Fic excerpt: "Risian Cordial" (Garak/Bashir, PG-13)
PG-13, but hopefully still with a bit of burn. :) ~1200 words. Photo and text under the cut.
Jadzia has given Julian a bottle of Risian cordial, and suggested outright that the taste might appeal to Cardassian sensibilities. Julian, puzzled by the recommendation, nevertheless invites Garak to his quarters one evening to give the alcoholic beverage a try. (He also invited Jadzia, who cancelled at the last minute. Funny how these things work out.) A couple of small glasses into the bottle both men are feeling the warming effects, and their spirited discussion about Pride and Prejudice takes a sudden turn for the strange...
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He felt so pleasant that it took him a moment to be startled when Bashir slid off the couch to sit on the floor. "Doctor! What are you doing?"
Bashir settled down cross-legged and patted the carpet in front of him. "Come on, Garak. Join me."
"I should think not!" He felt vaguely scandalized.
"Oh." The Human actually pouted slightly, and then leaned a little closer and rested his chin on Garak's knee to look up at him with wide dark eyes. "Please?"
Garak couldn't conceal a slight smile at such transparent manipulation. "No, dear. It's undignified."
"Hmph." Bashir's finely drawn brows drew together in a fetching little frown. "You're no fun."
"On the contrary. I make you laugh on a regular basis." He reached down and stroked the crest of the Doctor's tousled dark hair, marvelling at its texture, slightly rough yet silky. "Besides, you look far too charming this way. Coming down to your level would spoil it."
"What way?"
"With your head on my knee. Very pretty."
Bashir's smile was almost too wide for his narrow face. Garak's heart did a slow flip in his chest. In the back of his mind a sharp voice said that it was really time for him to be going, but it seemed dim and distant at the moment, far less real than Bashir's expression of pleasure or the smoothness of his hair against the palm of Garak's hand. The skin at the nape of his neck felt even more appealing.
"That's nice," Bashir murmured, letting his eyelids fall closed and stretching his back. He turned to rest his cheek fully on Garak's thigh and sighed contentedly. "Mmm. Good stuff, this cordial. Think I'll have some more."
"That probably wouldn't be wise."
"Probably not," he agreed equitably. "Come on, Garak. Come down. I want to be able to see your face."
"I can't imagine why," he quipped, watching his hand move further and his fingers open, spreading out between Bashir's shoulder blades.
"You have a very good face," Bashir protested. "All those ridges. Very baroque. And such intense eyes." He tilted his head back and looked up with a trace of resentment, although the touch of his hand on Garak's calf was soft and persuasive and sent a jolt of mild electricity through parts of Garak's body he'd put to sleep years ago. "C'mon. I'll get a crick in my neck otherwise."
"Well, we can't have that," Garak conceded, and moved down onto the floor with complete disregard for the state of his pants. He sat down cross-legged facing Bashir, wincing slightly as his knees protested the unaccustomed configuration. "There. Are you happier now?"
"Much, thanks." He reached for his glass again, picked it up, then seemed to lose track of it in his hand as his gaze settled on Garak's eyes. "Better. Do you really think I'm pretty?"
"I think you just might be the prettiest man on this station."
Both eyebrows rose. "Might be?"
"Well," Garak clarified mildly, "I haven't seen every single male on board. For example, a Nemidian freighter docked only this afternoon. It's conceivable that one of them might be lovelier than you."
"Oh." Bashir looked a little crestfallen.
"I doubt it, though. You set a very high standard."
He blushed, a tint of rose that only enhanced his charm, then took a hasty sip of cordial to cover the moment of embarrassment. "You know, I think you might actually mean that."
"I never say anything I don't mean," Garak stated virtuously.
Another sip. He licked his lips afterwards, which was moderately distracting. "That doesn't mean you're telling the truth."
"Very good, Doctor!" Garak picked up his glass, saluted Bashir, and drained what was left in it. "Where did you say Lieutenant Dax got this again?"
"Risa." Like a good host, Bashir immediately provided a refill. "Do you like it? She said you would."
"It's similar to fifty-year-old Aravok kanar." He took another mouthful, swirled it critically on his tongue, then swallowed. "Sweet, with a definite bite at the end."
"Just like you." Bashir's smile was perhaps the slyest expression Garak had ever seen him wear.
"I never bite unless asked."
"All right." He set the bottle down, too carefully, and peered at Garak owlishly. "Would you? This is me, asking."
Garak regarded him with amazement, then burst into laughter. "Oh, my... you are drunk, aren't you?"
"I'm not drunk," Bashir said indignantly. "Just… a little squiffy."
"You're… what? The translator didn't catch that at all."
"Never mind." He drank off his cordial and deposited the empty glass on the floor, his hazel eyes never leaving Garak's face. The intensity of his gaze was disquieting. "I think you want to. The first time we met, you flirted with me."
Garak shifted uncomfortably, not quite able to suppress the shiver that made his shoulders twitch. "I did not."
Bashir just looked at him without blinking.
"And besides," Garak continued to fill the silence, "even if I did, can you blame me? You were so easy to play with, how could I resist? You should have seen the expression on your face."
He knew he was babbling, and so, it seemed, did Bashir. "Now who's drunk?" the Human teased.
"My dear." Garak drew himself up to his full sitting height, in an instinctive posture that would have flared his throat scales had his species not evolved them away millions of years ago. "I'm a Cardassian. It takes more than fruit juice to put us in our cups."
"Mm." He licked his lips again, this time with an apparently conscious air of sensuality as his gaze ran over Garak's mouth, along the line of his jaw, down his left neck ridge. "You know, I think you'd enjoy playing with me much better now. I'm not afraid of you any more."
"Really?" He could feel the first throbbing of his pulse in the erectile tissues under his scales and a warm heaviness stirring behind his penile sheath, when such reactions should have been beyond his capacity to experience. He had resigned himself to a monastic existence years ago, trapped on this station apart from his own kind and surrounded by people who hated him. Evidently Bashir did not hate him. "You should be, my pretty child. Or have you not been paying attention?"
Bashir nodded. "To everything you've said - and everything you haven't said, too."
"I sincerely doubt that." The sensation of lust was far more disorienting than the sensation of alcoholic intoxication.
Jadzia has given Julian a bottle of Risian cordial, and suggested outright that the taste might appeal to Cardassian sensibilities. Julian, puzzled by the recommendation, nevertheless invites Garak to his quarters one evening to give the alcoholic beverage a try. (He also invited Jadzia, who cancelled at the last minute. Funny how these things work out.) A couple of small glasses into the bottle both men are feeling the warming effects, and their spirited discussion about Pride and Prejudice takes a sudden turn for the strange...
*******************************
He felt so pleasant that it took him a moment to be startled when Bashir slid off the couch to sit on the floor. "Doctor! What are you doing?"
Bashir settled down cross-legged and patted the carpet in front of him. "Come on, Garak. Join me."
"I should think not!" He felt vaguely scandalized.
"Oh." The Human actually pouted slightly, and then leaned a little closer and rested his chin on Garak's knee to look up at him with wide dark eyes. "Please?"
Garak couldn't conceal a slight smile at such transparent manipulation. "No, dear. It's undignified."
"Hmph." Bashir's finely drawn brows drew together in a fetching little frown. "You're no fun."
"On the contrary. I make you laugh on a regular basis." He reached down and stroked the crest of the Doctor's tousled dark hair, marvelling at its texture, slightly rough yet silky. "Besides, you look far too charming this way. Coming down to your level would spoil it."
"What way?"
"With your head on my knee. Very pretty."
Bashir's smile was almost too wide for his narrow face. Garak's heart did a slow flip in his chest. In the back of his mind a sharp voice said that it was really time for him to be going, but it seemed dim and distant at the moment, far less real than Bashir's expression of pleasure or the smoothness of his hair against the palm of Garak's hand. The skin at the nape of his neck felt even more appealing.
"That's nice," Bashir murmured, letting his eyelids fall closed and stretching his back. He turned to rest his cheek fully on Garak's thigh and sighed contentedly. "Mmm. Good stuff, this cordial. Think I'll have some more."
"That probably wouldn't be wise."
"Probably not," he agreed equitably. "Come on, Garak. Come down. I want to be able to see your face."
"I can't imagine why," he quipped, watching his hand move further and his fingers open, spreading out between Bashir's shoulder blades.
"You have a very good face," Bashir protested. "All those ridges. Very baroque. And such intense eyes." He tilted his head back and looked up with a trace of resentment, although the touch of his hand on Garak's calf was soft and persuasive and sent a jolt of mild electricity through parts of Garak's body he'd put to sleep years ago. "C'mon. I'll get a crick in my neck otherwise."
"Well, we can't have that," Garak conceded, and moved down onto the floor with complete disregard for the state of his pants. He sat down cross-legged facing Bashir, wincing slightly as his knees protested the unaccustomed configuration. "There. Are you happier now?"
"Much, thanks." He reached for his glass again, picked it up, then seemed to lose track of it in his hand as his gaze settled on Garak's eyes. "Better. Do you really think I'm pretty?"
"I think you just might be the prettiest man on this station."
Both eyebrows rose. "Might be?"
"Well," Garak clarified mildly, "I haven't seen every single male on board. For example, a Nemidian freighter docked only this afternoon. It's conceivable that one of them might be lovelier than you."
"Oh." Bashir looked a little crestfallen.
"I doubt it, though. You set a very high standard."
He blushed, a tint of rose that only enhanced his charm, then took a hasty sip of cordial to cover the moment of embarrassment. "You know, I think you might actually mean that."
"I never say anything I don't mean," Garak stated virtuously.
Another sip. He licked his lips afterwards, which was moderately distracting. "That doesn't mean you're telling the truth."
"Very good, Doctor!" Garak picked up his glass, saluted Bashir, and drained what was left in it. "Where did you say Lieutenant Dax got this again?"
"Risa." Like a good host, Bashir immediately provided a refill. "Do you like it? She said you would."
"It's similar to fifty-year-old Aravok kanar." He took another mouthful, swirled it critically on his tongue, then swallowed. "Sweet, with a definite bite at the end."
"Just like you." Bashir's smile was perhaps the slyest expression Garak had ever seen him wear.
"I never bite unless asked."
"All right." He set the bottle down, too carefully, and peered at Garak owlishly. "Would you? This is me, asking."
Garak regarded him with amazement, then burst into laughter. "Oh, my... you are drunk, aren't you?"
"I'm not drunk," Bashir said indignantly. "Just… a little squiffy."
"You're… what? The translator didn't catch that at all."
"Never mind." He drank off his cordial and deposited the empty glass on the floor, his hazel eyes never leaving Garak's face. The intensity of his gaze was disquieting. "I think you want to. The first time we met, you flirted with me."
Garak shifted uncomfortably, not quite able to suppress the shiver that made his shoulders twitch. "I did not."
Bashir just looked at him without blinking.
"And besides," Garak continued to fill the silence, "even if I did, can you blame me? You were so easy to play with, how could I resist? You should have seen the expression on your face."
He knew he was babbling, and so, it seemed, did Bashir. "Now who's drunk?" the Human teased.
"My dear." Garak drew himself up to his full sitting height, in an instinctive posture that would have flared his throat scales had his species not evolved them away millions of years ago. "I'm a Cardassian. It takes more than fruit juice to put us in our cups."
"Mm." He licked his lips again, this time with an apparently conscious air of sensuality as his gaze ran over Garak's mouth, along the line of his jaw, down his left neck ridge. "You know, I think you'd enjoy playing with me much better now. I'm not afraid of you any more."
"Really?" He could feel the first throbbing of his pulse in the erectile tissues under his scales and a warm heaviness stirring behind his penile sheath, when such reactions should have been beyond his capacity to experience. He had resigned himself to a monastic existence years ago, trapped on this station apart from his own kind and surrounded by people who hated him. Evidently Bashir did not hate him. "You should be, my pretty child. Or have you not been paying attention?"
Bashir nodded. "To everything you've said - and everything you haven't said, too."
"I sincerely doubt that." The sensation of lust was far more disorienting than the sensation of alcoholic intoxication.