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doctor_tailor2011-12-22 09:45 am
crowdog66) wrote in doctor_tailor2011-12-22 09:45 am
Entry tags:
Fic: "Aubade" 1/1
Title: Aubade 1/1
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: 1312
Summary: The rituals of the morning.
Notes: Set in early S3.
*************************************
Aubade /ōˈbäd/:
1: a song or poem greeting the dawn
2: a morning love song
******************************
On a station set in the depths of interplanetary space there were no days and nights, and certainly no mornings or evenings; the structure's programmers, however, had set the interior lights to cycle through a Bajoran circadian rhythm, dimming and brightening on a twenty-six hour cycle. Businesses on the Promenade followed this arbitrary timetable — and so did Elim Garak, always awakening in the relative darkness before DS9's day shift took to the corridors.
Previously he had immediately risen from his narrow bed and gone about his morning routine in silence, enjoying the lower light levels that were so much kinder to his Cardassian eyes than the glaring illumination of the station's "daylight". These past two Bajoran months, however, he'd had reason to linger on his thin and uninviting mattress: there was beauty there to hold a lesser man spellbound, and even Garak, as hardened to the siren call of most emotions as a man in his position must necessarily be, found himself watching Julian Bashir sleep and basking in the warmth of his company like a visrak lizard sunning itself on an outcrop of desert rock.
The boy slept turned toward him, naked as he was, one slim brown thigh insinuated between his colder grey ones and a careless arm thrown over the ridges that curved around his stout waist. The sculpted Human face, as smooth as a stone washed by endless waves, was even more serene in repose, and at this particular moment he wore the slightest smile, as if his dreams (whatever they might be) pleased him. Or perhaps not merely his dreams: he shifted a little closer, smiled more widely, pressed his lips to Garak's shoulder and snuggled down, murmuring a drowsy endearment.
In his long life Garak had brought fear and suffering to many and enjoyment to extremely few. That this kind, brilliant, brave and lovely man found him a source of pleasure was still a new concept, strange and wondrous, and he wasn't quite sure if he entirely liked it. Love could be turned against the bearer and used as a weapon, as he well knew from his own training and vocation. He probably should have laughed in Julian's face the first time the youth had made an overture, using words like blades to flay the boy's idealism from him and drive him away to a safer distance…
Julian purred in his sleep and nuzzled against the bared skin of Garak's throat, and Garak sighed without making a sound. It was hopeless. Obsidian Order training had not turned him to stone: he was flesh and blood, and his body and his heart were still capable of responding to the warmth and radiance of a sweet besotted smile. He could no more remain closed to this man than the rikkasha flower could resist Cardassia's rising sun; all he could do was be careful about what he revealed in the opening and maintain control at all times, even when those long skillful fingers slipped into him as cunningly as the first rains of spring, urging him to unfurl himself completely.
A glance at the chronometer told him that he'd lain here enjoying himself long enough. Only twenty-three minutes remained of the night cycle. He indulged himself enough to bend his neck and press a tender kiss to Julian's silken temple before slipping out from between the sheets so skillfully that Julian, although he uttered a faintly plaintive moan, did not actually awaken. Garak paused a moment, making certain that Julian had settled again, before moving away on silent feet to begin the day's preparations.
******************************
Julian's dreams were warm and happy ones — walking in his father's garden back on Earth, trailing his hands through the flowers as brilliant golden light fell around him like luminous rain — but they slowly gave way to the perception that he was cold… and alone. The body he'd held in his arms last night, sturdy and powerful and patterned with fascinating scales, was no longer beside him. Scowling, feeling bereft, he blinked open his eyes to a shadowed room lit primarily by the red-tinted night cycle panels set close to the ceiling. The faintest odor of rokassa juice tickled his nose: Garak had obviously been up long enough to enjoy a cup of his favorite morning beverage, and now…
Julian lay perfectly still, not even shifting his hand from under his cheek. He'd only woken in time to see this thrice before. Garak was performing his morning exercises: some form of Cardassian meditative physical exercise similar to Terran tai chi, slow controlled movements punctuated with sharp strikes and intervals of measured breathing while holding certain poses. The spy's eyes were closed, his expressive face serene in a way that Julian couldn't recall seeing at any other time, and the grace and power of his nude body was something that had caught Julian by surprise the first time he'd seen it and that took his breath away even now. Most of the time Garak played the role of harmless little tailor to the hilt, at least in terms of how he presented himself physically: unthreatening body language, genial smiles, suits that emphasized the extra padding of a sedentary life. But here, even that layer of subcutaneous fat couldn't conceal the coiled and precisely controlled energy that dwelt in the hard muscles beneath. Here, what Garak actually was at his core — a hunter, a predator, a man whose soul was the soul of the weapons he wielded — was not hidden.
And Julian was permitted to see it. It made him feel proud and amazed and fiercely exhilerated — and a little afraid, because now he was close enough to dwell in the shadow of this agent of destruction. It was that awareness of the danger as much as common civility that led him to lie silent until Garak had flowed through the last form… drawn a final deep centering breath… and opened his eyes, which immediately locked onto Julian's face.
"Ah!" The exclamation was soft and pleased, as Garak straightened to his full height with a little stretch of his broad shoulders. "Good morning, my dear. I hope I didn't wake you."
Julian smiled invitingly. Danger, yes… but that made the pleasures all the sweeter. He stretched leisurely in his turn, flicking back the sheet and blanket covering his hips to reveal the morning half-erection that had grown full and stiff while he'd watched Garak's exertions. "Mmm, no… but I'm glad I did. Come here."
The curve of Garak's lips grew sly and hot, revealing a flash of sharp white teeth. "But I just got up!"
"And you will again." The ridged slit at the Cardassian's groin was fully closed, but even in the pre-dawn dimness Julian could see the scales that adorned it darkening with answering arousal. "I promise." He held out one hand appealingly, bringing the other to his cock to temptingly stroke it. "You're not going to leave me to take care of this all by myself, are you?"
"I really should," Garak mused, but he was already approaching the bed on bare feet that were entirely silent. It was eerie, the way he could move without making a sound — and undeniably thrilling. "You put on such a lovely show when left to your own devices."
Julian knew he was grinning, but he couldn't seem to help it. Reaching out, he caught hold of Garak's near hand and guided it to replace his own around his joyfully aching prick. "But it's so much better with you," he whispered, tipping back his head blissfully on the thin pillow, and when Garak's predatory smile widened to indulgent fondness he closed his eyes in exultation at the rising of the light.
THE END
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: 1312
Summary: The rituals of the morning.
Notes: Set in early S3.
*************************************
Aubade /ōˈbäd/:
1: a song or poem greeting the dawn
2: a morning love song
******************************
On a station set in the depths of interplanetary space there were no days and nights, and certainly no mornings or evenings; the structure's programmers, however, had set the interior lights to cycle through a Bajoran circadian rhythm, dimming and brightening on a twenty-six hour cycle. Businesses on the Promenade followed this arbitrary timetable — and so did Elim Garak, always awakening in the relative darkness before DS9's day shift took to the corridors.
Previously he had immediately risen from his narrow bed and gone about his morning routine in silence, enjoying the lower light levels that were so much kinder to his Cardassian eyes than the glaring illumination of the station's "daylight". These past two Bajoran months, however, he'd had reason to linger on his thin and uninviting mattress: there was beauty there to hold a lesser man spellbound, and even Garak, as hardened to the siren call of most emotions as a man in his position must necessarily be, found himself watching Julian Bashir sleep and basking in the warmth of his company like a visrak lizard sunning itself on an outcrop of desert rock.
The boy slept turned toward him, naked as he was, one slim brown thigh insinuated between his colder grey ones and a careless arm thrown over the ridges that curved around his stout waist. The sculpted Human face, as smooth as a stone washed by endless waves, was even more serene in repose, and at this particular moment he wore the slightest smile, as if his dreams (whatever they might be) pleased him. Or perhaps not merely his dreams: he shifted a little closer, smiled more widely, pressed his lips to Garak's shoulder and snuggled down, murmuring a drowsy endearment.
In his long life Garak had brought fear and suffering to many and enjoyment to extremely few. That this kind, brilliant, brave and lovely man found him a source of pleasure was still a new concept, strange and wondrous, and he wasn't quite sure if he entirely liked it. Love could be turned against the bearer and used as a weapon, as he well knew from his own training and vocation. He probably should have laughed in Julian's face the first time the youth had made an overture, using words like blades to flay the boy's idealism from him and drive him away to a safer distance…
Julian purred in his sleep and nuzzled against the bared skin of Garak's throat, and Garak sighed without making a sound. It was hopeless. Obsidian Order training had not turned him to stone: he was flesh and blood, and his body and his heart were still capable of responding to the warmth and radiance of a sweet besotted smile. He could no more remain closed to this man than the rikkasha flower could resist Cardassia's rising sun; all he could do was be careful about what he revealed in the opening and maintain control at all times, even when those long skillful fingers slipped into him as cunningly as the first rains of spring, urging him to unfurl himself completely.
A glance at the chronometer told him that he'd lain here enjoying himself long enough. Only twenty-three minutes remained of the night cycle. He indulged himself enough to bend his neck and press a tender kiss to Julian's silken temple before slipping out from between the sheets so skillfully that Julian, although he uttered a faintly plaintive moan, did not actually awaken. Garak paused a moment, making certain that Julian had settled again, before moving away on silent feet to begin the day's preparations.
******************************
Julian's dreams were warm and happy ones — walking in his father's garden back on Earth, trailing his hands through the flowers as brilliant golden light fell around him like luminous rain — but they slowly gave way to the perception that he was cold… and alone. The body he'd held in his arms last night, sturdy and powerful and patterned with fascinating scales, was no longer beside him. Scowling, feeling bereft, he blinked open his eyes to a shadowed room lit primarily by the red-tinted night cycle panels set close to the ceiling. The faintest odor of rokassa juice tickled his nose: Garak had obviously been up long enough to enjoy a cup of his favorite morning beverage, and now…
Julian lay perfectly still, not even shifting his hand from under his cheek. He'd only woken in time to see this thrice before. Garak was performing his morning exercises: some form of Cardassian meditative physical exercise similar to Terran tai chi, slow controlled movements punctuated with sharp strikes and intervals of measured breathing while holding certain poses. The spy's eyes were closed, his expressive face serene in a way that Julian couldn't recall seeing at any other time, and the grace and power of his nude body was something that had caught Julian by surprise the first time he'd seen it and that took his breath away even now. Most of the time Garak played the role of harmless little tailor to the hilt, at least in terms of how he presented himself physically: unthreatening body language, genial smiles, suits that emphasized the extra padding of a sedentary life. But here, even that layer of subcutaneous fat couldn't conceal the coiled and precisely controlled energy that dwelt in the hard muscles beneath. Here, what Garak actually was at his core — a hunter, a predator, a man whose soul was the soul of the weapons he wielded — was not hidden.
And Julian was permitted to see it. It made him feel proud and amazed and fiercely exhilerated — and a little afraid, because now he was close enough to dwell in the shadow of this agent of destruction. It was that awareness of the danger as much as common civility that led him to lie silent until Garak had flowed through the last form… drawn a final deep centering breath… and opened his eyes, which immediately locked onto Julian's face.
"Ah!" The exclamation was soft and pleased, as Garak straightened to his full height with a little stretch of his broad shoulders. "Good morning, my dear. I hope I didn't wake you."
Julian smiled invitingly. Danger, yes… but that made the pleasures all the sweeter. He stretched leisurely in his turn, flicking back the sheet and blanket covering his hips to reveal the morning half-erection that had grown full and stiff while he'd watched Garak's exertions. "Mmm, no… but I'm glad I did. Come here."
The curve of Garak's lips grew sly and hot, revealing a flash of sharp white teeth. "But I just got up!"
"And you will again." The ridged slit at the Cardassian's groin was fully closed, but even in the pre-dawn dimness Julian could see the scales that adorned it darkening with answering arousal. "I promise." He held out one hand appealingly, bringing the other to his cock to temptingly stroke it. "You're not going to leave me to take care of this all by myself, are you?"
"I really should," Garak mused, but he was already approaching the bed on bare feet that were entirely silent. It was eerie, the way he could move without making a sound — and undeniably thrilling. "You put on such a lovely show when left to your own devices."
Julian knew he was grinning, but he couldn't seem to help it. Reaching out, he caught hold of Garak's near hand and guided it to replace his own around his joyfully aching prick. "But it's so much better with you," he whispered, tipping back his head blissfully on the thin pillow, and when Garak's predatory smile widened to indulgent fondness he closed his eyes in exultation at the rising of the light.
THE END
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