bashir tried to keep from panicking. "Did Tain do something to you? What? What is going on here?"
With a sigh, the hard faced interrogator disappeared and the man before him was suddenly Garak once more. "Tain has decided to release us both, but for a price."
"What? What is it?" He looked at him in confusion. "Information? I don't have any. You know that - I'm a doctor, I don’t know anything useful to him. Unless he wants to know about the latest Starfleet medical advances..."
"He doesn't want information; he wants a show of loyalty. My loyalty." He paused for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. "He requires that I…that I prove to him that I am still a Cardassian and that my first loyalty is to him, doctor. He's worried that the years I've spent on the station have skewed my perceptions and values. If we are to survive, I cannot refuse him. He needs to know that I am still loyal. That I serve him.”
“And do you?” Bashir asked, searching his face for the answer.
“Always." Garak said without hesitation. "And through him, Cardassia. To prove this, he wants me to -” Garak broke off.
“To torture me?” Bashir asked harshly.
“Merely to hurt you,” Garak demurred. “A ... demonstration only. I have, after all, been an exile all these years for a reason. I have been out of favor. I must... pay dues. It is nothing personal. It is... a shame that you happen to be the,” he hesitated, choosing his words. “... recipient. This is typical Tain. But I do have some latitude. He allows me to do this in my own way.”
Garak approached him.
Bashir stiffened, and watched Garak circle him slowly. He could not read those shadowed eyes. He realized how little he knew this man. He did not know what to expect.
As Garak walked behind him, he said softly, “Tain may not be watching, but the guards most certainly will be. They will report back to him.”
Then he continued his circle, and spoke again, louder.
“There are many different ways to approach this sort of thing, doctor. Some of my associates use rather unsubtle methods, such as the brute application of pain. While this is not the most efficient method to use on a someone in my profession, it can be quite useful on a civilian such as yourself. ” Bashir could hear his heart beating but tried to keep his face neutral. Garak raised an eye ridge slightly. “I would, however, prefer not to use this technique today.” Bashir could not look away from Garak’s eyes... those hooded eyes which told him nothing.
“I have often chosen to use a more psychological approach to information extraction,” Garak continued. He sounded as though he were a professor giving a lecture. “This can be quite effective without causing so much waste.
“However, this method is best applied to a stranger. Because we know each other so well, doctor, were I to use this approach, I would need to go much further than is usually necessary in order to satisfy Tain’s requirements. I’m afraid that this approach would not be without its... consequences.
“Now, some of my colleagues use an entirely different approach, especially when the intent is merely to intimidate. To overwhelm. To convince the prisoner that he is powerless.”
Here, Garak stepped closer. He brought his face close to the doctor’s.
“Some of them enjoy using rape for this purpose. This method was never one of my preferred techniques. But in this case, I must confess, I find it rather appealing. Although it may not be without its psychological impact, I believe it would be preferable to any of the alternatives.” His eyes bore into Bashir’s.
Garak’s manner suddenly changed. In a strong and forceful voice, he hissed angrily, “I have waited a long time for this, doctor. I am going to use you for my pleasure in any way I see fit. I will know every part of you, and I will not be gentle. I will see that smug smile wiped off your face for good.”
Bashir felt as though the blood were draining from his face. Garak stared at him with eyes that were dark and intense. Then, suddenly, quickly, he winked.
Bashir blinked. How bizarre -- had he imagined it? Garak continued to stare at him, his face blank. He withdrew a step, looked Bashir up and down, and walked around him. Bashir felt a brief sting at the back of his neck. He whipped his head around but felt no after-effects. What was that, he wondered. Garak casually strolled back into his view, slipping a hand into his tunic, then out again.
When Bashir saw what was in that hand, he stopped thinking.
Garak held a knife, and he was smiling. It was not a pleasant smile. He stepped in very close to Bashir. “Now, don’t move, doctor.”
Bashir couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. He felt helpless, and hated it. He closed his eyes.
He felt the cold knife tip against his skin. The ripping sound the knife made as it tore his clothing from him seemed to cut through to his bones. Every muscle in his body tensed up. He waited for the blade to pierce his skin, but it never did. When the awful tearing sound had stopped, he opened his eyes again; he was naked and his clothing lay around his feet. Although it was hot in the room, he shivered.
Garak’s smile was broader, and his eyes were glittering. He was close enough for Bashir to see that his pupils were dilated. Bashir could almost feel the Cardassian’s eyes on his body. He could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath.
He looked like a hungry wolf. The wink must have been an trick of the light. There was no friend here, just a predator.
Bashir swallowed.
In a flash, Garak was upon him, his teeth on Bashir’s throat, his hands gripping his shoulders. He could his Adam’s apple trapped between those teeth, and he prepared himself for death. His arms remained down at his side: he was completely immobile with fear.
There was an instant when nothing happened. Then, just when he expected to feel a savage bite, he felt instead a gentle nibble. Hot breath fell on his skin, and the nibbling moved to the side of his neck. Bashir closed his eyes again. Every nerve of his being was on high alert, waiting for the attack. He felt trapped. He almost wished it would just come, so he could either try to endure it, or succumb. He felt the teeth hesitate. Then, there it was -There was - oh. Just a sharp nip.
He shuddered.
Garak withdrew again.
Bashir couldn’t take his eyes off Garak. Although there were no air currents, he was intensely aware of the feeling of air on his skin. Or was it the feeling of Garak’s eyes on his body? He had him pinned. Slowly Garak approached again. Bashir was rooted to the spot. Every part of him was... tight. He felt as if his nerves extended a foot outside his borders. He was trembling. He had to remind himself to breathe.
Once more, Garak came close. With his mouth next to Bashir’s ear, Garak hissed at him quietly.
“Doctor. You should appear frightened. Appalled. Horrified. Not... excited.”
Was Garak insane? Bashir had never felt so frightened. Yet, was it fright? Was it only fright? Or, if he were honest, would he admit there was something more? Bashir glanced down. Sure enough, he was growing tumescent.
Garak smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about that,” he breathed. “You’d be surprised how often that happens. I meant the expression on your face.” Bashir caught a glimpse of Garak’s tongue touching his lips briefly. “Try to look as though the thought of what I am about to do to you is... unpleasant.” He advanced. “Now... scurry!”
Obediently, Bashir quickly retreated, until he felt the wall at his back. Garak looked approvingly, then opened his pants and released his cock. It was erect, dark grey, and it pulsed as it sprang forward.
Bashir stared, unaware that his body was responding in kind.
Garak smiled again, and advanced, cornering him. As he got close, he whispered, “Remember, doctor. More horror. Less hunger.”
He grabbed Bashir around the waist with two large hands, pulling him as he backed up, then easily flipped him and bent him over the table. Bashir hadn’t realized how strong Garak was. He could feel him pushing up against him, hard and insistent, against his flesh. One hand held his hip. The other was busy... Bashir closed his eyes and waited for the pain of forced penetration.
Garak was speaking rather loudly. “You may think you are prepared for this, doctor, but I assure you that you are not. You may think that because you are a colleague, I will show you mercy, but I will not...”
Bashir became aware of something peculiar. Garak went on, taunting and describing all the violent and horrible ways he was going to hurt him. But, at the same time, he was pressing his cock very gently against Bashir’s opening. Bashir could feel Garak slide just the slightest bit inside him. He slid - how? It felt slick, not dry; there was no tearing. Bashir turned his head as much as he could. He thought he caught a glint of something in Garak’s hand, a tiny bottle, for an instant before it disappeared into the folds of his tunic.
He tensed. Garak went on with his increasingly elaborate descriptions of degradations to come, yet he placed his hand softly on the small of Bashir’s back and his fingers made almost imperceptible strokes. His other hand pinned Bashir at his shoulder, but his forefinger gently stroked the side of his neck. Bashir relaxed slightly. With his relaxation, Garak pushed in slightly deeper. Bashir tensed up again. The pressure stopped. Garak’s head descended close to his. “Easy, doctor,” he whispered.
Bashir understood. He willed himself to relax again. Again, Garak pressed on, stopping immediately when the clenching returned. Bashir breathed deeply, and allowed further progress. “Good boy,” hissed Garak softly. Bashir knew he should feel enraged at this insulting condescension, but instead, to his shame, he felt pleased. His face felt hot. Bashir realized that he could now feel Garak’s pants against his buttocks. He felt... filled, in a very strange but not unpleasant way. His head was buzzing; no, it was his body that was buzzing. He didn’t have time to analyze it, though, because then Garak began to move.
Bashir didn’t know what he was feeling. He only knew that his nerve endings had been so primed for assault that they were tingling with the stimulation. He realized that somehow Garak was making his movements seem bigger than they were. His shoulders and arms were pumping beyond the modest movements of his hips. He was making his movements seem more... violent than they were. Garak’s lips brushed his ear again.
“Please, doctor. I’ve rammed myself into you dry, supposedly. Can you manage to cry out, perhaps?”
Bashir obliged, feeling rather silly.
“Hmmm,” Garak grunted as his gentle thrusts continued. “I can see why you’re a doctor, not an actor. Perhaps you need more... motivation.” Bashir felt a hand reach around and grip his cock, and he gasped. Garak began stroking him in time to his now-more-enthusiastic thrusts.
Bashir moaned.
He heard another dry chuckle. “A little more pain, a little less joy, please.”
Bashir was lost in a sea of sensations. He could smell Garak’s sharp scent, compelling in its strangeness. He could feel Garak’s fingers, and the pressure of the table, on his pulsing cock. He could feel Garak inside him, rocking and thrusting, a strange and odd feeling that was... not awful. At the end of each thrust there was a spot - there! - Bashir groaned. A warmth was building within him. He was exquisitely trapped between Garak’s hand on his cock and the thrusting behind. He leaned first into the one, then into the other. There was no escape. His world narrowed and all his consciousness was focused into those two points of fire.
Garak’s free hand gripped first his neck, then his shoulder, then clutched his hair. He could hear Garak’s breathing quickening. From behind him, a deep, quiet rumble, a growl really, rose up and seemed to vibrate in the air. Both of Garak’s hands were now on his hips and the thrusts were truly vigorous, but Bashir was pushing back to meet them. The hands sent a message of caution and he ceased his movement. Instead, he grimaced and tried to pretend that he was in pain.
He heard the growl become a great cry, and felt a shudder pass through Garak’s body. His own release tore a deep groan from him, as his consciousness irised even further, to a single point of white heat. The world disappeared as he rode it out. Slowly he came back to himself. A heartbeat passed, then another. Garak drew a hand gently down his back; Bashir shivered, and felt his skin gratefully drink up the stroke. The rest of his body was jealous, especially his cock, which still pulsed a little, caught between his belly and the table. Then lips touched his ear again: “Are you hurt, doctor?” he heard Garak murmur. Bashir shook his head.
Then Garak rudely withdrew. Bashir felt fingers brush quickly over the spot he had vacated; wet fingers. Hands left his hips. His body cried for the loss of touch for a moment until he could marshal himself. He cautiously turned around, and leaned his hip against the table’s edge. He was startled to see a smear of red beneath him. Blood? He didn’t feel... He looked up quickly. Another glint; Garak’s fingers curled and his palm twisted and then there was nothing. He remembered the prick at his neck. Oh. However had he managed...?
Garak took up a towel and cleaned himself off, throwing a quick look at Bashir. Bashir retreated to the farthest corner and affected a slight cower. He thought he saw an approving gleam in Garak’s eyes.
Garak tossed the towel aside and arranged his clothing. “I’m done here,” he announced. He turned on his heel and left.
Bashir stayed where he was for a few moments, then went to retrieve the towel. He was using it when a guard came in. Ashamed, he drew it around to cover himself. The guard laughed, threw something at him, and left. Clothes. He got dressed. Then he waited.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A few days later, back at the station.
Garak’s door opened. Bashir entered without waiting to be invited. He strode past Garak into the room.
“Doctor.” Garak said, cautiously. They had not spoken since their return.
Bashir whirled, glaring at Garak for a few seconds before speaking, his hands clasped behind his back. When he spoke, his voice was cold.
“Why, Garak? Why did you do it? Why that? Why didn’t you just... hit me? Beat me up? Use an agonizer, a collar? Why didn’t you use that knife of yours?”
Garak appeared taken aback by Bashir’s tone. Good. Let him sweat.
“Well....” Garak hesitated for a moment, then tried on an arch smile. “You have flawless skin, doctor, did you know that? It seemed a shame to mar it.”
Bashir took a step closer, his eyes flashing.
The smile left Garak’s face, and he spread his hands out, palms up, in an supplicating gesture. “I didn’t want to hurt you. A collar, a knife, a beating... It would have had to have been enough to satisfy Tain. What I did... it was all I could think of.”
“I’ll bet. I’ll bet it was all you could think of.”
Bashir closed the distance between them further. He held the hostile stare, then allowed his features to shift into a pout.
“And you didn’t even kiss me.” He saw Garak register surprise, then his expression relaxed.
“That can be remedied...” Garak murmured.
Bashir’s features hardened again, then he smirked. “Maybe another time.” He fingered Garak’s tunic with his left hand. “Is this outfit one of your favorites, Garak?”
Then he gripped Garak’s upper arm, and grinned an evil grin as he brought his right hand forward.
“Doctor...? What is that?”
“Oh, this? That’s my laser scalpel. Haven’t you ever seen one this close? And the cuffs”- Garak noticed them now, tucked into the back of Bashir’s waistband - “I borrowed from Odo.”
“Uh, doctor? Why-”
“Just hold still, Garak. Hold very still. This won’t hurt a bit...”
Author: PrelocAndKanar (Prelocandkanar@aol.com)
Series: DS9
Part: 1/1
Rating: NC-17 for semi-consensual sex
Codes: G/B
Summary: In “Improbable Cause,” Garak must prove his loyalty to Tain. What if it had been Bashir instead of Odo? Basically a PWP.
Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to Jen Ingram, for her invaluable beta and for her support when I had doubts.
Comments, constructive criticism and other feedback are very welcome!
Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters, even though it never it never played with them enough. I only borrow them.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bashir was trying not to pace. He had been alone in the room - no, the cell - for what felt like hours. "Where the hell is Garak?" he scowled at the door. Probably with Tain, but what were they doing? After having met Tain a few years ago, he knew it could be anything. Was Garak being welcomed back? Or was he being punished for whatever it was that had gotten him exiled in the first place? With Tain, there was no knowing. He'd been here for hours just waiting - this was maddening! What the hell was going on? Why was he being held? What was going to happen to him?
He heard voices outside the door. Someone speaking to the guard. The door opened, and Garak entered.
The doctor's trained eyes ran over him quickly, seeing no damage. He was as impeccably dressed as always, his stance relaxed and almost casual. "I was getting worried about you! When can we get out of here?" Bashir greeted him with relief - until he saw his expression. "Garak?" The other man didn't answer, instead he advanced. The expression on his face darkened and he moved toward him with a hint of menace that was impossible to ignore.
Involuntarily, Bashir backed up. "What the hell is going on?" He demanded.
Garak smiled slowly, coolly. His expression was flat and he looked at him as though he were a stranger. This was not the face of his friend; this was the face of the interrogator. There was something in his body language, too, that made Bashir uneasy. He was like a coiled snake about to strike.
"Answer me, dammit! I want to know what's going on here!"
Silence.
“Garak, what are you playing at?” Bashir tried to keep from panicking. "Did Tain do something to you? What? What is going on here?"
With a sigh, the hard faced interrogator disappeared and the man before him was suddenly Garak once more. "Tain has decided to release us both, but for a price."
"What? What is it?" He looked at him in confusion. "Information? I don't have any. You know that - I'm a doctor, I don’t know anything useful to him. Unless he wants to know about the latest Starfleet medical advances..."
"He doesn't want information; he wants a show of loyalty. My loyalty." He paused for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. "He requires that I…that I prove to him that I am still a Cardassian and that my first loyalty is to him, doctor. He's worried that the years I've spent on the station have skewed my perceptions and values. If we are to survive, I cannot refuse him. He needs to know that I am still loyal. That I serve him.”
“And do you?” Bashir asked, searching his face for the answer.
“Always." Garak said without hesitation. "And through him, Cardassia. To prove this, he wants me to -” Garak broke off.
“To torture me?” Bashir asked harshly.
“Merely to hurt you,” Garak demurred. “A ... demonstration only. I have, after all, been an exile all these years for a reason. I have been out of favor. I must... pay dues. It is nothing personal. It is... a shame that you happen to be the,” he hesitated, choosing his words. “... recipient. This is typical Tain. But I do have some latitude. He allows me to do this in my own way.”
Garak approached him.
Bashir stiffened, and watched Garak circle him slowly. He could not read those shadowed eyes. He realized how little he knew this man. He did not know what to expect.
As Garak walked behind him, he said softly, “Tain may not be watching, but the guards most certainly will be. They will report back to him.”
Then he continued his circle, and spoke again, louder.
“There are many different ways to approach this sort of thing, doctor. Some of my associates use rather unsubtle methods, such as the brute application of pain. While this is not the most efficient method to use on a someone in my profession, it can be quite useful on a civilian such as yourself. ” Bashir could hear his heart beating but tried to keep his face neutral. Garak raised an eye ridge slightly. “I would, however, prefer not to use this technique today.” Bashir could not look away from Garak’s eyes... those hooded eyes which told him nothing.
“I have often chosen to use a more psychological approach to information extraction,” Garak continued. He sounded as though he were a professor giving a lecture. “This can be quite effective without causing so much waste.
“However, this method is best applied to a stranger. Because we know each other so well, doctor, were I to use this approach, I would need to go much further than is usually necessary in order to satisfy Tain’s requirements. I’m afraid that this approach would not be without its... consequences.
“Now, some of my colleagues use an entirely different approach, especially when the intent is merely to intimidate. To overwhelm. To convince the prisoner that he is powerless.”
Here, Garak stepped closer. He brought his face close to the doctor’s.
“Some of them enjoy using rape for this purpose. This method was never one of my preferred techniques. But in this case, I must confess, I find it rather appealing. Although it may not be without its psychological impact, I believe it would be preferable to any of the alternatives.” His eyes bore into Bashir’s.
Garak’s manner suddenly changed. In a strong and forceful voice, he hissed angrily, “I have waited a long time for this, doctor. I am going to use you for my pleasure in any way I see fit. I will know every part of you, and I will not be gentle. I will see that smug smile wiped off your face for good.”
Bashir felt as though the blood were draining from his face. Garak stared at him with eyes that were dark and intense. Then, suddenly, quickly, he winked.
Bashir blinked. How bizarre -- had he imagined it? Garak continued to stare at him, his face blank. He withdrew a step, looked Bashir up and down, and walked around him. Bashir felt a brief sting at the back of his neck. He whipped his head around but felt no after-effects. What was that, he wondered. Garak casually strolled back into his view, slipping a hand into his tunic, then out again.
When Bashir saw what was in that hand, he stopped thinking.
Garak held a knife, and he was smiling. It was not a pleasant smile. He stepped in very close to Bashir. “Now, don’t move, doctor.”
Bashir couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. He felt helpless, and hated it. He closed his eyes.
He felt the cold knife tip against his skin. The ripping sound the knife made as it tore his clothing from him seemed to cut through to his bones. Every muscle in his body tensed up. He waited for the blade to pierce his skin, but it never did. When the awful tearing sound had stopped, he opened his eyes again; he was naked and his clothing lay around his feet. Although it was hot in the room, he shivered.
Garak’s smile was broader, and his eyes were glittering. He was close enough for Bashir to see that his pupils were dilated. Bashir could almost feel the Cardassian’s eyes on his body. He could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath.
He looked like a hungry wolf. The wink must have been an trick of the light. There was no friend here, just a predator.
Bashir swallowed.
In a flash, Garak was upon him, his teeth on Bashir’s throat, his hands gripping his shoulders. He could his Adam’s apple trapped between those teeth, and he prepared himself for death. His arms remained down at his side: he was completely immobile with fear.
There was an instant when nothing happened. Then, just when he expected to feel a savage bite, he felt instead a gentle nibble. Hot breath fell on his skin, and the nibbling moved to the side of his neck. Bashir closed his eyes again. Every nerve of his being was on high alert, waiting for the attack. He felt trapped. He almost wished it would just come, so he could either try to endure it, or succumb. He felt the teeth hesitate. Then, there it was -There was - oh. Just a sharp nip.
He shuddered.
Garak withdrew again.
Bashir couldn’t take his eyes off Garak. Although there were no air currents, he was intensely aware of the feeling of air on his skin. Or was it the feeling of Garak’s eyes on his body? He had him pinned. Slowly Garak approached again. Bashir was rooted to the spot. Every part of him was... tight. He felt as if his nerves extended a foot outside his borders. He was trembling. He had to remind himself to breathe.
Once more, Garak came close. With his mouth next to Bashir’s ear, Garak hissed at him quietly.
“Doctor. You should appear frightened. Appalled. Horrified. Not... excited.”
Was Garak insane? Bashir had never felt so frightened. Yet, was it fright? Was it only fright? Or, if he were honest, would he admit there was something more? Bashir glanced down. Sure enough, he was growing tumescent.
Garak smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about that,” he breathed. “You’d be surprised how often that happens. I meant the expression on your face.” Bashir caught a glimpse of Garak’s tongue touching his lips briefly. “Try to look as though the thought of what I am about to do to you is... unpleasant.” He advanced. “Now... scurry!”
Obediently, Bashir quickly retreated, until he felt the wall at his back. Garak looked approvingly, then opened his pants and released his cock. It was erect, dark grey, and it pulsed as it sprang forward.
Bashir stared, unaware that his body was responding in kind.
Garak smiled again, and advanced, cornering him. As he got close, he whispered, “Remember, doctor. More horror. Less hunger.”
He grabbed Bashir around the waist with two large hands, pulling him as he backed up, then easily flipped him and bent him over the table. Bashir hadn’t realized how strong Garak was. He could feel him pushing up against him, hard and insistent, against his flesh. One hand held his hip. The other was busy... Bashir closed his eyes and waited for the pain of forced penetration.
Garak was speaking rather loudly. “You may think you are prepared for this, doctor, but I assure you that you are not. You may think that because you are a colleague, I will show you mercy, but I will not...”
Bashir became aware of something peculiar. Garak went on, taunting and describing all the violent and horrible ways he was going to hurt him. But, at the same time, he was pressing his cock very gently against Bashir’s opening. Bashir could feel Garak slide just the slightest bit inside him. He slid - how? It felt slick, not dry; there was no tearing. Bashir turned his head as much as he could. He thought he caught a glint of something in Garak’s hand, a tiny bottle, for an instant before it disappeared into the folds of his tunic.
He tensed. Garak went on with his increasingly elaborate descriptions of degradations to come, yet he placed his hand softly on the small of Bashir’s back and his fingers made almost imperceptible strokes. His other hand pinned Bashir at his shoulder, but his forefinger gently stroked the side of his neck. Bashir relaxed slightly. With his relaxation, Garak pushed in slightly deeper. Bashir tensed up again. The pressure stopped. Garak’s head descended close to his. “Easy, doctor,” he whispered.
Bashir understood. He willed himself to relax again. Again, Garak pressed on, stopping immediately when the clenching returned. Bashir breathed deeply, and allowed further progress. “Good boy,” hissed Garak softly. Bashir knew he should feel enraged at this insulting condescension, but instead, to his shame, he felt pleased. His face felt hot. Bashir realized that he could now feel Garak’s pants against his buttocks. He felt... filled, in a very strange but not unpleasant way. His head was buzzing; no, it was his body that was buzzing. He didn’t have time to analyze it, though, because then Garak began to move.
Bashir didn’t know what he was feeling. He only knew that his nerve endings had been so primed for assault that they were tingling with the stimulation. He realized that somehow Garak was making his movements seem bigger than they were. His shoulders and arms were pumping beyond the modest movements of his hips. He was making his movements seem more... violent than they were. Garak’s lips brushed his ear again.
“Please, doctor. I’ve rammed myself into you dry, supposedly. Can you manage to cry out, perhaps?”
Bashir obliged, feeling rather silly.
“Hmmm,” Garak grunted as his gentle thrusts continued. “I can see why you’re a doctor, not an actor. Perhaps you need more... motivation.” Bashir felt a hand reach around and grip his cock, and he gasped. Garak began stroking him in time to his now-more-enthusiastic thrusts.
Bashir moaned.
He heard another dry chuckle. “A little more pain, a little less joy, please.”
Bashir was lost in a sea of sensations. He could smell Garak’s sharp scent, compelling in its strangeness. He could feel Garak’s fingers, and the pressure of the table, on his pulsing cock. He could feel Garak inside him, rocking and thrusting, a strange and odd feeling that was... not awful. At the end of each thrust there was a spot - there! - Bashir groaned. A warmth was building within him. He was exquisitely trapped between Garak’s hand on his cock and the thrusting behind. He leaned first into the one, then into the other. There was no escape. His world narrowed and all his consciousness was focused into those two points of fire.
Garak’s free hand gripped first his neck, then his shoulder, then clutched his hair. He could hear Garak’s breathing quickening. From behind him, a deep, quiet rumble, a growl really, rose up and seemed to vibrate in the air. Both of Garak’s hands were now on his hips and the thrusts were truly vigorous, but Bashir was pushing back to meet them. The hands sent a message of caution and he ceased his movement. Instead, he grimaced and tried to pretend that he was in pain.
He heard the growl become a great cry, and felt a shudder pass through Garak’s body. His own release tore a deep groan from him, as his consciousness irised even further, to a single point of white heat. The world disappeared as he rode it out. Slowly he came back to himself. A heartbeat passed, then another. Garak drew a hand gently down his back; Bashir shivered, and felt his skin gratefully drink up the stroke. The rest of his body was jealous, especially his cock, which still pulsed a little, caught between his belly and the table. Then lips touched his ear again: “Are you hurt, doctor?” he heard Garak murmur. Bashir shook his head.
Then Garak rudely withdrew. Bashir felt fingers brush quickly over the spot he had vacated; wet fingers. Hands left his hips. His body cried for the loss of touch for a moment until he could marshal himself. He cautiously turned around, and leaned his hip against the table’s edge. He was startled to see a smear of red beneath him. Blood? He didn’t feel... He looked up quickly. Another glint; Garak’s fingers curled and his palm twisted and then there was nothing. He remembered the prick at his neck. Oh. However had he managed...?
Garak took up a towel and cleaned himself off, throwing a quick look at Bashir. Bashir retreated to the farthest corner and affected a slight cower. He thought he saw an approving gleam in Garak’s eyes.
Garak tossed the towel aside and arranged his clothing. “I’m done here,” he announced. He turned on his heel and left.
Bashir stayed where he was for a few moments, then went to retrieve the towel. He was using it when a guard came in. Ashamed, he drew it around to cover himself. The guard laughed, threw something at him, and left. Clothes. He got dressed. Then he waited.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A few days later, back at the station.
Garak’s door opened. Bashir entered without waiting to be invited. He strode past Garak into the room.
“Doctor.” Garak said, cautiously. They had not spoken since their return.
Bashir whirled, glaring at Garak for a few seconds before speaking, his hands clasped behind his back. When he spoke, his voice was cold.
“Why, Garak? Why did you do it? Why that? Why didn’t you just... hit me? Beat me up? Use an agonizer, a collar? Why didn’t you use that knife of yours?”
Garak appeared taken aback by Bashir’s tone. Good. Let him sweat.
“Well....” Garak hesitated for a moment, then tried on an arch smile. “You have flawless skin, doctor, did you know that? It seemed a shame to mar it.”
Bashir took a step closer, his eyes flashing.
The smile left Garak’s face, and he spread his hands out, palms up, in an supplicating gesture. “I didn’t want to hurt you. A collar, a knife, a beating... It would have had to have been enough to satisfy Tain. What I did... it was all I could think of.”
“I’ll bet. I’ll bet it was all you could think of.”
Bashir closed the distance between them further. He held the hostile stare, then allowed his features to shift into a pout.
“And you didn’t even kiss me.” He saw Garak register surprise, then his expression relaxed.
“That can be remedied...” Garak murmured.
Bashir’s features hardened again, then he smirked. “Maybe another time.” He fingered Garak’s tunic with his left hand. “Is this outfit one of your favorites, Garak?”
Then he gripped Garak’s upper arm, and grinned an evil grin as he brought his right hand forward.
“Doctor...? What is that?”
“Oh, this? That’s my laser scalpel. Haven’t you ever seen one this close? And the cuffs”- Garak noticed them now, tucked into the back of Bashir’s waistband - “I borrowed from Odo.”
“Uh, doctor? Why-”
“Just hold still, Garak. Hold very still. This won’t hurt a bit...”