The Dragon Charmer (Star Trek DS9, Garak/Bashir)
Note: I think LJ ate some words when I posted this. Anyway, hopefully all fixed now.
Title: The Dragon Charmer
Author: Renata Lord (snowlight)
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: ~700
Disclaimer: Not mine don't sue etc.
Note: Written for tpring0614. Beta read by tli. Many thanks! :D
*
Garak doesn't like it when I touch the hollow of his throat.
The place is not as clearly defined on a Cardassian as on a human, partly due to wide neck lines. But when I put a finger on the spot in a soft circling motion, the physical reaction elicited is unmistakable: dilated pupils, sharp intake of air, and the ridges darkening in color; all signs of heightened sexual arousal and desire.
I only do it when I want him to lose control.
"Doctor-" Now he growls softly under my finger, his throat muscles shifting. He's not trying to restrain my hand though, and I grin in triumph.
"Julian," I correct him.
"My dear." Garak shakes his head and looks up at me, smiling almost politely. His blue eyes turn perfectly clear, like some chemical compound I can't remember the name of at the moment. "Be careful of what you ask for, lest you receive it."
"Julian," I insist as I move against his body, trapping his still half-hard cock between my legs. I press down on his rib cage with another hand, then start to slowly trace the soft scales and hard ridges there. I drop my head down and lick the outlines of his ear ridge, letting his warmth envelop me like a thick shroud. His cock twitches and I grind against him a little, feeling the scales scratching the skin on my inner thigh.
For all my hands-on experiences with xenobiology in general and with Garak in particular, there is a part of Garak's physique that remains fundamentally alien and vaguely unsettling to my senses. It makes for sex unlike anything I've experienced before, but it's also why I very rarely let him get on top of me, regardless of penetration. When I have him like this-only partly sated, hardened skin all warm and slick, the heat radiating from him like thunders rolling across the plain, the scales fluttering under my hand-I feel as if I'm trying to charm a dragon. Some elegant and powerful creature from the Orient, to be sure, but still so anciently, stubbornly reptilian.
And the dragon is hissing in my ears.
He sounds harsh and foreign. It takes me a moment to realize that he's speaking in Cardassian.
"If I choose to start with you, you will hardly concern yourself with something as trivial as your name. The only name meaning anything to you will be mine. You will be screaming it begging for mercy, and you will not receive it. Some might say that is exactly what you deserve, Julian Subatoi Bashir."
A hand comes up to the back of my neck, caressing none too gently. I think he means for the gesture to have menace, even if it's utterly lost on me. I want to kiss him, really, but I can't risk ruining the moment. We are so close; I can smell the excitement in his blood, screaming to me to be let free.
"You are exactly what I deserve," I reply in Cardassian as well. "You and your blasted awful taste in literature."
When Garak says nothing in return, I turn my head and half-kiss him on his cheek. His skin is gloriously flushed, and his eyes are closed in what I take to be implicit acquiescence. My Elim, I breathe out in wonder, dying to kiss him again yet not quite daring to. He wants this as much as I do, even if he's loathe to admit it-he's loathe to admit anything as a matter of standing policy, of course, but it gives me particular pleasure to be able to snap him out from that harmless incognito.
Back on Earth, there is an old, old legend about the Asiatic dragons: Though some of them may be exceedingly benevolent, even the best-tempered ones will become enraged if one touches a particular set of scales on their throats. Those pieces are called ni-lin or geki-lin, meaning literally "the scales of reversal." To touch them means invitation of certain death by fire.
Sometimes I wonder if Elim has those scales, too.
I caress the hollow of his throat again, very carefully.
Come, my dragon.
Come to me like a supernova on the blackest of nights.
*
Finis
Title: The Dragon Charmer
Author: Renata Lord (snowlight)
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: ~700
Disclaimer: Not mine don't sue etc.
Note: Written for tpring0614. Beta read by tli. Many thanks! :D
*
Garak doesn't like it when I touch the hollow of his throat.
The place is not as clearly defined on a Cardassian as on a human, partly due to wide neck lines. But when I put a finger on the spot in a soft circling motion, the physical reaction elicited is unmistakable: dilated pupils, sharp intake of air, and the ridges darkening in color; all signs of heightened sexual arousal and desire.
I only do it when I want him to lose control.
"Doctor-" Now he growls softly under my finger, his throat muscles shifting. He's not trying to restrain my hand though, and I grin in triumph.
"Julian," I correct him.
"My dear." Garak shakes his head and looks up at me, smiling almost politely. His blue eyes turn perfectly clear, like some chemical compound I can't remember the name of at the moment. "Be careful of what you ask for, lest you receive it."
"Julian," I insist as I move against his body, trapping his still half-hard cock between my legs. I press down on his rib cage with another hand, then start to slowly trace the soft scales and hard ridges there. I drop my head down and lick the outlines of his ear ridge, letting his warmth envelop me like a thick shroud. His cock twitches and I grind against him a little, feeling the scales scratching the skin on my inner thigh.
For all my hands-on experiences with xenobiology in general and with Garak in particular, there is a part of Garak's physique that remains fundamentally alien and vaguely unsettling to my senses. It makes for sex unlike anything I've experienced before, but it's also why I very rarely let him get on top of me, regardless of penetration. When I have him like this-only partly sated, hardened skin all warm and slick, the heat radiating from him like thunders rolling across the plain, the scales fluttering under my hand-I feel as if I'm trying to charm a dragon. Some elegant and powerful creature from the Orient, to be sure, but still so anciently, stubbornly reptilian.
And the dragon is hissing in my ears.
He sounds harsh and foreign. It takes me a moment to realize that he's speaking in Cardassian.
"If I choose to start with you, you will hardly concern yourself with something as trivial as your name. The only name meaning anything to you will be mine. You will be screaming it begging for mercy, and you will not receive it. Some might say that is exactly what you deserve, Julian Subatoi Bashir."
A hand comes up to the back of my neck, caressing none too gently. I think he means for the gesture to have menace, even if it's utterly lost on me. I want to kiss him, really, but I can't risk ruining the moment. We are so close; I can smell the excitement in his blood, screaming to me to be let free.
"You are exactly what I deserve," I reply in Cardassian as well. "You and your blasted awful taste in literature."
When Garak says nothing in return, I turn my head and half-kiss him on his cheek. His skin is gloriously flushed, and his eyes are closed in what I take to be implicit acquiescence. My Elim, I breathe out in wonder, dying to kiss him again yet not quite daring to. He wants this as much as I do, even if he's loathe to admit it-he's loathe to admit anything as a matter of standing policy, of course, but it gives me particular pleasure to be able to snap him out from that harmless incognito.
Back on Earth, there is an old, old legend about the Asiatic dragons: Though some of them may be exceedingly benevolent, even the best-tempered ones will become enraged if one touches a particular set of scales on their throats. Those pieces are called ni-lin or geki-lin, meaning literally "the scales of reversal." To touch them means invitation of certain death by fire.
Sometimes I wonder if Elim has those scales, too.
I caress the hollow of his throat again, very carefully.
Come, my dragon.
Come to me like a supernova on the blackest of nights.
*
Finis