Archive of Our Own ^beta

He has shed everything, he thinks. Systematically forced to destroy most of what has made him himself, in his eyes and in other’s.

The idealist, young, overexcited doctor is gone. Of course, he never was as naïve as he liked to pretend. Never as careless as they suspected, always watching himself for tells. And yet: how he misses the Julian from before the war. His hands (mostly) clean, his body unmarked by torture and deprivation. His spirit unused to the indignities of war, of bodies left to rot for lack of time for proper burial, of constant triage, of the exhaustion and the despair everywhere around him. Somehow, this does not stop him from feeling a faint embarrassment from his previous eagerness. In retrospect, he feels like a fool for wishing so deeply for a challenge, for a way to prove himself.

Maybe the worst thing is that it isn’t the hopelessness or the fatigue that gets to him the most, not even the high statistical probability of everyone he cares dying. It’s the way people look at him. Oh, he probably deserves it. God knows he looked at himself differently when he discovered he was an augment. Yet he feels spiteful: he didn’t choose this, did he. And now he has to stay awake for hundreds of hours straight, and treat patients who don’t actually want to be treated by him, except he has to say “Actually, I am the only doctor on board at that time, and no, this cannot be handled by nurse T’Prul”, and smile through gritted teeth. Even Miles has been more distant than usual.

He feels like burning bridges, setting fire to everything he used to be. Which is why, maybe, he is currently fucking Garak. In the process of, at least. And in a shitty supplies closet next to the infirmary, nonetheless. It was embarrassingly easy, after all these years, to cross the line.

They are against the bare wall, and the space relatively spacious, which he is grateful for. He has a hand wrapped in Garak's hair, the yanking of which has produced great reactions. The other hand is even more occupied.

"God, I wish I could fuck you properly."

"Well, you are... certainly making an effort, to say the least." Julian does have two fingers inside him.

"You know what I mean. I mean in a bed and with a dick. Mostly with a dick, the bed is optional." He really regrets not bringing at least one with him, but there were instructed to take the least possible items. Probably wise, considering the cramped state of the Defiant at the moment.

He thrust his fingers a little harder and Garak hisses. His grip on Julian's upper arm tightens.

"Was that good or bad?"

"Yes, good, good. Please continue."

"Do you have some kind of prostate gland? Or maybe a G-Spot? Somewhere more sensitive. My research was unclear on this point. "

"Oh, believe me, Doctor, you're touching everything that's sensitive right now"

Knowing Garak, the vague answer pointing to “no”, probably means “yes”. He knows most Cardassians men have retractable penises. Excluding, possibly, some of their equivalent of transgender people. This information, like all he currently possesses about Cardassian genitals, was gleaned from various allusions and mean-spirited gossip from various Bajorans around the station, as well as surprisingly explicit insult proffered by a jealous Gul in one of Garak’s books-of-the-week. It would make sense for the tissue wall to be more sensitive near the pocket hosting the shaft. But then again, parts of the Cardassian body are almost insensate. This, he knows from treating Garak.

One of Garak’s hands, which had been up to that point satisfyingly making its way under Julian’s unzipped collar and caressing his collarbones intently, moves to his neck. Nails scratch his nape and make him shiver in pleasure.

Garak, who up until now seemed to be enjoy his ministrations, starts rocking slightly on his fingers, a motion who would be flattering if he wasn’t trying to subtly reposition him, apparently now underwhelmed by the angle. Julian laughs, softly.

“Am I amusing you?” Garak’s eyes, which were closed, open. He looks faintly offended.

Julian takes the occasion to pull on his hair once again. The answering moan, louder than any sound he has heard him make since they started, goes straight through Julian.

What a picture Garak makes in this moment: head thrown back, a flush rising through most of his neck, his mouth slack and all the annoyance and the fake smiles wiped out of his face. He quickly gains back his expression under control but the brief glimpse is enough to take Julian off of his focus on fucking Garak and bring him back to the fact that he is very hard, and very wet, and his underwear are starting to chafe.

“You know, Garak, you can tell me if something is not working for you”, he said, his fingers retreating. In the harsh neon light, they are glistening, covered in previously unseen alien secretions.

“Oh, I would not dare insult your great, augmented mind in such way.” Garak’s eyes are decidedly fixated on the movement of Julian’s hand, rapt. Time to do something about that. A classic, then. Holding Garak’s gaze, he starts licking his lubricated fingers slowly. For good measure, and also simply for his own pleasure, he release his hold on Garak’s hair, and brings his other hand to his lap, and starts touching himself through his pants.

The effect is immediate: Garak’s face becomes blank, mask-like, a dark gray flush rushing to his face. His gaze is going back and forth on Julian’s mouth and his crotch. After a moment, he opens his mouth, closes it again, taking a pause to collect himself. Taking a glimpse at his pants’ opening, Julian can see the tip of something new peeking through his genital slit.

“I did not think you would be this selfish, stringing me on like this.”

“Ah… Maybe I should, since you are so reluctant to tell me how to fuck you. Yet you’re apparently so very eager for it to happen”. Nevertheless, he should stop touching himself soon. He underestimated how keyed up he was, and Garak’s reaction did not help. Or maybe he could come now and then later? That would be rude, though. Yes, let’s not.

Garak’s is still looking at him and not making any move for control. That is interesting. Julian feels a powerful urge to take the play further. He wonders if Garak would react well to direct orders, or if any kind of domination would need to be carried in veiled insinuation. He knows he is being greedy: they could just get off quickly and simply. But he doesn’t want to. What’s the use of fucking a spy with a sordid past, who you shot (and who absolutely liked it, judging by his reaction), who has been your best friend for five years, if you cannot be a bit rough on the first date? Power play is what they do.

He settles for a middle ground. “Maybe I need an incentive.” His fingers dip into his waistband. “Maybe you should just get on your knees and convince me I shouldn’t leave you unfulfilled.”

For a beat, Garak doesn’t move. Then, holding Julian’s gaze all the while, he sinks slowly to his knees. Facing Julian’s crotch, he closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring, inhaling his scent. Looking up at Julian he pauses, clearly uncertain of what is allowed.

“Push my pants down. And my underwear. Then I’m sure, you’ll figure out what to do. And I’m not like you: if you’re doing something I don’t like, you will know it.” Garak huffs, his eyes glinting with merriment. Julian cannot stop his smile as Garak does quick work of his clothes.

The situation hits him in its absurdity: him, genitals bared, about to get his dick sucked in a supply closet by his closest friend, while tomorrow he might be killing or being killed by Jem’Hadars. He hasn’t smiled like that in months.

Telegraphing his movements, Garak slowly runs a hand through his upper-thigh hair. He inches up, ghosting his fingers first near his slit, then, finally the length of his dick. Julian lets a strangled noise of frustration.

“Garak. I don’t know if you genuinely think I’m that delicate of if you’re teasing me on purpose-oh, that’s good, that’s better”. He has started genuinely stroking now. It’s on the edge of too rough, and at the same time, intensely pleasurable. Garak is looking slightly smug.

Garak’s face is not very far from his genitals. Julian can feel his breath on his sensitive skin. God, he really wants his dick sucked. He honestly expected him to go to oral directly. May Cardassians don’t do oral sex as much? Well, only one way to find out. “Garak. Use your mouth.” Garak looks at him like he is about to object, but then decides against raising the issue.

Garak’s mouth is very different from what he is used to, but the coldness is intensely pleasurable on his heated genitals. Julian surreptitiously cards his hands into hair again, pulling lightly. He starts to rock into his mouth, just a little. An answering moan. “I’m going to fuck your face. I think you’re going to like that, won’t you?” Garak looks at him pointedly, not deigning to answer.

He pulls on his hair harder, keeping his head in place, as close to his pelvis as he can, and start to thrust. The next moan is even louder, and is accompanied by a suspicious sound beneath. He tugs Garak’s face away from his crotch. He look up at him, clearly dazed. “Garak, are you touching yourself?”

He needs a few seconds to compose himself, which seems like a win, before answering: “Wh-what does it seems like I’m doing.”

“Weren’t you complaining not long ago about me being an evil, selfish, man for not bringing you off?”

“Oh, I’ve learned to settle for my lot in life, and not trust pretty words of promises,” he says with a tone that’s probably aiming for light, but reveals a sliver of impatience. “Now, if I may continue…”

Well, one of Julian’s greatest qualities is his capacity for adaptation. “Ok, fine. But don’t come. I’ve not even had the chance to touch your dick! Or, hum, whatever you call it”. Garak gives him a dark glare, but nonetheless returns to the task without a word.

The dick-sucking now has the added bonus of Garak’s small noises of pleasure, which gets Julian even harder. He takes his dick out of his mouth, Garak chasing it until he stops him with a firm hand, and starts instead to rub himself on his face. He looks great like this, his face shining with Julian’s fluid.

God, this is so good, Julian thinks, his orgasm mounting, his dick catching on Garak’s wet mouth, I think I’ll die if we can’t do this again. I need this, I just need this. He comes, shouting.

He slowly comes down from the high, Garak still at his feet, his face half-hidden in his thigh. Which he seems to be licking, or kissing? It feels distinctly wet, he thinks, carding his fingers pleasantly in Garak’s hair. Who seems to be still jerking off, his noises muffled by Julian’s leg.

“Garak. Come up here.” He offers his hand. After a few seconds of hesitation, Garak takes it and pulls himself up. The feeling of his cold palm brings an eerie reminiscence of a sick bed, years ago.

But seeing his face brings Julian back to the present, sending a bolt of arousal through him. He looks like a mess: his hair falling in his face, flushed dark, and the bottom of his face shining with saliva and Julian’s wetness. He seems a bit dazed. Come on, focus, Julian chastises himself. You need to be a good sexual partner and not gape at him just because he looks messy for once, and it is incredibly sexy, and he just made you come, and you bet you could taste yourself on him if you just kissed him. It would be weird to kiss him now, wouldn’t it?

Garak’s dick is a fetching purple, and looks pretty smooth and silky. Julian makes a grab for it.

Garak lets out a hiss. This time, it is definitely not a noise of pleasure: “Would you mind being a bit more delicate?!”
“Shit, I’m sorry! Um, is that better?”, he blurts, stroking more lightly. Garak lets out a long suffering sigh, redirecting his hand at the base. “It is more sensitive here,”, he says, reluctantly.

Julian experiments, trying not to be too forceful. Alternating between rubbing and squeezing the area he was directed to, as well as a few careful strokes on the whole length seems to do the trick.

Meanwhile, Garak has taken to kiss and suck on his neck in a very pleasant manner. Oh, he has found his ear. Julian shivers, his dick making itself known again. He really can’t get off a second time; his second shift is in seven minutes (and forty-five seconds, his brain supplies). He isn’t even going to have the time to shower. He hopes the smell is not going to be too blatant.

Garak’s moans have become more urgent, which is not helping his arousal, but is definitely going to help him stick to the seven minutes timeline. “Oh, Julian…my darling…you’re so…you’re just very…” Wow, if he is at a loss for word then he must be doing it correctly. Hearing his first name brings a rush of affection, and he just has to. He just has to kiss him.

The inside of his mouth, the tongue touching his are cold. He tastes salty, which is not a surprise. Garak immediately grabs his head with both hands, pulling him closer, nails digging into his neck. Moments later, Julian hears a muffled noise and feels something spilling over his hand.

Garak release his death grip on Julian’s head. They share an uncomfortable look. Garaks seems… embarrassed, almost, still breathing hard. Julian can feel the fluid coating his fingers dribbling on the floor.

“Well”, he says, pulling away. “I, um. I have a shift to get to.” He looks at his hand, then frantically around the room. Ah, yes a dirty cleaning rag, that’s perfect. Before he turns back, his fingers still unpleasantly, but more manageably slick, he hears the woosh of the door, and then Garak is gone.

The space stinks of sex. Julian feels slightly bad for the person who will have to clean it.

He takes a moment to lean against the wall, closes his eyes. He sighs, laughing quietly to himself. How ridiculous.

He tosses the rag in the garbage. Time to work.