Work Text:
"Lunch tomorrow?" Julian suggested jovially as he and Garak turned the corner out of Dr. Noah's simulated lair and toward the holosuite exit. The relief of having truly saved the day had put him in an excellent mood.
"Of course," Garak responded with similar cheer. "But why don't we have it at your place, in Hong Kong? Unless, of course, this was your last mission. "
Julian grinned. "Oh, I think it's safe to say that Julian Bashir, secret agent, will return."
As they stepped out of the holosuite, Julian expected to see Garak's period-specific formal wear dissolve and reveal one of his usual fashions. He was surprised when it didn't, and the two of them both remained dressed to mid-twentieth century Earth's version of the nines as they made their way down the spiral steps to the main level of Quark's.
"Did you actually walk in there wearing a real tuxedo?" he asked in disbelief.
"Why shouldn't I have?" Garak countered. "You did."
"Yes, but I wanted the right clothing to really immerse myself in a custom holosuite program that I own."
"And have you already forgotten who crafted said clothing to order? It was hardly much more work to adjust the same pattern to my own measurements," Garak said with a little wave to Morn at the bar on their way past him.
"Did you put all that effort in just for the occasion of interrupting my game? Or do you always make copies of my clothes just in case an opportunity to match arises?"
"Not always. Some of what you insist on wearing is hardly flattering."
"Let me see that jacket." Julian took Garak aside to examine it without being in the way of foot traffic on the promenade. "You've cut the lapels a bit differently than mine."
"One must find some small methods of creative expression where one can, doctor."
"You really had fun with this, didn't you? I think you actually like historical Earth fashion."
"Well, let's not get carried away."
"You know, if you're interested, I could show you some of the films that—Garak, you're still bleeding!" As soon as he noticed the blood seeping through the starched white collar of Garak's shirt, Julian ripped the bow tie out of the way and unfastened the top button to take a look.
"My, my, doctor, I have always suspected you might be harbouring a secret desire to tear my clothes off, but I can't say I ever anticipated that you'd do so in public."
Julian ignored the suggestive humour in favour of assessing Garak's wound. The bullet had grazed past him, but left a long enough gash across the ridge in the side of his neck to be concerning. And his blood—which looked similar to that of a human at first glance, but had a bit of a deeper violet hue to it on further examination—was definitely making a mess of his nice white shirt.
"This looks worse than I thought. We'd better get you to the infirmary."
"No, please, not the infirmary, doctor," Garak protested. "I really don't think those dermal regenerators of yours are configured correctly for treating Cardassians."
"What are you talking about? I've treated your bruises and scrapes plenty of times."
"And I mean absolutely no disparagement of your skill as a physician, but you haven't ever got it quite right. No, I must insist that this is one medical emergency in which my own tools will be of more use than yours."
"Your own—" Julian started to object, but then stopped himself. If Garak really did have some kind of Cardassian first aid kit in his quarters, just letting him use it would probably be more efficient than trying to argue him into something else. "Alright, fine. But whatever you're doing, I'm coming with you and keeping you under medical supervision."
"I would expect nothing less."
Julian kept a close eye on Garak as he followed him back to his quarters, monitoring the slow seepage of blood from his neck, one arm hovering just behind him to be ready to catch him if he suddenly got light-headed. But whether from a difference in physiology or simply stubborn refusal to show any weakness, the Cardassian hardly seemed at all affected by blood loss the way a human would be. He made the short walk at an unabatingly brisk pace, discoursing on the subject of the many inaccuracies in Julian's holosuite program the whole way.
And rather than produce any medical equipment upon reaching his quarters, the first thing he did was open a bottle of kanar and take a swig.
"I thought we were coming back here so you could treat the wound, not just numb the pain!" Julian exclaimed in exasperation, considering the pros and cons of just calling for an emergency beam to the infirmary after all.
"I know what I'm doing, doctor," Garak insisted—before immediately demonstrating the exact opposite by tilting his head to the side and splashing liquor from the bottle over his wound.
Julian was so scandalized at the poor excuse for medical care that he spluttered helplessly for a few moments before managing to get out the words, "You could have just asked the replicator for some actual disinfectant!"
"This will do the job! It's hardly my first time." Garak strolled over to a vanity table and picked a sewing needle out of a pin cushion. "Really, doctor, this is another lesson you could stand to learn if you want to understand the reality of intelligence work. Professional medical treatment isn't always an option in the field. The ability to improvise with the tools at hand may be what keeps you alive."
He cut off a length of dark-coloured thread from a spool, tied a knot at one end of it, and fed the other through the eye of the needle. Julian watched in a mix of awe and concern as, observing himself closely in the mirror on the vanity, Garak pierced his own flesh with the needle and began to stitch the wound shut.
He hissed through his teeth at the first stab, but then set his jaw and remained stoic and silent for each subsequent stitch, his hand as steady as a surgeon's.
Human surgeons had once done this sort of thing, of course, centuries ago—Julian had been required to take a brief tutorial on it at the academy in case he was ever in some kind of an emergency without access to modern technology. He had always imagined it would be difficult and deeply unpleasant, tugging the sharp instrument through skin. But here was Garak doing it to himself, no doubt also extremely painful, with barely any indication that he found it challenging at all.
Maybe he really did know something about some ad hoc form of medicine.
After knotting the thread again and cutting off the excess, Garak peered more closely at the mirror, tilting his head this way and that. "Not my best work," he concluded with a frown, "but it will have to do."
He straightened up and retrieved the kanar bottle for another sip.
"Drink, doctor?" he asked, holding it out in Julian's direction.
"Not my usual choice of beverage," Julian responded.
"Ah yes, what was it you were drinking in that program? A 'martini'?" Garak's pronunciation of the unfamiliar word was slightly halting.
"Vodka martini," Julian specified with glee. "Shaken, not stirred."
"What does it matter if you call it shaken or stirred? It's not as if the replicator is really doing either."
"But it's simulating the effects. And if you shake it in a drink mixer, it breaks up the ice more, and—"
"Alright, alright, spare a wounded man the details," Garak interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Computer, one shaken vodka martini, please, for my very particular friend."
The replicator complied, the drink appearing in a long-stemmed glass, complete with an olive. Julian picked it up and held it aloft. "Cheers. And sorry about shooting you."
"Oh, no need to apologize. It was exhilarating," Garak said with a sigh as he flung himself down onto the couch. "Make sure the holosuite safety protocols are operating normally next time, and I might even ask you to do it again."
Julian smiled and took a seat next to him. "You can't be serious."
"Deathly serious, doctor. I enjoyed that." Garak rested an arm across the back of the couch, almost but not quite encircling Julian's shoulders. "And not just the sting of the bullet—though that was exquisite—but your wonderfully cold self-assurance when you pulled the trigger. You really were very intimidating for a moment. I was impressed."
Julian let out a bit of a nervous chuckle, not quite sure what to make of that unconventional praise—or of the slightly seductive edge that had crept into his friend's voice along with it. He took a sip of his martini to give himself an extra moment to think, and then settled on, "Well, coming from you, I think that's a very high compliment."
"I assure you it is." Garak inched closer so that their thighs were touching, and asked almost under his breath, "Was it good for you too?"
"What?" The word ripped out of Julian's mouth almost like a gasp.
"Shooting me. How did it make you feel?"
"Well, mostly I was just panicked about making sure you didn't leave and put everyone else at risk. I didn't really want to hurt you—I just didn't see any other way to stop you," Julian hastily explained, still feeling a little guilty about it despite Garak's apparent approval.
"Oh?" Garak was leaning in close enough that Julian could feel his breath on his face, could smell the liquor he'd both imbibed and perfumed himself with, mixed with an unfamiliar scent that was undoubtedly Cardassian blood. "Is that all, doctor?"
Julian took a gulp of his martini as he reflected on the thoughts that had raced through his mind in the instant he had made the decision to pull the trigger—and in the moments after, when he had witnessed the explosive effect of one tiny twitch of his finger.
If there was anyone he could be honest about this with, he supposed it was probably Garak.
"Well . . . maybe for a moment there, I also felt just a little bit . . ."
"Yes?"
"Powerful."
Garak gave a satisfied sigh, as if it had brought him some kind of relief just to hear Julian admit to that. Julian awkwardly shifted his sitting position a bit, in response to an increasing need to conceal the effect that Garak's breath on his skin, leg pressed against his, and little noises like that were having on him.
"Tell me, doctor," Garak practically whispered in Julian's ear, "how would you like to feel that powerful again?"
"What do you mean?"
Julian drained the last of his martini and set the glass down on an end table, then almost instantly regretted it. He felt even more flustered and awkward now, with both hands free and no idea what to do with them. He still wasn't quite clear on whether whatever Garak was proposing here was exactly sexual or not, which put him at a loss as to how Garak might want him to respond.
Not that he'd necessarily be much more confident even if he was sure it was a sex thing. Even after three years of friendship, Garak remained mysterious and intimidating enough to occasionally make Julian just as nervous as the day they met.
"I mean returning to the holosuite under more favourable circumstances, of course!" Garak exclaimed, providing Julian a bit of respite from the tension between them by leaning back to give himself enough room to accompany his explanation with wide sweeping gestures. "You can play your charming and glamorous secret agent, and cast me as the misguided villain. And when you tragically fail to convince me of the error of my ways, then you can shoot me."
Julian paused a moment to take all that in. "You want to reserve a holosuite together and play out this little fantasy that ends with me shooting you?"
"Whether that's where it ends, doctor, is up to you." Garak leaned closer again and placed a hand on Julian's thigh, which eliminated any lingering doubt in Julian's mind—this roleplay proposition was absolutely a sex thing after all.
Which was equal parts exciting and terrifying. Julian had wondered over the years what it might be like if his relationship with Garak ever took this direction, but he had never seriously expected it to happen in the near future. He wanted to be sure he got it right. Especially if Garak was expecting him to indulge a specific fantasy involving characters and holographic props and some risk of injury. He needed time to prepare, to think up some good lines and work on his shooting form.
"Tell you what." For the time being, Julian lifted a hand and gently brushed his fingers across the neat stitches in Garak's neck, eliciting a shiver. "Let this heal first, and then we'll talk."
"Oh, my dear doctor," Garak sighed, "I will be looking forward to that talk very much indeed."
Garak's eyes were closed, his lips parted in ecstasy, and Julian wanted very much to lean in and claim those lips with his own. But he also had an idea that, based on the way Garak's tastes seemed to run, he thought might just be even more titillating.
He tilted Garak's chin up with one finger, then pressed his mouth to the wound.
The congealing blood tasted almost sweet, like thick syrup. And it was a thrill to feel the vibration in Garak's throat as he moaned.
Julian was tempted—very tempted—to keep going, to kiss all along the ridge in Garak's neck down to his shoulder, to strip off his bloodstained shirt and find out what he looked like beneath all his beautifully tailored clothes.
But instead, he employed all his self-restraint to get to his feet, bid a stunned and stuttering Garak a cheerful goodbye, and leave him wanting more.
And that really did make him feel powerful.
Once the stitches had been removed, and the scar had healed to a pale and jagged line cutting across one of the ridges of Garak's neck, he and Julian dressed up in their tuxedoes again for their appointed meeting in the holosuite. Garak's shirt was a brilliant and unblemished white, and Julian wondered whether he'd managed to clean the blood out of it, or whether he'd simply made a new one.
The holographic set was a dimly lit room, furnished only by two chairs facing each other across a long table. Garak sat obediently in one of the chairs, allowing Julian to bind him to it by his ankles.
"Now, if I hurt you too much," Julian said as he knelt behind the chair and fastened another length of rope to Garak's wrists, "or if you're not enjoying it in any way—"
"Yes, yes, I'll instruct the computer to discontinue the program. But really, doctor, I highly doubt that will be necessary."
"Just checking." Julian tugged on the binding and, satisfied that it was snug and secure, got back to his feet. "Ready?"
"I have been ready for several days now, while you've been insisting on waiting a little longer to be sure I'm in perfect health."
Julian let that little jab slide, focusing instead on getting into character as a secret agent. He stepped over to the table and leaned with his back against it, folding his arms and fixing Garak with what he hoped was a stern glare. "Alright, then we'll start. Mr. Garak, if that's even your real name. I suppose you know why we've brought you here."
Garak grinned with unbridled joy. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me, Mr. Bashir."
"Don't play games with me, Mr. Garak. You and I both know that despite your feigned loyalty to MI6, you're actually an infiltrator sent by the Russians."
"Ah, well, no sense denying it, then. You've caught me. I'm an agent of the Russian . . . empire? Was it an empire?"
Julian had to think about that for a moment. "You know, I believe at the time, it was actually called the Soviet Union."
"Then why were its people called Russians?"
"It's . . . complicated. Don't worry about it. Look." Julian returned to his serious expression. "You're going to tell me everything about your mission, and who you report to, and what you've told them."
"Am I? And what if I don't?"
"Well, then I'll kill you." Julian drew his pistol from the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket—a small and compact Walther PPK, just like in the twentieth-century films this program was based on.
Garak let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Who teaches you how to conduct interrogations in this MI6 of yours? The threat of death is nothing to a hardened intelligence agent. Death is preferable to revealing secrets to the enemy. You should be threatening me with some manner of horrible pain."
Julian flung his arms up in annoyance. "I thought this was supposed to involve me shooting you!"
"Well, not right away."
"What do you want me to do first, then? Hit you?"
Garak shrugged his shoulders as much as his constricted position allowed. "It's a start."
Julian sighed and sheathed the pistol again. He knelt down in between Garak's knees, gripped him by the lapel with one hand, and gave his cheek a light slap with the other.
Garak smiled. "Better."
Julian cleared his throat and once more adopted the cold tone of voice of his holosuite character. "Now. Who do you report to? Who gives you orders? I'm going to need names, Mr. Garak."
"You're not going to get them. I'd rather die than betray any of my fellow agents." Julian struck him on the cheek again, and Garak added, "Now I know you can hit harder than that, doctor."
For a flickering moment of frustration, Julian considered using his full strength and really giving Garak something to complain about. He held back and compromised on something not hard enough to do any lasting damage, but just impactful enough to make Garak's head snap to the side, a few strands of his hair breaking free of their usual neatly coiffed style.
"Ah, now that's more like it. One more of those and you may find me slightly more amenable to questioning."
Wondering which one of them was supposed to be in control here, Julian put just a touch more force into one last slap, the sound of skin on skin ringing throughout the room.
Garak gasped and then smiled again, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Very well then, Mr. Bashir. You've proven your point. I'm at your mercy. However, I think you already know the name of the person I report to. I've heard she may be a friend of yours, in fact. One Colonel Anastasia Komananov?"
Julian was a little flattered that Garak remembered the name of one of the other characters in his game—but he wasn't going to let that distract him from getting things back on track. "You're lying," he insisted, having already planned to say that no matter how Garak responded to his questions.
Garak laughed. "Well, of course I'm lying. I'm making this up as I go along. I really don't know what any other Russian names are meant to sound like—perhaps you could give me a clue?"
"You don't report to Anastasia," Julian continued, ignoring Garak's continual breaking of character, "because Anastasia reports to me. She's one of ours now. Or didn't you know that?"
"Oh, I see," Garak nodded in understanding. "Why, Mr. Bashir, you must be quite the effective agent to have turned such a devoted soldier of the Soviet Union as Colonel Komananov. However did you manage it? Good looks and charm? A little more than that, perhaps?"
"I'm asking the questions, Mr. Garak." Julian drew the Walther PPK out from under his arm again. "And if you don't give me another name, a real one this time, I'll show you just how effective an agent I can be."
"Well, now we just have the same problem again, which is that—" Garak paused, and then apparently decided on a new strategy that allowed for maintaining the fiction despite his lack of knowledge of the source material. "What I mean to say is, the man who gives my orders—I don't know his name. I was only ever given a code name. I'm really a very low-ranking member of my country's intelligence service. They don't tell me much."
"More lies," Julian murmured, unable to suppress a smile at this scenario finally going according to plan. "You lied about that, and you also lied about this."
He used the gun in his hand to gently nudge the small scar on Garak's neck.
"Did I?" Garak asked, sounding intrigued. "Tell me, Mr. Bashir, what exactly did I say about the bullet wound you inflicted on me that was a lie?"
"You said the dermal regenerator wouldn't work properly, but I know the real reason you insisted on stitching it up yourself." Julian had been saving this one for the right moment, and it gave him a bit of a thrill to finally say it. "You wanted it to scar like this."
"Oh? And why would I want that?" Julian could detect a slight tremor of excitement in Garak's voice. "It's certainly not improving my looks."
"Because it turns you on to know I left a mark on you." Julian dug the cold metal of the gun into Garak's skin. "I bet you look at it in the mirror every night when you touch yourself."
Garak whimpered, and Julian's already half-hard cock stiffened further at the sound.
"An interesting theory, Mr. Bashir." Garak's attempt to recover his composure was undermined by the increasing shakiness in his tone. "But hardly relevant. I think it's time you gave up on this sorry excuse for an interrogation, don't you? I'll never tell you anything. You might as well kill me."
"Well, I'm sorry it's come to that, Mr. Garak," Julian said with a smile as he got to his feet and took a few steps backward. "You were a worthy foe."
"As were you, Mr. Bashir. MI6 should be proud to have you."
Touched by Garak's unexpectedly thoughtful indulgence of his little super-spy fantasy, Julian lifted the pistol and cocked it. Just in case of another holosuite malfunction, he aimed for Garak's shoulder rather than anywhere more vital.
He locked eyes with him as he pulled the trigger. The loud bang that rang out was followed by a sharp cry from Garak, making Julian's eyes widen with concern that it had hurt more than it was meant to. Garak's head was thrown back, his body trembling, and Julian dropped the gun and ran to his side.
"Are you alright, Garak?" he asked. "The safety protocols didn't fail again, did they?"
"Quite alright, doctor," Garak responded—but he stuttered a little as he said it, his voice far too shaky for Julian to take any stock in his claims. Julian frantically began to untie the rope around Garak's wrists before remembering that there was no need to do it manually.
"Computer, remove rope," he called out, crouching down and examining the shoulder he'd been aiming for. "I don't see any blood."
"Of course not, doctor, the holosuite is working perfectly. I told you I'm alright," Garak insisted.
"But—you seemed hurt—"
"Doctor." Garak grabbed Julian's hand and guided it between his thighs. "I'm really rather more than alright, to be perfectly honest."
"Oh." At the touch of the damp fabric of Garak's trousers, Julian understood.
"And if you'll put that rope back where it was," Garak continued, moving both his hands behind his back again, "I'd very much like to return the favour."
"Oh. Um. Computer, reset rope to last position?"
The bonds on Garak's wrists and ankles reappeared.
"And pick up that gun, doctor," Garak ordered. "It's really rather careless leaving it lying about on the floor."
"Alright." Julian got up to retrieve the weapon, then turned to face a very smug and satisfied-looking Garak again.
"On second thought, Mr. Bashir," Garak said, "perhaps you would benefit from keeping me alive. You may find I can still be of some service to you."
Now this kind of roleplay was a little more predictable and easy to understand. Julian had gone soft in that one moment of panic about Garak's well-being, but he felt his cock twitch and begin to respond again at the way Garak almost hissed his emphasis of the word service.
"What kind of service?" Julian asked, happy to play along.
"Well, as a fellow intelligence agent, I'm sure you know that sometimes the best way to get close to a target can be through seduction."
"I may have some experience with that."
"I have no doubt you've charmed the secrets out of countless conquests, Mr. Bashir. Well, that side of the espionage trade happens to be my specialty. And I am very good at it. I could probably teach you a thing or two."
Julian arched an eyebrow. "In exchange for your life? These had better be some pretty impressive skills."
"Oh, I assure you, they are. Come over here and find out," Garak said with a flick of his tongue across his lips.
Gun in one hand, Julian approached Garak and lifted the fingers of his other hand to those lips. Garak licked the tip of one of Julian's fingers, looking up at him enticingly, the ridges of his brow slightly shadowing his pale blue eyes.
It occurred to Julian that being tied up like this meant Garak wouldn't really be able to physically initiate any of what he was offering. He could talk all he liked, but Julian would need to be the one to turn his words into actions.
It made him a little nervous, even knowing Garak wanted it, to think about standing here in front of him and taking his cock out under his watchful gaze. But seeing as Garak had specifically requested being tied up again, maybe that was part of the appeal for him—to make Julian feel a little vulnerable.
Julian tried to sheath the gun and get it out of the way, but Garak tutted and shook his head.
"Wouldn't you rather keep your weapon handy, in case this is all a ruse to get you off your guard?"
Julian chuckled. "Your comrades burst in here to rescue you, and I'm caught with my pants down?"
"It could happen."
Alright, if Garak wanted it that way. It was a little challenging for Julian to unfasten his fly one-handed, but it was worth it to see the way Garak's eyes lit up at the sight of his erection springing free from the waistband of his briefs.
Then Garak closed those sparkling eyes and opened his mouth, making Julian take the lead on guiding the head of his cock between his glistening lips.
And if there was one thing Garak hadn't lied about, it was how good he was at this.
His tongue seemed to be incredibly flexible, dancing across all of Julian's most sensitive spots as he sucked him and drew him in deeper. He took him into his throat with a soft, muffled moan, and the sound of it felt like it vibrated not just against Julian's cock, but throughout his whole body.
Knees buckling, Julian grippd the back of the chair for support with one hand, holographic gun dangling from the fingertips of the other.
"Oh, that feels so fucking good," he groaned, too far gone to maintain the pretense of being a secret agent any longer. He wasn't going to last, not with all the build-up of the roleplay, the outfits, the days of anticipation beforehand all getting him so excited about this. His balls were thrumming with desperate need for release, and for a moment he wondered if he should pull out and finish in his own hand, in case Garak didn't want to swallow.
But then he reasoned that Garak had offered this, and Garak had also gotten off on being literally shot in the throat with a gun—he could probably take it.
Still, he opened his mouth to at least give him a bit of warning—but then words failed him as pleasure washed over his body, and he came gasping and trembling, Garak drinking it all down without a noise of complaint.
"Oh, Garak," Julian sighed, sinking to his knees and kissing him. He didn't mind tasting himself on his lips, not when those lips were so soft and so supple, somehow even better that he had ever imagined.
It suddenly hit him that this was their first kiss, which felt a bit backwards. He didn't ordinarily come down someone's throat without kissing them first—or seeing them naked, for that matter.
But then again, when had any part of his relationship with Garak ever been ordinary?
Exhausted and spent, he crumpled further to the floor, resting his head on Garak's thigh. Garak instructed the computer to remove the rope again, and used his newfound freedom to stroke Julian's hair.
"How was that, my dear?" he murmured.
"Fucking fantastic," Julian responded. "How did I do in the end? You know, with the whole interrogation thing?"
"Oh, I think you managed to get the hang of it. What you said about the scar was very perceptive."
"Yeah?" Julian tilted his head up to get a look at Garak's face. "I was right about that?"
"Perhaps next time I have the pleasure of your company, I can show you just how right you were."
Julian's eyebrows shot up at the mental image of Garak putting on a show for him. "Oh, fuck. You keep talking like that, I'm going to get hard again, and we're never going to make it out of here."
Garak chuckled mischievously. "Tempting, though perhaps not exactly practical. Would you mind allowing me to stand up before we put an end to the program then, my dear? I'd rather not plummet to the floor when my chair disappears."
Julian complied, getting to his feet and pulling his pants up.
"Computer, end program," Garak called out as he stood, and the interrogation room dissolved. "Now, please do tell me honestly—do I look completely obvious? That is to say, is everyone in Quark's going to know what we've been up to when we emerge?"
Julian couldn't suppress a smile as he looked Garak up and down. While the black pants did an alright job concealing the evidence of his fully clothed orgasm, his hair was in total disarray, and a faint bruise was blooming on his cheek.
"Well, if anyone asks," Julian suggested, "you could just tell them we were playing secret agents and got a little carried away."
"I think that would be more embarrassing than simply informing them that we were having sex."
Julian laughed. "Alright, I'll tell them I kidnapped you and forced you to play along with my childish spy game, being sure to make it very clear that you had absolutely no fun whatsoever."
"Thank you, doctor. That may go some way towards preserving my reputation. Perhaps, as we depart, you could also make a loud proclamation about how sorry you are for wasting my time on something so frivolous?"
"Would you also like me to very publicly agree to try one of your Cardassian enigma tales next time instead?"
"Ooh, now that is an idea!" Garak exclaimed. "I could be one of the guilty parties, and you could be tasked with uncovering the extent of my crimes."
Julian grinned and slung his arm around Garak's shoulders as they walked out of the holosuite together. Whatever they settled on for their next little game, it was sure to be exciting.