The BLTS Archive - Irresistible Force
by Kathryn Ramage (kramage@erols.com)

---

Setting: 5th season?

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters. This
story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Copyright July 1999

Originally published in No Holds Barred #21

---

After all this time, after all the coy flirtation, the childish
bickering, the heated intellectual discussions, and the various
ins and outs of the dance they had led each other through, it had
happened so simply and so swiftly that Garak was still astonished.

A dinner invitation.  A sip of kanar.  A conversation which began as
one of their usual games of word-play--but then the words had become
more and more earnest until, without planning it, or indeed almost
before he realized it, they had reached an understanding.  There was
nothing to do after that but take Julian into his arms.

And now, barely two hours after he had asked the young doctor to his
quarters, the object of his long years of desire writhed beneath him
on his bed, crying out his name rapturously.

He had finally gotten everything he wanted out of Julian Bashir.

The consummation he had waited so long for ended all too soon. As
Garak lay panting and spent, he turned his head on the pillow to
watch Bashir regain himself: the young man's eyes were opening and
closing slowly; one hand ran up his chest and over his face to wipe
away the sparkling dew-like beads of perspiration. He stretched
languidly, then drew his arms and legs close and rolled onto his
side.  Their eyes met, and Julian laughed.

"Why didn't we do this before?" he asked, raising himself on
one elbow.  "Why didn't you spread me out on that table at Quark's
the first  time you introduced yourself, so that we could have done
this every night since then?"  He moved a little closer to place his
head on Garak's still-heaving chest.

Garak slipped one arm around him and, while he tried to catch his
breath, listened indulgently to Julian's warbling.

"We've wasted far too much time--my own fault, I suppose.  I never
had the courage to let you know how I really felt before.  I thought
about it a dozen times, and even planned all sorts of clever things
to say when the opportunity presented itself. But then when the right
moment arrived, you would look at me so intently, I forgot every word
I wanted to say. You always scared me."

"How could *I* possibly have frightened you?" asked Garak.

Julian turned his head slightly, resting his chin instead of his
cheek, and looked up at Garak with a more solemn expression.  "I was
afraid that you'd laugh at me," he confessed. "It's happened before.
And since you and I play so many games, you might easily think that
this was just one more.  I've also been...well, worried."

"About what?"

"The differences between our species." His fingers explored the
overlapping scales that bordered Garak's breastplate.  "I've studied
every text I could find on Cardassian sexuality, but there isn't very
much in the medical databanks.  Some of the things I did read were
rather disturbing.  I was afraid that if we ever did get together
like this, I wouldn't be able to- um- satisfy your needs."

Garak chuckled.

Julian smiled.  "It's silly, I know.  But now that we've sorted it
all out, I intend to make it up to you-" As his exploratory caress
reached Garak's collar, he lowered his head to place a kiss on the
first segment in the row of scales nearest his fingertips, "as soon-"
Another kiss, "and as often-" A third, "as possible."

"You're expecting a lot from an old man," Garak told him.

Julian laughed in reply.  "We have all night ahead of us," he said.
"Take your time."

---

All night.  And the next night.  And the next.  Now that they were
lovers, Julian seemed to take it for granted that he was expected
every evening and he showed up at Garak's door promptly at the end of
his shift.  Garak welcomed him in, but he was relieved when the
doctor was called away for a week on an off-station assignment.

Keeping up with Bashir was more of an effort than he had anticipated.
Cardassians possessed strength and physical stamina superior to the
average human's, but Garak was reluctantly forced to acknowledge that
he was past his prime, and the years of monkish restraint he had
imposed on himself during his exile had taken their toll. He had not
disappointed his lover yet, but Bashir was twenty years his junior, a
healthy, vigorous young specimen with an enthusiasm that seemed
boundless.  The moment of failure must occur eventually.  And yet his
pride would not allow it.  After waiting so long for this prize, he
was determined not to let Julian slip away from him due
to...inattentiveness.

Fortunately, there were measures he could take to elude that
humiliation. Bashir's absence gave him time to procure them.

It first required a visit to Quark's.  The Ferengi had reliable
contacts in the trade of contraband substances and a measure of
discretion if the price was right.  He had to endure some vulgar
jokes with reference to Ziyal, and pay a few more slips of latinum
than he had hoped, but only two days after he placed his order, he
received a small box containing a dozen hypospray cartridges filled
with a bright blue liquid.  _D'nal ai gerhat-guli_--It was a powerful
stimulant, and more than a stimulant, when drunk in the traditional
manner, but even more potent when taken directly into the
bloodstream.

When Julian returned from his mission, Garak extended an invitation
to dinner.  Then he set the table, prepared the hypospray, and
settled down to wait.

Once injected, the drug would take effect quickly.  If he waited
until after Bashir had arrived, he might not have an opportunity to
use the hypospray without drawing his lover's attention.  As a
physician, Bashir would naturally be curious about this self-
administered medication.  He would demand to know more--and
Garak was not eager to have Julian learn more about *this*.

At the sound of the doorchime, he quickly injected the drug and hid
the hypo-kit in his desk before he let Bashir in.

He felt a mild, encouraging tingle even before he opened the door,
but the  drug's full effect did not hit him until they were seated at
the dining table.  Watching Julian eat became an erotic experience.
The brief, white exposure of his teeth at each bite, the flickers of
his tongue against his lips, the workings of his throat muscles when
he swallowed--Garak forgot his own food and stared in fascination. He
had once scolded Bashir for eating too quickly, but only now did he
appreciate what a criminal act it was.  Every motion was a delight to
observe.  When the doctor licked away some yarmok sauce that had
dribbled onto his fingers, Garak could barely restrain himself.

They were half-way through the meal before it became unbearable.

Julian paused with a forkful of t'nestra noodles on its way to his
mouth and lifted his eyes to Garak's.  "Elim...what are you doing?"

"Touching your knee.  My apologies, my dear.  It's really all I can
reach from this position.  The table's in the way."

Julian grinned.  It was too much.

Garak was out of his chair and swept the table clear with a single
gesture.  Later on, he would be pleased to see that most of the food
had spilled within the confines of the tablecloth.  Right now, he
didn't even notice the mess.

"Elim!"

He pulled Bashir up onto the cleared surface.  "This isn't Quark's
nor the Replimat, but I hope it will suffice."

Julian's eyes flickered over the tailor's face, confused by his
abruptness.  "Are you all right?"

"I've never felt better. Allow me to demonstrate."

---

A second injection just before Bashir was expected the next evening
took effect even more swiftly.  This time, he did not make it as far
as dinner: while at the replicator, entering his selections for
mildly spiced Cardassian dishes which his guest would enjoy, Garak
glanced at Bashir, who stood back turned to him, leaning over the
dining table reaching for the decanter of pale violet liqueur placed
at the center. All thoughts of food were forgotten.

"Do you want a glass of this as long as I'm-" Bashir began as he
turned back, then stopped when he saw the way Garak was looking at
him.  His eyelashes fluttered down, shyly, coquettishly, and a small
smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Come here," Garak ordered, the sudden urgency of his need making him
brusque.

Julian put down the decanter and went to him.

"I don't think I can wait another second to have you," he announced
with complete sincerity as he encircled the doctor's slender waist.

"There's no reason why you should have to," Julian answered, still
smiling.  "We can put off our dinner. After all, it's better to wait
'til we want it than to throw it all over the floor the way you did
last night."  He slipped both arms around Garak's shoulders and
pressed the length of his body against him, sending the Cardassian's
normally slow, measured pulse into a pounding frenzy.  The hands on
Bashir's back began to tremble.

"I had no idea you were so impulsive," Bashir went on teasing after a
kiss. "Tell me--What other displays of ardor can I expect to see?"

"Oh, I think I still have a few surprises for you," Garak replied,
but he was barely paying attention to the words.  Impossible to think
of anything now but the lithe body he held in his arms.

He caught Julian up abruptly; Bashir laughed in delight and held on
more tightly as he was lifted off his feet.  Garak had intended to
carry him into the bedroom, but they had only gone a few steps before
the tailor knew that he wasn't going to make it that far. He couldn't
wait. Not another second.

He set Julian down on the low, glass-topped table between the two
armchairs, grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled down swiftly,
ripping open the front panel.  Bashir gasped and flinched.  He sat up
to try and help Garak free him from his clothing, but Garak pushed
him back onto the glass surface, hooked his hands into the waist of
Julian's trousers at either side and yanked again, taking the pants
to his ankles and tearing his briefs open at the hip as they were
swept along, with no need for assistance.  The boots went next, then
he turned his attention to the fastenings of his own clothes. Julian
regarded him wide-eyed, a little alarmed, but very excited. He tried
once again to raise himself on his elbows, when Garak grabbed both
his legs and brought him to the edge of the table.

Garak wished he had the self-restraint to be more gentle, but Julian
didn't seem too distressed by the lack of preliminaries.  At the
first thrust, he threw back his head and cried out in astonishment,
"Elim, my god!" and gasped aloud at each successive stroke, "Oh,
god!" as if he were overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation. He had
never been so vocal before, not even at their first coupling.

He came quickly.  Garak had barely to touch him; the rhythmic
pounding alone was enough to send Bashir over the brink. Usually, the
delicious throes of his lover's orgasm--the convulsive clenching and
unclenching of muscles, the warm splash of fluid on his skin--were
enough to bring about his own climax, but this time the stimulation
only increased his arousal. In his fervor, Garak continued to thrust,
harder now, mindless of anything except the avenue of soft flesh open
to receive him and that moment of satisfaction that seemed
infuriatingly just beyond his reach.

Julian was screaming by the end of it, never entirely down from his
peak but not able to regain those heights. He thrashed wildly, heels
drumming into Garak's solid back, fingers clawing at the delicate
scales of the tailor's upper arms until Garak grabbed his wrists and
pinned him.  Julian continued to struggle in his grip, sobbing like a
lost soul, until at last a jolting burst of fire coursed through
him--brain, belly, groin--and spurted free.  Garak collapsed in
relief.  Beneath him, Julian groaned.

Head now clear, he moved back from the table, slowly, cautiously,
bringing Julian with him, easing him up and, as he sank onto his
heels, into his lap.  Bashir, folded nearly in half, made a small,
whimpering sound and tightened his legs about Garak's torso to keep
from slipping off.  His head fell to the tailor's shoulder.  As he
braced the small of his lover's back, Garak noted the hot, slick pool
of moisture beneath his hands.  Bashir was drenched.  His skin looked
unusually pale.  Garak could feel the quivering in the limbs wrapped
around him and the rapid bursts of breath on his collar.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.  "I hope I haven't hurt you."

"No," the doctor's voice was faint, strained. "`M fine.  Wonderful."
He lifted his head.  "I never thought-"  The words were cut off by
the Cardassian's mouth on his own.  His lips were trembling too, but
his response was eager; Garak was surprised at the energy Julian was
still capable of showing--but he was even more surprised by his own
capacities.  As Julian moved in his lap, rocking in tiny, delicate
movements, Garak felt an incredible surge of reawakened desire.

Julian broke off the kiss with a sound of surprise.  "Wha-?"
His hips worked again.  "So soon?"

"It's a perfectly natural response," Garak told him, "under the
proper circumstances, with a sufficiently stimulating companion."

"How long can you go on like this?"

Cradling the doctor's sweat-slick body to his chest, Garak twisted
away from the table to lay him on the carpet.  "I really don't know.
Until I pass out."

"And what if I pass out?"

"It doesn't matter.  I don't think I can stop."

---

Julian did not pass out.  To the contrary, after the effects of
the _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_ wore off and Garak lay too exhausted
to move, the young doctor sat on the floor beneath the replicator,
happily eating an Earth delicacy he described as "peppermint ice
cream with chocolate biscuits for scooping."  His skin had taken on
a dull sheen as the perspiration dried and his hair was in wild elf
locks, but he was radiant.  Between mouthfuls, he spoke cheerfully:

"You'll have to fix this-" with a tug at the torn shirt he had put
back on; he had also repaired his underpants with a knot at the hip.
"You're the tailor, and besides, it's *your* fault--ripping my
clothes off! I don't know what got into you.  I'd like to dig up a
dermal regenerator before we go to bed, to take care of these carpet-
burns. I'll bet you have your share too.  Perhaps we should confine
ourselves to more friction-less surfaces in future. But not that
table.  Did you notice we managed to crack the glass?"

Lulled by this nonsense, Garak drifted toward sleep, when a question
brought him back.

"Can't I get you anything, Elim?  After...well, after *that*, you
should eat.  Something with lots of carbohydrates to replenish your
energy."

"No, thank you," he answered.  "I merely need to rest. A week or
two should be sufficient."

Bashir set down the empty ice-cream bowl and crawled over to where
Garak lay.  "Are you sure you're all right? I can see that this has
taken a lot out of you."  He tried to check the tailor's pulse, but
Garak captured his hand.

"My dear Julian, I am fine."  He brought Julian's hand to his lips to
kiss the palm, and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I've
been less than fully attentive before tonight.  I'm afraid I've
fallen somewhat out of practice. I promise that things will improve."

"Improve!" Julian echoed in amazement.  "Elim, you were incredible!
You told me to expect surprises, but I never imagined...  Are you
telling me that this is the usual for you?"

"It was, once," Garak lied easily.  "You should have seen me when I
was younger.  Twenty years ago, I might have shown you..."

"Twenty years ago, I was just short of twelve," Bashir replied.
"You would've been arrested on the spot if you'd tried to 'show' me
anything, dirty old man."  He placed a hand cautiously on Garak's
chest, as if he were uncertain what response his touch would provoke.

"If this is what it's always going to be like with you..." a slight,
worried frown creased his brow. "There's so much I don't know about
your physiology that I ought to, particularly *now*."

"I will have to teach you." Garak slipped one arm around Julian's
waist, beneath the tattered shirt, and tugged to draw him down.

Julian resisted.  "Not tonight, you're not.  I think we've both had
enough, and I'm not sleeping here on the carpet.  I'm going to bed,
where it's more comfortable.  You can come with me-"  With some
gentle tugging of his own, he urged Garak to sit up, then bestowed a
quick kiss, "-and give me my lesson in the morning."  He ducked,
bringing Garak's arm around his shoulders, and struggled to his feet.


They went into the bedroom.  After a brief, unsuccessful search for a
dermal regenerator, Bashir climbed into bed, curled up at Garak's
side and, with the remarkable promptness of children and other
innocents, fell asleep.  In spite of his weariness, Garak lay awake
for more than an hour, contemplating his lover.

No, it wasn't going to be easy to keep up.

---

A slight increase in the dosage--the merest adjustment of the
hypospray's controls--but it was enough to see Garak through their
next encounter satisfactorily, and to leave Bashir too tired for much
post-coital chatter.

The _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_ lived up to its reputation.  Not only did
it give him the means to meet his lover's needs, but also a level of
sexual energy that surpassed anything he had known; even at the
height of his own youthful vigor, he had never before been
so...robust. And, most surprising of all, after he had been taking
the drug regularly for two weeks, with the occasional increase in
dosage, Garak began to feel its effects overtaking him without a
fresh injection.

The first time it happened was when Julian showed up at his door a
quarter of an hour early; Garak, who had not had time to administer
his usual dose, thought that they would get through dinner for once.
But when Julian kissed him, he discovered he was wrong.

After that, he often felt the same stirrings at odd hours of the day,
usually during the tedious afternoons he spent alone in his shop.
When business lulled and his mind wandered, he thought of Julian: the
silken texture of that human skin under his hands, the impish way his
lover smiled when contemplating some mischief, the taste of that
mouth...  The memory was enough.

Extremely inconvenient when Julian was not accessible, but the
craving would subside if he forced himself to think of something less
stimulating. This unexpected attribute of the _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_
did not leave him in a dire situation, however, until he sat at a
table at the Replimat one day, waiting for Bashir to join him.  As he
gazed down the Promenade in the direction of the Infirmary,
anticipating the sight of his lover, he found himself as aroused as
if he had just taken the drug.

He bowed his head and tried to marshal his thoughts away from
Bashir--a difficult task, since Bashir was expected at any moment.
Perhaps he could make a swift exit before-

"Garak?"

He looked up to find Julian standing over the table.

"I'm sorry I'm late." And, with a glance at Garak's not-yet touched
lunch, Julian added, "I was afraid you'd start without me."

"Impossible," Garak answered.  "Nothing can happen without you." The
doctor's proximity was not at all calming.  As Bashir brushed past
his chair, the lightest touch of the young man's hip at his shoulder
sent tremors through him; Garak clamped his hands tightly around his
mug of red-leaf tea in an effort not to grab.  His eyes followed the
slender figure to the replicator--tantalizing, even in that shapeless
black uniform. If he were alone, he knew he could regain some measure
of control. As it was, with the object of his desire within his
reach, he thought he would go mad.  How could he sit here with
composure when all he wanted was to possess Julian *now*?

Bashir returned with his own lunch and, as he took a seat across from
Garak, beamed ravishingly.  "You don't know how glad I was when I got
your message, inviting me to lunch," he said. "We haven't done this
since we- well, *since*, and I've missed it.  It seems like we never
talk the way we used to." He attacked his salad with gusto and made
several feints at conversation, until he noticed that Garak's replies
were unusually short and his plate remained untouched. "Aren't you
eating?"

"I'm afraid don't have much of an appetite," the tailor answered,
then leaned forward to hiss, "Lunch is not what I am interested in
right now."

Julian stared at him.  "*Here*?"  He glanced furtively at the crowded
tables surrounding them, and his cheeks darkened with a blush.
"Elim," he whispered back, "I know I once said something about
Quark's Place, but that was only a joke!"

"No," said Garak, "not here."  He reached across the table, so
swiftly that the movement startled the doctor, and seized his arm.
"Come with me."  And he pulled Julian out of the Replimat and down
the Promenade.

"Elim, this is getting out of hand," Bashir said in bemusement as he
hastened to keep up.

"I did tell you that these erratic hormonal fluctuations are nothing
out of the ordinary in a Cardassian male of my age," Garak answered,
"especially when a new mate is taken." They reached the tailor's
shop, its doors shut and lights dimmed. He punched in his security
code, and quickly brought Bashir inside.  "The levels build up during
periods of inactivity and then...burst forth.  I suppose it was only
to be expected in my case.  It's been a long time since I've had a
regular lover, and my body has responded to your presence
accordingly, if sometimes extravagantly."

This was the explanation he had given Bashir for his remarkable
behavior, and the young doctor in his ignorance of Cardassian
sexuality had no choice but to accept it as the truth.

Bashir sighed.  "I know what you said, but I'm starting to worry
about you.  I'd like to get you into the Infirmary-"

"What a wonderful suggestion! Perhaps we can schedule a private
examination...?"

"Elim, seriously.  You aren't eating enough-"

"Oh, I always have a large breakfast after you leave," said Garak,
and locked the door behind them.  "I find it less distracting."

"And when do you sleep?"

"If I feel I need it, I take a nap. There's no reason for me to open
for business at 0900 every day, or to stay all day." His heart was
thumping madly and his blood sang in his ears.  Only his awareness of
the passers-by on the Promenade, just beyond the transparent panels
of the  door, kept him from pouncing on Julian on the spot.  He took
Julian by the arm and drew him away from the front of the shop, into
the dimly lit regions beyond.  As they passed the racks of clothing
and display shelves, he pulled down a bolt of plush Idranian velvet,
the softest material he had in stock.

"Lucky you. I can't just close up the Infirmary." Bashir sounded
wistful. "I was looking forward to our lunch."

Garak stopped.  Caught up in the immediacy of his own desires, he was
only now perceiving that his lover was not as eager as usual. "Would
you rather go back to the Replimat?" he asked impatiently.

"Er- no... No, that's all right." Julian looked around the shop.  "As
long as we're here, we may as well take advantage of it."

"Good."  And he yanked Bashir into the changing room.

True, the effects of the _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_ were occasionally
capricious, but he could have Julian whenever and wherever he liked,
without doubt, without hesitation.  He had found success in love
beyond his imaginings.  What were a few missed meals in exchange with
that?

---

Garak closed up shop a little early for lunch the next day, and
headed toward the Infirmary in hopes of another delightful afternoon
interlude.  He had been thinking of Julian on and off all morning. As
he attempted to clean the Idranian velvet, memories flooded him.
Images of that bare, golden body spread upon the mossy green
background.  The caress of the velvet against his own skin. Brushing
up the nap, the urge to press his face into the crushed softness
proved irresistible and, when he gave in, the elusive remnants of
Julian's scent that clung to the fabric made his head swim.

If there wasn't enough time to go to his quarters, perhaps he could
lure Julian back to his shop--the velvet had been ruined for
clothing, but it could certainly be put to its initial use again and
again.  Or might he take the doctor up on that beguiling proposal
made yesterday? Garak had no intention of actually allowing Bashir to
get near him with a medical scanner, but half an hour spent in
Bashir's office
under the pretext of a physical examination had a certain appeal.

But when he broached these ideas to Julian, the young man refused.

"Elim, I'm sorry.  There's too much to do today--" with a wave at his
work station, where a series of biochemical compounds were displayed.

"I don't even have the time for a short break."

A disappointment, but he forced himself to be patient.  "Very well.
We'll meet this evening."

Bashir shook his head.  "This search I'm conducting for cross-species
innoculants is going to keep me busy long after my regular shift
ends. It's the Tellarian flu season, you know--there've been three
cases of it on the station already.  In fact," he began to fidget, "I
expect I'll be too exhausted by the time I'm finished to do anything
more than crawl into bed and lapse into a welcome coma."

He was making excuses; Garak could see it.  "You're not a convincing
liar, Doctor," he snapped.  "You're trying to put me off, aren't
you?"

Bashir didn't answer, but his eyes were wide and apologetic.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong.  It's just that I need a little time to myself."

Still dissembling; to the experienced inquisitor, it was painfully
obvious. But why-?  A sudden fear stifling his hurt and frustration,
Garak asked, "Do you want to end our relationship?"

"Oh, no!" the young man responded quickly.  "That's not it."

"Then what?  Julian, tell me."

"Well," Julian began reluctantly, "when we started this affair, I was
afraid that you'd want...things I couldn't give you.  I thought your
tastes might be too exotic for me.  Too rough."

"Have I ever hurt you?"

"No, but you are *too much*.  Garak, I *am* exhausted.  I don't
have your endurance.  I've tried to accommodate your needs, but I
can't go on the way you do night after night.  And now you want my
lunch hours too!  I can't do this.  It's wearing me out."

The irony of this was not lost on Garak.

"It's not that I don't enjoy making love with you," Bashir went on.
"You've been wonderful. I've never been with anyone so physically
passionate before.  But sometimes..." he was fidgeting again,
glancing nervously up at the speechless Cardassian as he made a full
confession, "sometimes I feel that since we've become lovers, you
don't value my companionship any more except in bed--or on whatever
other piece of furniture happens to be nearby."

"That isn't so," Garak insisted.  "I treasure you." The very real
possibility that he was about to lose Julian alarmed him.  If he had
not dared to admit just how important this young man was to him
before, the experience of having all his attention focused so
intensely on Julian these past weeks had demonstrated it all too
clearly.  "Julian, dear, I sincerely don't know what I would do
without you."

"Then will you do this for me?  Please?  It won't be for long--a
night or two. I'm sure we both can use the peace and quiet."

In desperation, Garak agreed.

Bashir smiled, relieved that he wasn't angry.  "We can see each
other in a few days," he offered as a consolation. "We'll have that
lunch we didn't quite get to."

---

But when Bashir returned to his quarters that evening, Garak was
there waiting for him.

"Elim..." the doctor began wearily.

"I know you wanted to rest," Garak explained, "but can't I simply
*be* here?"  He had intended to stay away, just as Julian had
requested, but the prospect of being deprived of his lover's company
for an indeterminate length of time was more than he could stand.
Although it had been more than 26 hours since his last injection,
there was evidently enough of the drug left in his system to torment
him.  After pacing restlessly in his shop throughout the afternoon,
he had finally retreated to the privacy of his rooms; once there, the
problem grew worse.  No amount of mental discipline could suppress
it.  A cool shower only made him irritable, and his attempt to take
matters into his own hands proved even more unsatisfying than usual.
He needed Julian, and at last he was forced to seek him out.
"There's no reason why we can't have a quiet dinner together."

"No," said Julian, "I suppose not."

"You've told me how you miss our old conversations," the tailor
pressed on. "I've been reading a Vulcan historical novel which
might interest you."  A half-truth; he had tried to settle down
by reading the factual prose, but wound up flinging the datapadd
against the nearest wall.  "We can while away the evening talking,
just as we used to.  And surely I can sleep beside you without
being...disruptive?"

The suggestion produced a soft smile.  "That might be nice," Bashir
murmured, relenting.  "All right, you can stay.  If you'll set the
table, I'll get dinner."  He went to the replicator.

Garak, grateful that he hadn't been kicked out, came up behind him
and wrapped both arms around his waist; Julian leaned back against
him and sighed.

"Elim, this is disruptive," he scolded lightly at the first nip on
the nape of his neck. "You promised."  But he twisted around for a
kiss.

Garak had come here with the best of intentions. He had merely
wanted to be near Julian tonight--but that warm, yielding body in his
arms provoked the usual response.  In another moment, it became more
than he could control.

He tightened his hold, bringing Julian closer against him.

Bashir broke off the kiss.  "Elim, no," he said, half-laughing.  "I
mean it.  I don't feel like doing this right now. I'm tired."  His
forearms braced on Garak's chest; he was still laughing as he tried
to push away, and only shouted when Garak swept him up.  "Come on!
I'm not joking! Put me down!"

Garak carried him into the bedroom and tossed him to the bed. His
eyes swept hungrily over the young man sprawled before him, no longer
amused but staring at him with a perplexed expression. He began to
unfasten his tunic.

"I *told* you, I'm in no mood..." Julian crawled backwards, and
Garak moved swiftly up the bed, capturing him at the headboard.
"Ga-" the rest was muffled by an engulfing kiss.  He began to
struggle, hesitantly at first, then with more urgency.

Garak ignored these protests, certain he could coax Julian out of his
reluctance.  A little wrestling was part of the game, although Julian
had never been so rebellious before. In fact, all this squirming, the
thumping palms on his chest and shoulders, only served to excite him
further.  For one who claimed to be exhausted, his little human was
putting up a good fight!  When Julian's teeth closed on his lower
lip, the taste of his own blood set him aflame.

He pressed Julian down onto the mattress, determined to subdue
him--and Julian lashed out, not in play, but in an earnest, panicked
effort to drive him off. "Elim, for god's sake!"  A fist clouted the
side of his head, and one knee rammed into the vulnerable spot just
below his breastplate.  Stunned, Garak let go; Julian scrambled away
and sat regarding him, wide-eyed, panting, ready to go on fighting at
the next threatening move.

"What is wrong with you?" the doctor demanded.  Cautiously, he knelt
forward and, careful of the swollen neck-ridges, checked the pulse at
the base of Garak's throat, then studied his eyes.  The crease on his
brow deepened thoughtfully.

"Your pupils are dilated.  Your heart rate is too fast. Temperature's
up.  This can't be normal." Julian sprang up and darted for the other
room; Garak followed him as far as the doorway, but the young man had
already taken up a medical tricorder and was turning it in his
direction.

"Julian..."

Bashir glanced at the tricorder readings, then lifted his gaze to
him. "What have you been taking?"  And when Garak didn't answer, he
declared, "You're coming with me to the Infirmary-"

"No." Garak sat down on the sofa stubbornly.

"If you won't tell me what this is, I'll have to run some tests,"
Bashir threatened.  "Whatever it is, it's thrown off your entire
metabolism.  The hyperproduction of the adrenal and androgenic glands
alone..." He stopped. "Elim, is this some kind of aphro- disiac?"

Garak decided to confess. Bashir would not rest until he learned the
truth, and the thought of being dragged into the Infirmary for an
examination and interrogation on this very personal subject was
daunting.  Besides, if he spoke now, there was a chance that Julian
would take pity on him. The situation might be salvaged yet. "It's
called _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_."

Bashir had picked up enough Kardasi to try and puzzle this out.
"Awake- no- flower... Passion-flower?"

"Flowering of the Heart's Desire," Garak gave him the standard
translation. "It's an ancient Hebitian love-philtre, extracted from a
plant that still grows wild on Cardassia Prime--the subject of a
thousand jokes, most of which you would find shockingly vulgar."

"What do you mean by 'love-philtre'?" asked Julian.  "It sounds
like something out of a fairy-tale."

"No, it's quite real.  The drug does more than enhance sexual
prowess--it creates an engrammatic matrix that focuses all of the
user's interests expressly on one object."

"'The heart's desire,'" Bashir echoed.

"I was telling you the truth, Julian: *you* are doing this to me.
Whenever I see you, touch you, or even *think* of you, I must have
you.  Nothing else will suffice."  Garak kept his eyes down.  He was
very much aware of the young man standing before him, and knew how
dangerous it would be if he looked up.  If he gave into his impulses
now, he risked losing Julian for good.

"How long have you been taking this-? No, let me guess: since you
started to roger me senseless at every opportunity?"

"I believe the effect is cumulative," he answered. "It is certainly
more potent than I had anticipated."

"And of course *you* had to overdo it," said Julian, perhaps
recalling the disastrous results when he had activated his implant.
He sat down at the other end of the sofa, looking puzzled. "The thing
I don't understand is *why* you felt you had to resort to this kind
of enhancement.  We were fine before...weren't we?"

There were some things Garak refused to confess to. When he dared
glance up, there was more sympathy in those dark eyes than he would
have liked to see.

"Do you deny you enjoyed what I could give you just as much as I
enjoyed being able to give it?" he asked.

"Some of it was wonderful," Julian admitted. He extended one hand as
if he meant to offer a comforting touch, then thought the better of
it.  "There were moments when I wished it would go on forever--I
almost believed it would.  But it wasn't all fun.  Do you know, *you*
had me terrified? I didn't see how I could possibly keep up with you!

That famous Cardassian stamina. Your 'erratic hormonal
fluctuations.'" He gave Garak a wry look at this deception. "And then
there's the way you've been grabbing me.  I haven't liked that at
all."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry."

"It's gotten out of control, Elim, and it has to stop."

"I was afraid you'd say that."  He'd known that Julian would demand
he give up the _d'nal ai gerhat-guli_ once he found out about it.
Ah, well, it had been an enormous pleasure while it had lasted.  And
there was no reason why he had to destroy the remaining vials of the
drug. Couldn't he merely set them aside--just in case?  "You do
understand what we're giving up? It won't be the same."

"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."  Bashir gave him a soft smile.
"It'll be fine," he said reassuringly.  "It might even be better."

Garak felt his hopes rise.  What a marvelous thing, this perpetual
human capacity for forgiveness!  All was not lost.  But, just as he
thought that the young man was about to come to his arms, Bashir
added: "Well, there's only one thing we can do until this is
completely out of your system."

"Lock ourselves in here and work our way through it?"

"No!" At the eager glint in the tailor's eye, Julian retreated
swiftly, climbing back onto the arm of the sofa to keep a safe
distance between them. "That wasn't what I- er- had in mind.
Rather, the opposite."

Garak folded his hands on his knees and tried not to look as if
he were about to pounce.  "You want me to leave?" he murmured.

"It's for the best," Julian answered, still perched on the sofa arm.
"It won't do you any good to be near me as long as you're in this
condition.  I'd like you to go back to your quarters, just as we
agreed.  We ought to have as little personal contact as possible the
next few days.  You can monitor yourself-" scrambling off the sofa,
he picked up the tricorder and handed it to Garak, "-and send me
regular reports."  He took the tailor firmly by the arm and urged him
up from the  sofa.  Garak rose almost involuntarily, realizing with
dismay that Julian would forgive him, but that he was not going to be
generous tonight.

"If you take care, don't excite yourself, and stay away from that
drug, you should be all right soon enough," Bashir went on in a
brisk, professional tone as he showed his Cardassian lover to the
door. "I'll come by to check you over at the end of the week."

"And then?" Garak asked.

"And then..." One of those mischievous smiles burst forth.  "We'll
see."  He darted in to bestow a single, swift good-night kiss.  "Try
not to think of me."

The door shut between them before Garak could respond.

---

The End