The BLTS Archive - Specific Understanding by Ainzfern (ainzfern@hotmail.com) --- Disclaimer: Paramount owns STAR TREK ... etc and so on and so forth! My only pay here is personal joy. Archiving: Cool- if you want to- please let me know. Feedback: Yes please! All comment welcomed. --- General Martok took another deep swig from his tankard, sighed and leaned back against the wall. It had been a good wedding. A *very* good wedding. Worf had, to his credit, gone out of his way to *ensure* that is was a very good, very Klingon wedding. There had been feasting and blood wine, and glorious songs about battle and blood and honor. Oh yes... and love. Love had been included in the lyrics *somewhere*. Martok should have been happy. His adopted son had gotten married tonight. To Jadzia Dax. Brave and beautiful. A suitable mate, in Martok's opinion. Even his Lady Sirella had eventually warmed to the Trill. After a fashion. No mean achievement there, he *had* to admit. Sirella had conducted the ceremony, as was her duty and her right. She had been magnificent. As always. Great Kahless! A bosom to die in, hips made for the grip of a strong hand. A firm and rounded belly that perfectly cradled a warrior's lust. She had deigned to speak genially to him tonight, just after the ceremony had concluded. She had even favored him with a truly warm look upon her usually cold countenance. A look he thought he recognized. So. He *should* have been happy. He wasn't. Instead, he was sitting drunkenly on the floor of his guest quarters, just outside the *closed* double bedroom door, drinking the last of his blood wine while his wife, his glorious and splendid wife, once again slept *alone*. "The woman has ice water in her veins," Martok announced vaguely to the room in general. He drained the last dregs of his wine. "I would have been better advised to seek the company of that little doctor again." He blinked, then smiled slightly with hazy, pleasantly sensual memories. "To you, Julian Bashir!" He raised his empty tankard. "Your long legs may not be Sirella's, but at least you know how to wrap them around the waist of a warrior!" In a voice that was mild and calm, yet somehow managed to convey the unmistakable crack of doom, Lady Sirella, Wife Of Martok, spoke from the suddenly open bedroom door. "Explain that remark, husband of mine." --- Julian heard the door chime, groaned and tried to bury his head under the pillow. It rang again. He shook his head in useless denial. God he was tired. He ached, he was hungry, his head hurt, he needed a pee... Fragments of memory drifted back to him. The wedding. Oh God, the bloody wedding! And all the bloody preparations and the fasting and the sweating and the bleeding. All the way through the ceremony, all Julian had wanted to do was kill Worf. Just kill him. *That* would have at least been momentarily enjoyable. But as it stood, the whole wretched thing, from Lady Sirella's arrival onwards, had been one of the most *horrendous* experiences of his young life. His full mouth twitched into a small smile. Well... there had been *one* thing that had happened that couldn't be classed as horrendous. Quite the opposite, really. The door chime sounded again. "God," he muttered sourly, flinging back the bed covers and pulling on his robe. "It's five AM on the morning after a wedding! *Everybody* should be too hung over to be running around ringing bloody doorbells." The chime jangled across his nerves again. "All right, all *right*!" he snapped and hit the door panel. The door opened. Julian hitched in a horrified breath and hit the door panel again. The door closed. Trembling, Julian shut his eyes as white-hot images burned their way across his brain. Memories. Martok, grunting and roaring, flush between his own thighs, buried up to the hilt in his body, pumping and thrusting into him like some great ravenous beast while Julian writhed and screamed in shameless abandon, coming hard into the hand of the battle scarred warrior... "Oh God," Julian whispered. "I am a *dead* man." With the contrite expression of a man who *knows* he deserves what he's about to get, Julian slapped the door panel once more. The door opened. Julian looked up into an inscrutable face. "Good morning, Lady Sirella," he said in sick voice. "Won't you come in?" --- "Would you care for some tea?" "No." "Ah. Uhm, perhaps something to eat?" "No." Julian sat opposite Sirella in his small lounge area and fiddled with the belt on his robe. "Perhaps..." "No." He subsided again, enduring her gaze. //My God, does the woman only blink once a year? I mean, what's *with* that?// He sighed. Deciding that a quick end was preferable to death by staring, he looked up and set his shoulders. "Lady Sirella..." "Remain quiet." Julian clamped his mouth shut. //Fine... Fine, quiet is good.// She pursed her full mouth. "Stand up, Doctor Bashir." As if pulled by a string, he stood. "Now strip." "What?!" She stiffened slightly, the first flash of rage showing in her eyes. Her low, feminine and above all *deadly* growl echoed through Julian's quarters. "Strip!" Blue flannel flew. Feeling extremely embarrassed, Julian stood naked in front of her. //Oh well. A little humiliation can be dealt with. I deserve it. I can't even begin to *think* what she might have done to Martok.// Sirella smiled slightly. "Now turn around." He stared at her. She flicked an elegant hand at him. "Turn, Doctor," she said implacably. He turned. "Hmmmm." Her tone was thoughtful and when Julian looked at her again her expression was deeply contemplative. "Lady Sirella?" She blinked. //Finally!// The beautiful Klingon smiled at him. "You are *not* Klingon." Julian tilted his head. //Ah. Well, you've got me there.// "No. I'm not," he agreed. "You are not female, either." "No. No I'm definitely not female." She stood, then picked up his robe and handed it to him. Feeling mightily confused by the fact that he wasn't currently scattered about his quarters in quivering bits, Julian quickly and with great relief, put it on. Sirella cupped his chin, inspecting him carefully. "But," she murmured. "You *are* beautiful." "Oh. Well. Thank you." She stepped back and assumed a business like expression. "I am not offended by my husband's choice of you, Doctor," she declared. Julian nearly fell over. "You're not?" "No. As long as you remain discreet, I see no reason why you cannot continue to enjoy each other as you will." "You don't?" Her face softened slightly. "Doctor, I do not love him." She looked sorrowful for a moment, then her expression hardened again. "Our marriage was a duty, as were our children. I tolerate his presence when I must, but would prefer to do without it." Julian suddenly felt his internal temperature rising a bit. "Now look here, Lady Sirella. The General is a *fine* man..." "I know that!" she hissed at him, her eyes flashing again. "And I am not proud of my feelings in this matter. Do not assume that I do not know that it was *my* indifference that drove him to you." She averted her eyes briefly, then once more looked full into his face. "I have always loved another." For a moment, the sorrow in the room was palpable. They stared at each other in silence. "I see," Julian said softly. "If your company soothes a measure of the pain I have caused him, I cannot see it as a bad thing." She smiled slightly. "He will not be possessive of you. He will still covet me." She shrugged. "This is merely the way of things. But perhaps your... friendship will help him live with it." "I'm sorry, Sirella." Julian found that he truly was. For the *both* of them. She nodded. "I wish... things were different. They are not." She turned to the door. "I am not your enemy, Doctor Bashir. You have nothing to fear from me." She left. "Well, bloody hell." Julian said into the silence. --- "Doctor?" Martok's gravelly voice came from the doorway of Julian's office, slightly startling the young man. Julian looked up into the scarred and careworn face, noting yet again just how appealing he found it. "Do come in, General." Julian waved a hand at the chairs in front of his desk. He smiled, watching the big Klingon seat himself. No, Martok was not handsome. No one could ever accuse him of that. But he *was* attractive. Charismatic, strong, insanely brave, like all Klingons. But he was more than just a warrior. He was a tactician, a leader, and possessed of a unique kind of unspoken brilliance. And, Julian mused, judging from the uncomfortable expression on Martok's face, just as prone to awkwardness as any other sentient species. Martok cleared his throat. "I understand that Sirella visited you, Doctor." Julian sat back slightly in his chair and nodded. "Yes, she did, General." "I see," The big Klingon grimaced. "I hope she was not too... *direct* with you." "On the contrary, she was very civil." Julian paused, waiting for Martok to fill the silence. His gaze met Martok's and in that moment, a dozen different questions were asked and answered. Julian could see that Martok suspected Sirella's real motivation in coming to his quarters, and he could see that it pained the General. He could see just as clearly, that this was something Martok would *never* admit. Not to him, not to anybody. Probably not even to himself. Some things were just to too hard to accept. Even for a stoic old Klingon. After an excruciating few moments, Martok abruptly stood. "Well, Doctor, I thank you for your understanding and discretion. You may rest assured my... behavior towards you was out of character. I shall not bother you in such a fashion again." He turned to the office door. Julian made an instant decision. He stood up sharply. "What if I *want* you to bother me?" he blurted. Martok slowly turned back, his expression unreadable. Julian swallowed and moved out from behind his desk. "What if I were to tell you that I found what we did intensely exciting? What if I were to tell you that I would like to do it again?" The big Klingon took a step towards him, his single eye bright with reawakened interest. "We would... alleviate our needs, Doctor?" With a slow smile, Julian closed the gap between them, standing a bare inch away from the Klingon. "A treatment for our loneliness, General, and trust me... you are *not* the only one who would appreciate the benefits of a good hard fuck." Martok's low, undulating growl of arousal filled the office. Julian wet his lips. //Ah. *That* was the right button to push.// "I'm not asking for forever." Julian met Martok's hot gaze. "I know that what we have will eventually cease to meet our needs..." Martok nodded slowly. "But," Julian leaned forward and scented at the Klingon's neck, eliciting a deep rumble of approval from him, "As long as we both *know* that..." Martok's big hands clamped over Julian's backside, lifting him up and grinding him into a hardened groin. The Klingon's face burned with lust and that low undulating growl rumbled against Julian's chest. "Computer! Secure Office door," Julian gasped. There was a sudden loud tearing sound followed by a soft thump as a useless bundle of blue and black fabric hit the far wall. //Oh well... there goes another one.// Julian felt himself gracelessly deposited onto his back over the desk. He had just enough time to wonder if they would ever actually get to do this in a bed, before he heard the sharp snap of fasteners as Martok hastily opened the front of his leather and steel uniform. Strong hands clamped around his thighs, spreading his legs wide. The big Klingon vented a deep groan of heated approval as he looked down at the Human's flushed and trembling form. Surprisingly gentle fingers stroked over the sensitive opening to Julian's body, making him jump slightly. Martok groaned again. "Have you any...?" Julian twisted and reached out across the desk. "Here." He slapped a tube into Martok's palm. The Klingon chuckled deep in his chest and slathered his thick erection well. Gripping Julian's lean hips, he locked gazes with his Human lover and gave a surprisingly sad smile. "You are salve to my pain, Julian," he said softly. "I regret that you cannot be more." Looking up into that craggy face, Julian realized beyond a doubt that Martok was well aware of the full implications of Sirella's visit to Julian. The wily old General loved his wife. She did not love him. Such things would probably never be discussed, but Julian knew that he was part of an "understanding". He could give Martok something that Sirella never would. The opportunity to indulge in fleshly pleasures with someone who cared about him. And he *did* care for Martok. He wanted this liaison, this *affair*, this connection. For as long as it lasted, Julian would enjoy the chance to touch a little of the General's soul. He smiled at him and lifted his long golden legs, wrapping them around the Klingon's solid waist. "You're not using me, Martok," he assured him softly. "I'm not here against my will." Martok stared at him. Julian gave him a pointed look. "In case you missed it, General... that was an invitation to fuck me." As if the words removed whatever doubt still plagued him, Martok roared and thrust, filling Julian's body in one deep, powerful stroke. Julian shouted wildly and arched into it, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk, sharp splinters of pain and pleasure lancing through him as his body yielded to Martok's invasion. Just like before, as the big Klingon pounded into him, the pain receded against the heat of rising pleasure. Throwing himself into the coupling with complete abandon, Julian slammed his hips upwards, meeting Martok's hard strokes, letting the full limit of his enhanced strength come to the fore to ensure that he gave as good as he got. Of course it wasn't love, Julian thought hazily as he felt Martok's calloused hand grab his erection. But it had affection, and in Julian's mind that was more than enough for them. He could live with it, he decided as he arched back screaming and coming hard over the Klingon's fist, as he heard Martok's answering bellow of completion and felt the heat of the Klingon's seed gushing into him in hot erotic pulses... Oh, yes. This specific understanding he had entered into. He could *definitely* live with it. --- The End