The BLTS Archive - Varrhsal Silk
by BGM (bgmanic@gmail.com)

---

/Varrhsal silk./

For a moment he stands there, holding the fabric between his fingers
with infinite care and wondering how the material had managed to find
itself in his inventory; how it may have escaped his usually
meticulous attention. Surely, such a rare and exquisite item would
never pass unnoticed. Especially by him.

"Doctor, did you--" The question abruptly ebbed to an incredulous
grunt. The young man had already left his shop. Elim Garak returned to
his scrutiny and sighed softly. /Perhaps you are simply growing old.
Your senses have seared with time/, he thought, never kindly. Garak
had the peculiar skill of commanding aplomb in dealing with public
life, though never felt the need to extend it to his own
self-estimate.

Alone, Garak was uncomplicated. He had plain needs, simple desires.
Part of those needs required him to be as far removed from the truth
as possible. Over the years, truth had become a familiar enemy.

/Varrhsal silk./

The tingle in his hands had become uncomfortable, and Garak had to put
the silk down conscientiously on the counter. He stared at it
skeptically from a few steps away, the fabric innocuous as it remained
there with its bristling folds and textured colors. If he had not
purchased it on a curiously forgotten whim, who had put it here?
Though Garak believed his senses had failed him during his exile, he
knew his memory was still intact; systematic and organized as his
biology dictated. A breach in his timeline would have already been
dealt with. So why could he not remember not remembering this?

Most importantly, if he had not acquired it, how would anyone know
enough to perpetrate this odd crime?

/Constable Odo would certainly scoff if I brought this to his
attention/, Garak thought bemusedly, stealing his steps back toward
the counter.  /What possible crime could I suggest if something was
added and not taken?/

Garak had to remind himself that the Varrhsal silk itself was enough
to bring attention, any attention, to the matter. He remembered that
nearly all Federation territories had one ordinance or another that
dealt with offenders who were in possession of it. The silk was
strictly Cardassian, strictly illegal, and alarmingly dangerous. Garak
had learnt to fear it.

/Fear it well, Elim, but use it. It will be an asset to you. When you
have learnt the Disciplines and your hands become the only weapon you
need, only then will you put it away under lock. Until then, use it./

His father's words rang clearer today than they had at the time. Garak
had been a child then, barely twenty, eager for the Disciplines,
greedy for the authority. With wide-eyed adulation he had agreed,
bunching the silk in his hands, heedless of the bladed folds. And his
father had smiled that smile of his, contemptuous and knowing. Fully
aware what it did to the young, unwitting Cardassian. That night he
hadn't bothered offering his son a choice of salves. If Garak had been
foolish enough to allow ambition overpower caution, he would endure
the furious welts until they healed.

"Mister Garak?"

The Cardassian was torn from his musings and looked up, already a
bright smile on his face before he reacted to the young man's return.
Ancient instincts died hard. "Back so soon, Doctor?" he inquired with
just the right mixture of pleasant surprise and delight. He then
injected a measure of lechery, enough to puncture the doctor's comfort
zone as he added, "Did you forget something?"

Hanging from the doorway as though he were contemplating a quick
escape or a casual stroll into the shop, Julian's face darkened a
shade or two. "No, I thought I'd heard you call me when I left. Was
there something?"

Garak wondered if he should invite the Human into his little mystery.
He hardly hesitated outwardly as he beckoned the doctor with a wave of
his hand. Julian noticeably debated the decision. "I hardly bite,"
Garak reassured.

Bashir emitted a small, nervous laugh. Garak had evidently bruised his
pride, for the young man squared his shoulders and entered the shop
with quick, though bold strides. "What is it?" he asked.

Garak appraised him for a moment, a sardonic curve in his lips. "An
enigma, my dear doctor." He opened his palm toward the bunch of silk
on his counter, interested in the doctor's reaction; would he touch
it?

Though something ... Garak couldn't be sure, but the doctor seemed to
suddenly shed a little of his boyish innocence. When he turned toward
the tailor, his eyes had a hard set to them that stole a little of
Garak's breath. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Was that rhetorical?" Garak countered smoothly.

Bashir's voice lowered, "Mister Gar-" he sighed in irritation and
amended at Garak's warning look, "Garak, I would advise you get rid of
that immediately. It's highly toxic. Have you touched it?" His
behavior turned professional as he approached the Cardassian and
forcefully examined his hands.

Garak observed him under the cloak of Bashir's bemused attention. He
was remarkably unlike him in every respect. So thoughtful, selfless,
though he supposed his arrogance, on those occasions when it surfaced,
could be likened to a Cardassian's. He wiggled his fingers, startling
the young man. "I've not touched it. Though you may find it hard to
believe, Doctor, I do recognize Varrhsal silk when I see it."

Satisfied, Bashir sighed and turned back to the counter. "Regardless,
you have to get rid of it," he insisted.

"How do you propose we do that without attracting attention?" Garak
offered, pleased that the young doctor would offer to assist him
without submitting to the ridiculous political structure he operated
in. Garak dared to hope his approach to make an associate of the
medical officer was slowly succeeding.

Bashir contemplated the issue. "I think you should store it away and
find out who put it here in the first place," he suggested. He looked
reproachfully at Garak. "Someone /did/ put it there, right?"

Garak was amused at the sudden change in moods; such insolence, so
very Cardassian. "I assume so, Doctor - I certainly did not go out of
my way to acquire it."

Bashir nodded his approval, a gesture that further stroked Garak's
indulgence. Probably the /kitlen/ thought him to be a clueless old
fool. "Do you have any internal sensors set up in here?" he asked,
glancing upwards at the vaulted ceiling.

/Oh Doctor. What kind of a spy do you take me for if you feel the need
to ask that?/  Garak shrugged pleasantly. "I must confess, Doctor,
I've never placed much thought in the inner workings of this station.
Perhaps," he added with a shrug. He had been about to call up the
night's visual logs when the doctor made his appearance.

Bashir was again the man he remembered from the Replimat from a few
days ago. He suckled on his thumb and stared at the silk as though it
might erupt in flames before his very eyes. /You have no idea what to
do, now, do you? So new at this game, my boy/, Garak thought, not
unkindly.

He reached toward the slim shoulders encased in garish blue and
squeezed them. He felt the wiry muscles of the Human leap under his
palms. "I'll take care of it," Garak said convincingly. "Don't fret,
Doctor."

/What's this?/

Garak felt a bone-deep relaxation suddenly settle in the doctor's
body. Strength seemed to ebb from his very core and Garak was again
surprised at the vulnerability this Human allowed in his presence.

"Doctor?" Garak called softly.

The voice that answered him was quivering, leaping like a flame.
"Yes?" Curiously, the doctor managed to convey a tumult of emotions in
one single word. How emotional, these creatures.

"Are you ill?" Garak kept his tone low, even, seductive. He would see
how far he could push this exchange.

"I'm fine." Terse, final. Though Bashir had made no move to retreat.
Garak found this encouraging.

"I apologize," Garak continued. "I'm unfamiliar with Terran
physiology. You are trembling," he noted. "Is this normal?" His hands
were still on the doctor's shoulders, kept a steady strength in his
clasp while he caressed the Human's neck with a thumb. When Bashir's
body moved downward, Garak glanced down, noticing that the doctor's
legs had folded quite a bit under his ministrations.

"I'm ... fine." Unsteady and unsure now. Garak smiled. He now moved
one hand toward the front, his cool fingers wrapping softly over the
anxiously moving throat. How odd to feel this smooth flesh, the hard
protrusion that bounced with every swallow and the faint prickly
sensation beneath his chin when Garak caressed a certain way. He
watched, fascinated, as Bashir's head lolled back languidly toward his
broad shoulder.

With access to the throat that so riveted him, Garak bent down to
trail a flurry of kisses where his hand had stroked him. His facial
ridges seemed to delight the doctor as they provided a faint abrasive
sensation on his sensitive skin.

Oddly enough for Garak, the doctor chose this moment to speak. How
insufferably verbal these Humans could be at times! "I'm not in the
habit of ... uhm ... ah ..." Bashir's thought was lost as Garak
suckled on the pulsating side of his neck. He could feel the
creature's heart hammering through the visible artery, and Garak
traced it with an inquisitive finger, following it to the restrictive
collar. He tugged at it suggestively.

The gesture seemed to rouse the doctor. He turned in the Cardassian's
embrace and nodded at the door - it was still unlocked and accessible.
Yes, of course. It would not do for prying eyes to see this.

Though Garak was more than willing to indulge the Doctor's sudden
compliance, the Cardassian felt motivated enough to prolong the wait.
He retreated, let his hands fall from the doctor's shoulders, and
smiled. "You've not seen my quarters yet, have you?" he asked, his
voice betraying none of the surge of arousal that had recently
stimulated his body.

Confused, the doctor shook his head.

"Well! High time you did." Garak made a deliberate show to glance at
his chrono. "The infirmary surely needs your capable presence, Doctor,
and I've a business to run. Time waits for no man, after all, isn't it
what you Humans say? 1800 hours - I believe your clearance will inform
you of where I am situated," the tailor said casually, ushering Bashir
toward the exit.

He shut the door on Bashir's protests.

Garak had to exhale long and hard before he could even think of
preparing for the evening.

It was a risk, of course. Left to his thoughts, the doctor could well
decide to forget the entire matter. Humans, he noticed, were plagued
by the perpetual flaw of regret. It followed them in history as
vividly as it tainted their ethics today. It was a strange concept -
after all, his people could not afford such a sentiment. For an empire
whose memory rivaled any computer, regret would be the ultimate bane.

Humans had a saying; /Carpe Diem/. Seize the day. For a people who
could coin such eloquence, Garak was genuinely surprised at the fact
that few of them applied it to themselves.

His eyes drifted to the silk as though called by a ghostly voice
demanding attention. It lay there, spilled over the counter like a
lethal pool of shimmering copper.

He glanced at his work table - long enough to find what he needed -
and approached the silk with scissors in hand.

---

Bashir showed up at his quarters at 1738, and Garak glanced annoyingly
at the door when the chime rang. Either the Human was eager, or he was
personally delivering his apologies over how it was all a mistake. He
could hear the excuses now, stammering and irrelevant.

Still, Garak slicked back his wet hair and unlocked the door. He
remained at the entrance, leaning offhandedly on the jamb. "Haven't we
decided on 1800?" he asked without preamble, appraising the casual
attire Bashir had chosen for himself. While Starfleet blue clashed
brutally with his approval, Garak had to admit that this cobalt color
the Human had decided on was decidedly flattering.

"I couldn't wait," Julian said in a hushed tone. He glanced nervously
over his shoulder and Garak had to take pity on him. He turned, only
slightly, inviting him in. He smiled when the doctor had to edge
himself against him to escape the door.

Garak could see the young man observe his quarters, barely managing to
keep his curiosity under cloak. "I hope you don't mind - I finished
earlier," he said hesitantly. His words trailed off, swallowed back
when Garak caressed his hand down his back.

"I'm not complaining," the Cardassian remarked, his fingers tracing
the hard spine down to the Human's backside. He felt him shiver, and
once again his muscles tensed.

"Garak, I'm ... I don't know why I'm here, frankly."

Garak's eyeridges arched with incredulity. "Don't you?"

"I mean, no ... yes, I know why I'm here, obviously." The doctor
turned, fixing his guileless eyes on the tailor. "What I don't know is
... I mean, I've never been with another man ... and ... "

Garak felt his annoyance surface, trying to let the Human's words wash
over him. With a slight sneer, he said, "Make a point, Doctor."

"I'm nervous."

Garak's irritation vanished, replaced by a tolerant smile. "Was that
so difficult?" he said in a hushed tone. He was amused to see Bashir
shake his head at his rhetoric. "By that admission, am I to assume
you've never been with a Cardassian?" A nod of the head, and Garak had
to reign his control. How delightfully unique. He felt a singular
desire then, for this Human - he realized it was no longer to stave
off his own solitary mood.

"I look forward to instruct you," he said lazily, his eyelids
lowering.

That delectable throat moved, and Garak leaned in to access it with
his mouth. All words the doctor may have had at his statement was
drowned off by a voluptuous whimper.

Old desires caressed Garak's nerves. He had to remember that Julian
was not Cardassian. He had to remember that the Disciplines would not,
could not be endured by his frail countenance. Even in their brief
courting, Garak had acted far more docile than he would have with a
Cardassian lover.

/Is this regret?/

The thought was crushed by the press of smooth lips on his own, eager
for a kiss. Garak gave, gave all of himself into it, wondering in the
back of his mind if Bashir would ever know enough to realize how
utterly vulnerable he was at the moment.

/Regret, that he is not Cardassian?/

The alien silk of his body was fire against his cooler skin. He voiced
his appreciation, splaying his hand to the narrow chest, feeling
within its cage a raging heart.

/Is it supposed to beat so fast?/

His was like an arrhythmic hammer, thudding dully in his ears as he
bent further toward Bashir, control be damned, turning his kisses into
bites. Somewhere, further down in his conscience, Garak realized the
Human could take it.

Later, Garak would recollect the frantic way they divested themselves
of clothes. But the moment, for now, was forgotten. There was only him
now, golden and simple, stripped of his modesty. There was nothing
simple, however, in the dark set of his eyes, the simmering way they
beckoned him for more.

Garak remembered instantly the way he entered him, Bashir's legs
hooked over his arms as he eased his cock inside. He replayed it in
his mind's eye over and over, even as he thrust powerfully into the
deepest recesses of the frail

/not so frail/

Human body. He looked down, fascinated to see himself so deeply
buried, the doctor's body pliant and open for him. Bending the
doctor's legs further, Garak leaned down, pressing his third eye to
the sweaty forehead of his unexpected lover as his hips rocked harder
and harder still.

He would have happily drowned in the intensity of Julian's eyes. Open.
Dazed and welcoming the building pleasure. He felt movement against
his stomach and knew the doctor was helping himself, coaxing his
climax as his own threatened to overpower his senses.

/Julian .../

The name was absent from his lips as he came, voiceless, spilling
himself into the bewitching Human.

Their descent was quiet, as their bout of pleasure had been. It was
unnecessary to speak. Julian breathless, Garak as immovable as time.

/No ... be true to yourself, Elim, at the very least./

He had been moved after all.

Garak swallowed hard and stood. He lifted the spent body of Julian
Bashir in his arms and carried him to the bedroom. 

---

When sleep eluded the contemplative couple, Bashir buried his face in
the crook of the Cardassian's neck and nibbled the tougher scales.
"What will we do with the silk?" he asked.

Garak gazed at nothing, enjoying the doctor's attention as he stroked
his smooth back, finding it curiously damp. "I told you, Doctor. I
will take care of it."

/I have taken care of it./

The answer was good enough for the trusting Human, as he knew it would
be, and Garak smiled.

Perhaps, one day, when the doctor grew stronger, wiser - when his very
Human memory would turn selective and jagged with uncertainty of a
time, long ago, in Garak's shop - he would find a suit in his closet.

And the suit would be shimmering copper, its folds bristling.

/Then you will remember me, when I am long gone./

---

The End