Bachelor's Wife

Title: Bachelor's Wife.

Series: Star Trek, Deep Space Nine.

Pairings: Garak/Bashir.

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.

Link to this fic on Livejournal or on Dreamwidth.

Link to this fic on AO3.

***

This fic is also available as a podfic.

Read by: me.

Duration: 1:27:35 mins.

Download link.

***

* * *

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.

* * *

“Computer, replicate standard Cardassian kosan, fifteen inches.”

Garak sighed as the item appeared in the replicator. How he hated these things. But unfortunately they had become all to familiar to him during his lonely exile. Removing the dead scales without help was not easy, and despite that the kosan with its hooks and wedges was designed for the purpose, it was always very unpleasant. Not like when you had a loving partner, willing to do the sensitive work.

He wistfully thought back to the last time someone had done that for him, while removing his tunic, wincing as it caught on the scales of his arms. With a slight shock he found it had been over five years since he last had someone help him with it. She hadn't been a long term partner, but she had been very sweet and gentle. Had he really done this himself so many times now? He thought back as he entered his bathroom and laid out a towel on the floor to catch the scales. Several days a year for five years? He found it hard to believe.

As the main wedge of the kosan loosened the first scale on his shoulder blade with a jab of pain, followed by a maddening itch, the memory of all the lonely nights of doing this suddenly came back to him all too clearly. He found himself longing for someone... anyone willing to join him. Someone to oil the scales, soften them and gently rub until they came off by themselves, not needing the aid of the cold kosan. And the sensitivity of the new scales underneath was... unparalleled. Having a lover do this was mind-blowing.

Surely there was nothing more erotic in the world than gentle lips on fresh scales. Hands kneading the velvet plates, so soft still that they felt more like baby rhama leather than the usual nail-like texture when they hardened. Those precious hours of over-sensitized flesh and cartilage spent with a passionate bedmate were moments all adult Cardassians could look back on with smiles. Garak did not smile, however, when his body reacted to the train of thought and reminded him once again just how alone he was. His heated skin and tightened groin seemed to be mocking his loneliness.

Even for a Cardassian, Garak was not one much for sexual self-gratification. His species in general possessed sufficient social skills to never go too long without willing partners, even when away from their home world. But it had been years for Garak now. Even for a race not famed for their sexual cravings, years of forced celibacy would take more self restraint than could possibly be healthy for a man in his prime. Unlike certain other humanoid species, Cardassian libido did not exactly drop with age. Another reason why hardly anyone - even senior citizens - on Garak's home world would ever be reduced to such loneliness as Garak was punished with for his misdeeds.

He could feel his precious self control starting to slip through his fingers more and more every day. His reaction to the doctor's casual touch was all the proof he needed. It would not do. He would have to tend to that problem later. And of course his treacherous mind jumped right back to the deliriously wonderful sensation of the doctor's steady hands and warm fingers, gently removing the loose scale on his neck ridge. How heavenly it would be if his lovely, young friend was the one doing the rubbing and stroking. The satisfying gentle scratching of nails over his oiled, but still itchy skin. The amazing feel of that alien, smooth, golden flesh against...

He ripped off a scale viciously to cut the thought short and winced as he felt the new scale tear slightly at the edge. Damn. With his luck, the small rifts made by his rough self treatment would get infected, so he would have no choice but to go see the doctor himself. He would of course want to know how it had happened and would probably not quit nagging until Garak volunteered something embarrassingly personal. Like how this shouldn't have to be done alone. Or how he had as good as no chance of finding someone to do this for him any time soon. After all, the doctor was probably the only person on this station who didn't regard him with some form of dislike.

Again he allowed his mind to drift to the young man, imagining them both in a traditional Cardassian steam room, the young man oiling him up while the scales softened in the heat and damp. How exquisite it would be to have a willing lover heating his body from the inside as well as outside, distracting from the itching and stinging with gentle caresses and soft kisses. How glorious...

How impossible. He was absolutely convinced that the doctor had no such desires. He had tested his friend again and again, teasing him, taunting him, goading him. But not once had he seen any response that would have lead him to believe that Bashir would be willing to join him in bed. They could flirt, surely, and they did. But that was it. Bashir had made his interests perfectly clear, given the amount of time he spent praising the virtues of some young lady or other, while Garak had been doing everything short of kissing him in the replimat to make his own point. There was clearly no hope for them to ever be involved.

Even if Bashir would be open to a relationship with a male alien who in Federation years was more than twenty years his senior, Garak knew he had put a peg in the wheel for himself, by not being just a little more honest with the young man from the beginning. And now it was too late. The doctor probably wouldn't believe anything he said these days, no matter how close he could get to the truth. And of course, that was also ignoring the other obvious drawbacks of getting involved with a Cardassian on a Bajoran space station.

Feeling now more than a little frustrated he flung the kosan through the doorway of the bathroom and watched it skid to a halt in the middle of the living room floor. Resting his elbows on the sink he rubbed his face vigorously, willing the heady fantasies of his Human friend out of his mind. When he finally looked up again, his hands were covered in tiny, shimmering scales. He sighed in defeat as he picked up a small, delicate brush to rub off the facial scales. With a last sour look at himself in the mirror, he again took up the lengthy task at hand.

He had just started on his upper arms when the door chime sounded. He groaned and threw on his light undershirt as he went to the door. He was not in any mood or condition to have visitors. The door whispered open to reveal the doctor wearing a slightly abashed expression. “Hello, Garak. May I come in?”

Of all the people to interrupt him now, it had to be the very person he least of all wanted to see. His face was a cold facade as he steeled himself in the doorway, effectively blocking the entrance. “No, you may not, doctor.”

Bashir sighed and looked at his toes. “I suppose that's only fair. Look, I just came to apologize. I guess I overstepped your boundaries and I'm very sorry if I offended you.”

Garak didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that statement. He was not offended. Oh no. Neither did he feel that the doctor needed to apologize for awakening his all too long ignored desires. But of course, there would be no telling his young friend all this. For now, all Garak wanted was to get Bashir away from his door, so he could go back to his lonely grooming and later some very satisfying stress relief.

“That's perfectly all right. I hold no grudge against you. Now if you'll excuse me...”

Turning his back to the door even before it was closed completely he was shocked when he suddenly heard the doctor cry out: “Garak! You're bleeding!”

Stopping the door with his hand, Bashir immediately stepped inside and reached for him, eyes fixed on the white shirt stained with purple-red blood oozing from his torn scales. Garak whirled around and stopped his friend in his tracks with his most commanding voice. “Stop! I cannot allow you to enter my quarters at the moment. Now, would you please leave?”

Bashir flinched, but refused to be dismissed. “But you're hurt. I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on!”

Snarling, Garak advanced on his Human friend, backing him towards the door. “Yes you are. Being a doctor does not give you the right to invade my privacy!”

The doctor swallowed hard but stood his ground after a few steps. “Actually it does. I am the CMO of this station, and that means I have the right to interfere if any of its inhabitants are doing serious injury to themselves.”

Stepping in so close that Bashir could smell the bitter Cardassian blood through the light shirt, Garak fixed his friend with a withering stare. “You are without comparison the most insufferable nuisance. A few drops of blood is hardly a serious injury and yes, it might be self inflicted but it needs to be done. Would you barge into Sisko's quarters if he cut himself shaving? Would you rush Chief O'Brien to the infirmary if he burned his thumb, fixing the relays? No. I didn't think so. Now, would you please leave, or shall I have to call security and make us all very uncomfortable?”

Bashir stared searchingly into Garak's face and made the older man back away slightly from the intensity of his eyes. “Why won't you let me help you? I'm your friend.”

This time Garak sighed and looked down. “That's precisely why, doctor. You are my friend. Therefore I cannot ask you to help me with this.”

Oblivious of Garak's internal struggles, Bashir stepped in close again and laid a warm hand on the itchy, sensitive shoulder, making him shiver ever so slightly. It took a good deal of willpower to prevent himself from leaning closer to the touch. To urge the hand to move.

“You don't have to ask me, Garak. I'm offering my help willingly.”

Garak closed his eyes and ground his teeth. Why did his dear doctor have to make this so difficult?

“You don't know what you're offering.”

Bashir frowned and squeezed the shoulder, making Garak hiss silently, head still bowed. “Then explain it to me. Explain it to me, so I can prove to you that I mean what I say. I want to help you.”

The frustrations welled up in Garak and he suddenly felt desperate to make his all too desirable friend go as far away as possible, before he did something incredibly stupid. Turning away with a grimace he wrenched his shoulder from the doctor's grip with a gasp at the intense sensation. “Doctor, you don't understand!”

At this exclamation, Bashir flared up. “No, you're right! I don't! Because you never tell me a damn thing! You can go on for hours talking riddles and expect me to figure things out for myself, but I'm not a bloody mind reader, you know!”

“Hah! No. Thank the stars for that.” The barked out laugh from his tormented host apparently took Bashir completely by surprise, because his look was all confusion as Garak turned back to face him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Garak pulled himself together, determined to get rid of his unwelcome guest. “It means, doctor, that my thoughts are private, as are my quarters. And you are not welcome in either right now.”

Advancing on the younger man while speaking, he forced him to step backwards towards the door. But after only a few steps, there was a surprising crunch as Bashir stepped on the kosan, snapping it in half. “Oh no! Garak, I'm so sorry.”

Garak couldn't care less. He just needed the doctor to leave. Immediately. “That's quite all right. No harm done. Now please leave.”

Ignoring him completely, Bashir picked up the kosan and inspected the damage. “I'm really sorry, Garak. I'll get you a new one. Uhm... what is it?”

The grinding of Garak's teeth sounded like a roar in his skull. He had employed his most commanding voice and demeanor to make sure the doctor could be in no doubt how serious he was. Being ignored was certainly not what he had intended. Had his self imposed abstinence reduced him to this state? Had he lost his touch in this cold, lonely prison of his? Probably. He felt like a fool. But there was no time for self reproach.

The doctor was still standing much too close. Garak could smell him. Could even feel the heat from his warmblooded body in the Cardassian standard temperature of his quarters. The slender Human hands sliding up and down the broken shaft of the kosan made very unwelcome images spring to mind and Garak swallowed what felt like his whole shipment of coat lining before feeling able to answer the doctor. “It's not important, believe me.”

Bashir looked up with a frown. “It is! I broke one of your possessions! Now tell me what it is, so I can have a new one made for you!”

Garak felt like he was having a minor claustrophobic panic attack in the face of this damned over-helpful Human. He could feel his self control cracking and knew it was showing in his face. The doctor noticed it, of course. Again he put that unwanted, unwelcome- but oh- so soft and warm hand on Garak's itchy shoulder. This time he simply could not help leaning into the touch and he was sure his barely concealed hiss of pleasure must be ringing in Bashir's ears. But his friend did not back away or remove his hand. Instead his face softened and his voice was a soothing balm, obviously meant to relax and comfort a suffering friend. “Garak... I can see you're hurting somehow. Let me help you, please.”

Suddenly it was all too much. He was assaulted from all sides at once. The doctor's eyes and voice, his smell and touch, his very presence washed over Garak, making his head spin. He would have been able to pull himself together again, had it not been for that most feared emotion of all, which chose that exact moment to rear its ugly head. Tain had warned him time and time again about that very sentiment. It was the most obvious sign of weakness. The ultimate stupidity.

Hope.

But sure enough. It was there. Small, but rapidly overtaking all his thoughts. What if he let the doctor help? What if he let himself see what would happen? What if... those two words echoed through his head in endless formations, while his young friend simply held on to him, patiently waiting for some sort of reply.

He knew the battle was lost long before he stopped frantically wringing his mind for means of escaping the inevitable conclusion. But somehow it was like a weight lifted when he finally decided to surrender himself to the situation and simply see where it would take him. After all, what harm could possibly be in it? His conscience roared in the back of his mind, using Tain's voice as always, that there was every damn harm in it. But Tain was dead, and Garak had never felt more alone, more hopeless or more desperately starved for intimacy of any kind.

He could only speculate what the sweet, young man watching him was thinking. His behaviour had to be puzzling to say the least. But no matter. It would be pointless now to try and 'save face'. Indeed it would hardly serve his purpose. Bashir did not press on. He simply stood there, waiting and channeling soothing heat from his hand into Garak's shoulder.

Finally resigning himself to betting it all and being as honest as he knew how, Garak took a deep breath and slowly backed away until the doctor let his hand drop from the shoulder. Only then could he meet the questioning eyes of his guest and only then did he regain the use of his voice, which had been somewhat impaired for the past few minutes. With effort, he relaxed his face, took the kosan out of Bashir's hands and hitched on a small, friendly smile. “So... you wanted to know what this is.”

Bashir simply nodded and waited for Garak to continue. Turning away and slowly moving towards his couch, he explained calmly while he was a roaring chaos of uncertainty inside. “It's a Cardassian tool called a kosan. Also sometimes unflatteringly referred to as The Bachelor's Wife.”

There was a heavy pause while Garak considered how to proceed. The doctor remained near the door, his brow furrowed in thought. “I'm... not sure I understand.”

Keeping his back to him, Garak sat down gingerly on the edge of his couch, careful not to let his stained shirt come into contact with the surface of the backrest. “I'm sure that as a doctor you are aware that Cardassians shed their scales once a year and the medical consequences of this. But I doubt that any of your medical files taught you the social significance of that event.”

Bashir silently moved closer and sat down on the other end of the couch, observing his friend carefully. “No, they didn't.”

Garak placed the kosan on a low table next to the couch and kept his eyes lowered as he explained further. “You see, doctor, the scales of adult Cardassian men don't just fall off by themselves like the women's do. They require attention over a couple of days, to ensure that they all come off and all the new scales are completely emerged. That's what the kosan is for. It's designed for the task of removing dead scales. But in essence, it's only a last resort.”

Turning his eyes to the doctor, Garak found him meeting his eyes with patient wonder. He kept a sharp eye out for any negative change in his guests expression as he carefully explained on.

“Traditionally it was the duty of one's wife to tend to the shedding. As most Cardassians strive to get married and indeed consider it their duty to reproduce for the good of the state, only very few need the kosan, and it's considered somewhat of a taboo to acknowledge that you have to use one. In more recent times however, it's widely accepted to have one's lover or even a paid courtesan aid you with this sensitive task. And consequently it's become even more shameful to have to use the kosan.”

Bashir's face showed no change yet. He was completely absorbed in his friend's words and his eyes were fixed on the shifting ridges and scales, slowly revealing more and more how nervous Garak really was. “It's considered a very private thing and is not openly discussed or dealt with. Only someone who is very intimately familiar with your whole body is supposed to be involved. Your friends or even your closest family are not the sort of people you do this with. It's... not acceptable.”

The doctor frowned as Garak paused, not quite sure how to continue. Bashir finally ventured to speak after a long moment of deep thought. “Would it make any difference if... if I swore I would never tell anyone?”

A sudden bitter laugh from his host made Bashir's eyebrows disappear in his hairline.

“My dear doctor, who would you tell? Who would care? Only other Cardassians would recognize the impropriety of the gesture anyway. No. It's more of a... personal issue.”

Garak swallowed visibly and kept his hands firmly in his lap to keep them from shaking as he prepared to make the point which would most likely make his guest run in horror. “No... the reason why only lovers and wives do this, is that the shedding is tightly linked to very... sensitive areas. Places of vulnerability, areas not easily accessible by yourself and... erogenous zones of course.”

Stealing a glance at his friend he was amazed to see no sign of disgust or indeed any negative emotion yet. Simply a rather puzzled expression. He hurriedly explained further, before the idea could sink in and cut the whole thing very short. “You must understand, doctor, for a Cardassian, there is a huge difference between a lover and a friend. Yes, we trust those who earn it, but there are still limits to how close we would ever be with even our closest friends. For instance, it's considered very unwise and weak to appear naked in front of anyone but your partner. Another reason why I've always been very reluctant indeed to undergo your famous physicals.”

Finally Bashir spoke in a firmer voice, as if he suddenly understood something. “So, what you're saying is that you don't want my help, because I'm your friend and it would then be... improper?”

Not exactly the point he was trying to make, but at least the doctor now understood a little more of his strange behavior. Now for the ultimate breaking point. The point of no return. “Well... yes... and no. The thing is, my dear doctor... I... do want your help. But I cannot accept it... as a friend.”

The silence in the room was a torture unlike any Garak could remember having ever endured before. Unable to keep his gaze on his friend, he fixed his eyes on his lap and kept them there, while the doctor processed what he had said. After a while he began to fear that Bashir simply could not fathom what he was asking, so he would have to say it even clearer. As if it wasn't difficult enough. Finally after long minutes of agony, Bashir cleared his throat nervously.

“All right, so... it would only be acceptable for me to help you if... I became your lover?”

Gathering his courage Garak finally looked at his guest again. The doctor's face was a chaos of emotions, no single one staying long enough to be clear. But he wasn't leaving either. The hope blossomed anew in Garak's chest.

“Exactly.”

Eventually the doctor's eyes left Garak for the first time since they sat down and he gazed thoughtfully into the empty air. Garak held his breath as the thoughts raced around behind the smooth Human forehead and awaited his sentence. When the doctor finally straightened with jaw set and shoulders squared, Garak was prepared for the rejection. He was prepared for the worst.

“All right, Garak. If I have to become sexually involved with you to prevent you from hurting yourself, I will. After all, I can't imagine anyone else on the station willing to do this for you. But you are my friend and my patient, and I will do this to keep you from harm.

Garak's heart sank. No, he had not been prepared for the worst. Julian offering himself willingly as some sort of living kosan was even worse than pure rejection. He was not going to be his lover. He was going to be a friend performing a service. It was heartbreaking. He felt his lips stretch automatically into what must have been a very strained smile, but Bashir didn't seem to notice or acknowledge it. Feeling that things could hardly get any worse, Garak accepted the offer, feeling that from here on, things could only improve. But he couldn't help the stiffness in his voice when he said: “Thank you, doctor. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help.”

* * *

The doctor met his eyes with clear determination. No discomfort or disgust was visible on his face, but the mask of professionalism was worse. The detachment to the task at hand was horrible and Garak avoided the look of his friend to block out the knowledge that it wasn't the way he would prefer this to happen.

“So. I suggest you tell me exactly what to do. I know physically what the shedding entails, but as you say, there's a social aspect. So fill me in.”

Garak squared his shoulders and stood. He felt Bashir's eyes on him as he casually shed his shirt and made his way to his bedroom. He heard the doctor follow him after a few seconds and felt him watching from the doorway as he spread a sheet on top of his bed covers. Not looking at his guest, he simply said to the bed: “There is a vial of oil on the shelf next to you. It will soften the scales, making them easier to shed and reduce the itching. I suggest you remove your uniform. The oil does ugly things to cloth.”

He turned to find Bashir inspecting the plain oil with interest, opening the vial and smelling it.

“What is it exactly?”

Sitting down on the bed, Garak removed his socks and averted his eyes. “It's a plant extract from Cardassia. It's both a mild disinfectant, moisturizer for Cardassian skin types and also produces heat with minimal friction. It has multiple uses. Everything from relaxing tense muscles, recovering from wounds, minimizing scarring and promoting healing. In short, an all purpose healing oil.”

He looked up and watched the doctor rubbing a little of the oil between his fingers, his eyebrows lifting at the immediate heating of his skin. “I see. So what will happen?” he asked, fixing his eyes on Garak with the first sign of nervousness. He calmed visibly at the reassuring smile bestowed on him.

“Well, there's no real manual for this. But I would suggest we tend to the scales first, as they are getting fairly irritating. I would imagine it would be best if I laid myself down here on the bed and you rubbed in the oil on the dry and dead areas. After the oil has taken effect, the scales should prove much easier to remove.”

Nodding, Bashir set the oil down and slowly shrugged out of his uniform. He blushed when he felt Garak's eyes on him, so the older man settled himself on the bed on his stomach, hiding his face in his arms. After only a minute though, the doctor spoke again: “Aren't you going to undress too? I imagine the oil would stain your trousers as well?”

Turning his head to the now only half dressed Human, Garak let his surprise show. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I thought it best to go slow.”

Shedding his turtleneck with a crooked smile, Bashir remarked: “Perhaps. But I'd better get used to it anyway, if I'm going to be your lover by the end of the night.”

Garak's heart thumped in his chest as the young man completed his undressing with only a slight blush to his cheeks. Stopping at his underwear, he looked expectantly at his friend, now similarly unclad. Laying down again, Garak let the doctor decide how to proceed and after a moment of feeling eyes on him professionally assessing the areas in need of treatment, he felt Bashir settle himself, straddling Garak's thighs.

Had the itching not been at its peak, Garak was sure he would have been excruciatingly aroused simply by the wonderfully warm skin settling against his own. But all thoughts of the thighs vanished as Bashir gently applied some oil in slow circular motions between his shoulder blades, forcing Garak's focus back on the task ahead.

“Only downwards strokes please, doctor. The scales rip if they're forced the wrong way.”

“All right.”

Changing position slightly, the hands now rubbed from shoulder to hip in long languid strokes and within seconds the heat spread and Garak hissed with pure pleasure as the itching abated and he felt the scales loosening. The doctor was apparently a keen observer. He noted immediately where he was touching when Garak made any sort of noise and gently began peeling off the scales in that area.

After the first few major scales were removed with nimble fingers, Garak felt the smaller ones sliding off almost by themselves as the now searingly hot hands pulled the skin downwards firmly along the entire length of his back. After each trip, the severed scales would be carefully brushed away, before the rubbing started from the top again.

Occasionally, Garak would feel Bashir's hands pause and probe some of the places where their bodies differed enough to be of medical interest to his inquisitive mind. But Garak enjoyed every touch so much that he easily pushed aside the embarrassing thought that the doctor viewed this as a chance to expand his knowledge of Cardassian physiology. He needed this badly on many different levels and was more than willing to provide Bashir with a learning experience, in exchange for what the evening would hold for him. He felt the doctor tracing his veins under the soft, new scales and felt the familiar stab of panic at his vulnerability. Even with someone he trusted as much as Julian Bashir, the instinctive response to the exposed position could not be completely repressed.

After a good while, Bashir could find no more loose scales on the back and went on to the arms. The back and chest were the most heavily protected areas. The arms only had a delicate scattering of softer scales here and there, and they yielded readily to the rubbing. Taking care of the legs was slightly more difficult. The scales on the back of the thighs were somewhat different in texture and it was obviously harder for the doctor to tell which were loose and which were not. Rubbing more forcefully had a satisfying effect though and soon new scales were glistening under his hands and Garak was shivering. Leaning forward slightly, Bashir asked: “Anything else I should take care of here, or are you ready to turn over?”

Rolling his shoulders and flexing his muscles Garak tested the new skin and concluded there was no more immediate itching, so he stirred, making the young man raise himself while he turned over. Steeling himself to facing the doctor's reaction, Garak settled on his back, not bothering to try and hide his very prominent erection that had been building for a while. He did prepare his friend for this.

The hazel eyes widened for a second before a wry smile settled on the smooth face. “Want to take care of that first or the scales?”

Garak wondered if it was his emotions playing games with his mind or if the doctor really was as calm as he seemed. His eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room and his hands were not as much rubbing as tracing the ridges on his chest. Reining in his arousal Garak replied: “Better handle the scales first.”

Testing the muscles on the thickly scaled chest, Bashir frowned. “Are you sure? You're very tense. And I assume this would be much easier for both of us if you were relaxed.”

Seeing the reason in the statement, Garak paused while considering the situation. The pause seemed to be enough of an answer for the doctor, however, and without further ado he leaned down and started kissing the soft, unscaled belly. The kisses were so light that it almost felt like nothing and yet the something in it was driving Garak mad. Giving up any remaining self control, he let himself be swept away. Not wanting to scare off his younger, alien partner, he kept himself passive and simply enjoyed the ministrations. As the warm hands strayed to the edge of his underwear, he caught Bashir's eye with a slight blush. “I must warn you, doctor... it's been a while. I might not last long.”

He was met with an impish smile and in one swift motion the last bit of clothing was gone. “What makes you think I want you to?”

Whatever reply Garak had intended died on his lips as the oiled, burning hands closed around his cock. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and soon his eyes closed from the amazing feeling of the surgeon's hands working in a very different field than medicine. And not only hands. Garak felt lips, hair, cheeks and nose rubbing and sliding against the fire between his legs and he chanced a look down. That was his undoing. The young man was simply worshipping his manhood. There was no other word for it. With eyes closed, mouth slightly open and a blush to his cheeks, he rubbed his face all over Garak's groin, much like a terran cat would. Garak went into full sensory overload and couldn't help but groan at the intensely sensual display.

Finally, the burning wetness of Bashir's mouth enveloped the silky steel and Garak simply couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Oh, he had waited so long for something like this to happen. And to his surprise it appeared Bashir was certainly no novice in this field! Every small noise Garak made, only made the skilled treatment a little more intense. The soft hands slid all over his thighs and waist, making him shiver and roll his hips every time the fresh scales were touched. Apparently taking note of this, the doctor took advantage the second Garak arched his back. The hands slipped easily under the sturdy waist and applied subtle pressure to the velvet spinal scales on the lower back.

The reaction was immediate. Garak felt the lightning shoot from his spine to his head and right back to his groin in one dizzying stroke and promptly climaxed with a harsh cry. When his shaking finally subsided, he looked down to find the doctor resting his head on his belly with a very smug grin.

“Ready to proceed?”

Reaching for the oil again, Bashir's own erection poked Garak's thigh, so he reached out and stilled the hand with the vial. “Shouldn't we take care of you as well?”

Smiling, the doctor settled across Garak's thighs again and shook his head. “No, I'd prefer if we got this out of the way first. I can wait. You can make it up to me later.”

Leaning in very close with a very seductive smile, he stopped right above the grey lips and breathed: “Besides, I find that delaying the pleasure is very... rewarding. Wouldn't you agree?”

Garak smiled and nodded, cursing himself for the weakness that made him lift his head and reach for the soft lips above his own. Pulling back with twinkling eyes, Bashir tsk'ed at him. “Ah ah ah. That won't do. I just got you to relax, remember? No good undoing all that hard work.”

Garak let his head fall back with a thump, battling with himself in the face of such torturous teasing. He wasn't used to being subjected to this kind of bed play. Usually he was the one forcing his lovers to wait impatiently while he slowly - ever so slowly - built up pleasure to a raging peak. It was years ago of course and it was different circumstances now. Not to mention that his current lover was the first Human to grace his bed. So many new experiences and so many fantasies suddenly made possible. It made his head spin and the doctor did say he would get the chance to make it up to him later. And he would. Indeed he would.

Meanwhile, Bashir occupied himself with the oil, stroking purposefully and avoiding the most sensitive areas. Garak willed himself to relax and make it as easy as possible for them both.

Before, the doctor had gone fairly methodically from shoulders to heels. This time around, he was more selective of the areas to treat. Shoulders and arms first, carefully avoiding venturing up far enough to touch the sweeping neck ridges, then a jump to the knees and calves. Garak mentally blessed his young friend for being so curious. He obviously studied a few things about Cardassian sexuality beforehand, cleverly avoiding the most erotically charged areas, which in turn made Garak wonder if things really were as they seemed.

He hardly completed that thought, though, before the doctor started on his feet. Had anyone asked him before this, he would have replied that his feet were certainly not a sensitive place. But the way the oil slicked and the fingers scratched made him re-evaluate that notion rather swiftly. He shivered, and Bashir cast a glance upwards.

“Ticklish?” he mumbled with something like a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Garak sighed and shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak right now, and besides, the doctor would easily be able to see the cause for the shivering soon enough. If not, then the building tension in his body would surely give him away. Not that he made any effort to hide it, either.

It was strange, laying himself so open. If he would ever do this for anyone, it would be for doctor Bashir. His unwisely trusting and far too descent lunch companion, whom Garak would have been astonished to hear any truly negative rumors of. Thoughtless and awkward- even ruthless, when the situation demanded it, but never deliberately mean. Never with malicious intent, no matter what his duty or the situation demanded of him.

Garak had never thought that it would be possible for him to trust anyone like this. Yet here he was, showing himself more honestly than he had ever done before. If his delightful companion only knew where to look, he would probably learn more truths about Garak right there, than years of friendship had revealed. His musings were cut short by the doctor, commenting slyly: “I see you're getting tense again. Better get to the good stuff, then.” Winking at Garak, he abandoned the feet after one last check for loose scales, and straddled his lower legs to start on the thighs.

Keeping his hands well oiled, Bashir's hands slid wonderfully easy. Too easy, in fact. Garak realized with a mix of disappointment and excitement, that his legs would need another treatment tomorrow. He was just about to point this out to the doctor, when the hands simply disappeared and the young man stepped off the bed to quickly remove his last bit of clothing.

Bashir wasn't the first naked Human Garak had seen. In fact, he generally thought their whole species were something akin to exhibitionists, judging from the sheer mass of images, holos and who knows what else available, on the subject of displaying their nude forms.

Generally, they didn't appeal to him much. Fleshy and soft. Short, unattractive necks and strangely flat planes everywhere. Most alien races he knew of had some form of ridges or markings to guide the way around their bodies, but Humans... were just a blank canvas. As if whoever designed them had stopped at functionality and hadn't bothered with decorations. Useful, but utterly boring. No wonder they provided the template for the body-type of creatures that were 'humanoids' in most languages in the alpha quadrant.

But here was another chance for Tain to laugh in the back of his head. Because it was a known fact in most humanoid societies, that attachment to something alters one's perception of it. And judging from the pleasure the sight of the doctor afforded him, he was very attached indeed. Not that there was anything he could put his finger on that set this particular Human apart from the rest of his species. Granted, his eyes were lovely and his neck was long enough to be considered attractive in Cardassian terms, but the rest of him was deceptively... average.

Garak caught himself thinking that he wouldn't have believed that such a brilliant mind came in such bland wrappings. That didn't stop him from wanting very badly to explore those particular planes of soft flesh, to mark the unmarked territory and to make it his own.

Bashir stood for a moment, unsure under the gaze Garak couldn't help but fix on him, but then he grinned and remarked on his discarded underwear: “They're ruined anyway...” and crawled back onto the bed. This time he laid himself by Garak's side, completely disregarding the scales all over the bed that clung to his sweaty form. He hadn't asked for the heat to be adjusted, but despite his obvious perspiration, he didn't seem uncomfortable at all.

Propping his head up on one hand, he regarded his bedmate with a surprisingly unreadable expression. Garak usually prided himself in being able to read all of the doctor's moods, but this one escaped him. Interesting...

“So... what would you like me to do now?” he said, with his eyes lowered. Garak considered it for a moment, and then turned to his side, to properly face him. “If you don't mind, I would very much like to return the favour.”

Bashir seemed to consider it, and Garak felt his stomach drop from the doubt resurfacing full force, despite the doctor's obvious arousal. But then Bashir smiled and met his eyes, pupils blown wide and his look heated. “All right. But afterwards, I really think we should continue, before we exhaust ourselves from the fun. I usually pride myself in my ability to put business before pleasure.”

Garak couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden meaning in those words. Had Bashir been Cardassian, he wouldn't have doubted for a moment that it was a very loaded sentence. But with Humans... one never knew. Trust his usually open-as-a-book lunch companion, to turn enigma the second he was naked. Very interesting indeed.

“Commendable,” he replied seriously, “but I'm sure you won't mind a little detour before continuing?” Bashir shook his head and then laid back on the bed, apparently content with simply going along with whatever Garak had in mind. And Garak had a great many things in mind as he raised himself to his knees.

He did his best to pace himself, though. Bashir did make it clear that there would be more later, so if he could just rein in his desire to draw it out for hours, the rewards would most likely make up for it. So instead of the slow, enjoyable exploration he had imagined so many times before, he went straight for the sensitive spots.

Stroking Bashir's chest and belly made him sigh and close his eyes, so Garak continued, while slowly working himself downwards, closer to the very interested cock, bobbing with every hitched breath. To most Cardassians, this direct form of lovemaking was generally thought of as being inconsiderate of one's lover, but Garak kept reminding himself that the game was different now and was duely rewarded when his hands closed on the heated flesh, and Bashir groaned.

Considering this very much a success, Garak allowed himself a little reward and kept his eyes on Bashir's face, keeping his hands moving, all the while testing and exploring what made the doctor's breath catch and his belly quiver. The expressions were a sight to see. Some almost pained, others slack jawed and surprised, and yet others completely new to him. What an adventure this turned out to be.

Finding just the right way of stroking took only a short while, so Garak slid his one hand under Bashir's neck, lifting up a little, until his eyes opened, glazed over with lust. Garak would not miss this for anything.

“Look at me.”

The hazel eyes widened impossibly and Bashir's hands clutched at the scale-covered bedsheets, but he did as he was asked and met Garak's gaze steadily, even as his eyelids fluttered and tried to fall closed. A few more firm strokes, and hot fluid splattered Garak's arm and the doctor's belly, making Bashir choke out a sobbing sound and grasp Garak's thigh with the hand closest to him. Pausing only briefly at the thought of the Human novelty of ejaculation, Garak chose to interpret this as the closest to an invitation he was going to get and bent down for a kiss. He was greeted with a very enthusiastic response, and his heart pulled in his chest as he kissed his dear friend down from his high, gently stroking him all the way.

When they finally parted, Bashir gasped and blinked at the ceiling as if someone had just knocked him out. Garak decided to take it as a compliment, although he felt he had hardly done anything.

“Oh my god. That was...” Bashir's voice died, looking for words, while Garak's eye ridges slowly crept higher. Surely the doctor didn't consider something like that proper lovemaking? He got his answer as Bashir swallowed and tried again.

“If this is what you can do in minutes, I shudder to think what you can do if you have hours. I think I'll have to call in sick tomorrow...”

Garak couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh at that. “My dear doctor, you never cease to amaze me. Here you are, doing me a favor as a friend, and yet, you manage to enjoy it to the fullest. Must be a Human characteristic, always seeing to your own fun first.”

The teasing was ignored as Bashir's eyes met his, suddenly serious. “Garak, I... I have something to confess.”

Garak's heart jumped to his throat and immediately after dropped to his stomach. This was it. This was when Bashir would tell him honestly that he couldn't do this anymore or that it was too awkward or that they would never speak of this again. He was so dizzy with worry that he hardly heard the following words.

“I don't think I can do this as your doctor, or even as your friend. I lied to you.“ Bashir sat up on his knees, facing Garak on the bed. He nodded and kept his eyes lowered. No surprise. He should have known it was too good to be true. Such things always were. How he wished that he had allowed himself the full experience of making love to his dear doctor, instead of that half hearted effort. Then at least he would have the memory to comfort him in the lonely days to come. Because surely Bashir would keep his distance after this.

Surprisingly, the doctor took both of Garak's hands in his own, but seemed unable to meet his eyes again. “I know I told you I'd do this as a favor to you. As a friend. But I lied. I accepted because... because I've wanted this for... a very long time. So when this opportunity presented itself, I jumped into it with no consideration for your feelings, only thinking of my own selfish needs.”

Garak's mind ground to a halt and the assurances that they would remain friends and that of course he understood died instantly on his lips. Despite the universal translator working perfectly, Garak wondered for a second if Bashir had suddenly started talking some new, obscure language. Because he wasn't at all sure even his brilliantly schooled mind could understand what was being said. And even though a million questions were battling for dominance in his head, Garak stayed silent with eyes still downcast, simply waiting for more information. One could not draw conclusions without information, after all.

“I suppose this just confirms everything you've ever claimed about my species,” Bashir continued. “Promiscuous opportunists, all of us. Only driven by the need to reproduce. Wasn't that how you said it once? Well, here I am, confirming every word by jumping into your bed the minute you offer, even when you're in a vulnerable state.” He sighed heavily. “Look, I'm sorry I lied to you and I understand if you don't want to continue this when your shedding is over.”

The silence following his words fell heavily between them and for what felt like an eternity to one and a second to the other, no sound was made. That is, until Garak started laughing. Softly chuckling at first but soon roaring with laughter. The look on Bashir's face said all too clearly that he was convinced that Garak had gone insane, but this only made him laugh harder, and eventually, he had no choice but to fall back on the bed, while slowly trying to get himself back under control.

Oh, the irony. The unbelievable irony. Of course the one time Garak actually attempted honesty was the one time Bashir would actually be able to lie him right in the face. And apparently he had been if not lying, then at least misleading Garak for quite some time, if those of his words were to be believed. The long period of less and less friendly interaction between them suddenly made a whole other level of sense, if Bashir had been afraid to reveal himself to Garak across the lunch table. And of course, Garak himself had been so absorbed in his own loneliness and despair that he hadn't even bothered to see what was right in front of him. It was hilarious in a tragic kind of way, that would have made Bashir's beloved Shakespeare proud.

Meanwhile, Bashir simply sat on the bed where Garak had left him, looking utterly lost and confused.

“Garak..?”

Taking pity on his young friend, Garak composed himself finally and sat up to take hold of the doctor's hands again.

“My dear...my very dear doctor. It baffles me how you can feel such a weight of guilt over lying to a liar. Which, I confess, makes me despair somewhat, considering what I've been trying to teach you these past few years. But then again, I have to take into consideration that you did manage to thoroughly deceive me, so you must have learned something along the way.”

Bashir's face was an amusing mix of worry and affront, so Garak hurried on before he would start laughing again.

“Well, never mind that. How can I possibly feel any offence that you use my very own teachings against me? Or indeed that when you finally do, it's for such an enjoyable cause?”

“But-” Garak cut him off with a look and the way Bashir's jaw snapped shut made Garak promise himself to never go celibate that long ever again. It clearly did strange things to his mind, making him both blind, stupid and unintimidating.

“Before you start again with your foolish insistence that you've done me wrong somehow, let me just tell you... I lied to you as well, doctor. But, on the other hand, when have I not? You really should expect it by now.”

Bashir's shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked completely lost. “But... I... you... lied to me? About what?”

Garak couldn't stop another little chuckle from escaping. “Oh come now, doctor, you don't expect me to just tell you everything? In fact, had this been at our lunch table, I would most likely have sent you running in circles for a good while yet. It amuses me greatly, you see.”

Snorting with amused disbelief, Bashir pushed Garak playfully in the chest with one hand, but that made him rather unsteady on his knees, and with a yelp Garak found extremely funny, he was tipped over onto the bed, where Garak could easily straddle him and pin him down. Finally. By the stars, finally!

“As I'm sure you are aware, however, this isn't lunch. And considering that I'm still extremely itchy and more than a little impatient for the pleasure you promised me once the shedding part was over, I will tell you two truths.” Bashir's eyes widened as Garak leaned in closer as if to kiss him, but instead went for his ear and whispered: “First of all, your... desires are very much requited and have been for longer than I care to admit, and second... That whole business about the shedding? It's not that complicated. Most of the time it's just two people, a bottle of oil, perhaps a steam bath and a truly outrageous amount of sex. You'd be amazed how many scales simply fall off by themselves after a night or two of vigorous lovemaking.”

The doctor's breath stuttered out in a hot huff right next to Garak's ear and he pulled back enough to meet the hazel eyes once again clouding over with lust.

“So... what do you say we just skip all the other things and get on with it?”

Bashir opened and closed his mouth for a while, as if trying and failing to form a coherent sentence, before finally giving up and drawing Garak down for a messy kiss. Garak smiled into it. Now that just wouldn't do. Finally feeling like himself again, he would most definitely show his doctor a thing or two about lovemaking. Surprised, Garak realized that there was most certainly hope for them both, yet.

End