The BLTS Archive Sins of Emission
by Arcady (arcady@fastnet.co.uk)

---

A while ago there was a thread themed Alien Sex, based on the not
unreasonable supposition that sleeping with people not of one's own
species might be a little, well, weird.  And several people posited
that this was a subject not overtly explored in slash fiction.  Hmmm,
I thought.

So this is a G/B story based on that - not an original idea, since Cam
Burnell and probably others, too, have had their wicked way with
Cardassian physiology, but this is my take on it.  Generally - my
readers should note - my stories are based on the implicit assumption
that the Cardassians are more or less like us, with perhaps a few
minor structural variations, so this story is very much a one night
stand amidst my usual stuff.  And of necessity, it's quite a bit more
explicit than my usual.

I am indebted to the usual suspects for their invaluable input:
Terrie, you'll know your suggestion when you come to it, should you
re-read!

hope you like it....(BTW, I don't think I've nicked the title from
anyone, but grovelling apologies if I have...)

---
'My body isn't a temple...It's an amusement park.'
*Quote on postcard*
---

'There's something I've been meaning to say to you,' the Cardassian
began, taking care to avoid Bashir's gaze.

'Yes?' the young man asked, not daring to hope that his interpretation
of the tailor's uncharacteristically hesitant manner might be correct.

For a long time now, they had pursued this dancing game of affections,
concealed behind a web of masks and half-truths and lies, and Bashir
had by now ceased to believe that Garak - if indeed he harboured
sentiments other than friendship - would ever reveal them.  Yet Garak
had invited him here to his quarters, on what was apparently the eve
of the Cardassian New Year, and the tailor's manner seemed to have
changed subtly from the normal veneer of courtesy.  In fact, Bashir
thought, the Cardassian seemed almost nervous.

He drew his attention back to what Garak was saying.  'We've been
friends for quite a while now, in spite of the occasional unfortunate
incident, and I would hope that nothing that I have to say to you
could damage that.  I don't want to cause any - awkwardness - between
us.'

'Garak...We've been through a lot together and I think you understand
by now that you can trust me,' the doctor told him, earnestly.  'I
won't take offence.'  He tried to infuse his words with as much
reassurance as he could muster, and after a moment the tailor smiled
with apparently genuine relief.

'You must know, Julian, that I really don't have very much to offer
besides friendship.  I'm older than you, by a good twenty years. Any
power that I once possessed has long since evaporated; my political
position entails that life is filled with uncertainty and danger - you
understand all that, I'm sure.' He glanced at the doctor, quick and
sidelong.  'Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Julian?'

Bashir's mouth was suddenly dry.  Abruptly, he reached forward and
placed his glass on the table, to conceal the betraying tremor of his
hands.  'I'm not sure...'

'Then make sure,' the tailor said, and he raised his head to meet
Bashir's eyes.  The shock of what the doctor saw there ran through him
like lightening along his spine.

'Elim...' The name was a breath.

'You know, don't you?' the tailor said, hoarsely.  Unable to say a
word, Bashir nodded.  Garak reached out, pulling the young man's head
against his shoulder and running a possessive hand along the edge of
Bashir's jaw.

In a sudden moment of panic, Bashir shut his eyes.

'Ah, there,' he heard Garak whisper.

The tailor kissed his brow, gently and quickly, and when Bashir made
no sound of protest, he leaned down, took the doctor's face between
his hands and brushed Bashir's lips with his own.

His touch was tentative; Bashir whispered encouragement, but the
Cardassian's duller hearing evidently did not catch the words.

'What?' he asked, but Bashir, overcome by a sudden, unexpected
shyness, could not reply.  His eyes remained resolutely shut.

'Tell me if you don't want this,' the tailor whispered, and he nuzzled
Bashir's mouth, sliding his tongue between the parted lips.  Bashir
sighed and arched his back, running his hand through Garak's hair. 
His tongue entwined Garak's own.  The tailor drew back with a gasp and
Bashir's eyes flew open.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes...yes, I just ran out of breath,' Garak said, shakily.  'Come
here,' and he pushed Bashir down onto the couch, resting his weight
upon him. The blood sang in Bashir's head; it was like drowning, he
thought, as the Cardassian's soft, unfamiliar mouth caressed his own.

'Julian?  Julian, you're shaking...'

'Sorry,' Bashir said.  His head fell back against the arm of the
couch. 'Look, this is new to me...'

Garak's hand curled protectively around his cheek.   'I'm sorry,
too...I didn't mean to rush you.  It's very different from making love
with a woman, I know.' He smiled.  'I remember my first time with
another man -'

'Oh, it's not *that*,' Bashir said.

A pause.

'No?'

'No, good Lord, when I was at the Academy I was constantly -well,  
San Francisco's reputation dates back for over four hundred years; the
bath-houses around Castro Street are the stuff of legend...'

'So, you're telling me that you have slept with a man before?'

Bashir, embarrassed, cleared his throat.  'Actually, I've lost
count.'

'Then what -?'

'It's just that at the risk of sounding xenophobic, you're not. . .
human. That is, it would be more correct to say that I've never slept
with an alien male before, no Bajorans or anything, or...' His voice
trailed away.

Garak sat up, drawing the doctor closer into his arms.  'It's all
right, Julian...'

Reassured, Bashir continued 'I've been attracted to you for so long.
And so, of course, I've   done some research.  On Cardassian
sexuality.  But the thing is, I can't  find any material on it.'

'Ah.'

'I mean, by now I'm an expert on Bolian triplicate reproduction, or
Bajoran gestation periods.  As for Pon Farr, I could win prizes, but
with regard to Cardassians, I don't know a thing.  Only Bajoran
reports, which are presumably a bit biased and don't really tell you
anything.  They tend to dwell on the iniquity of the invader, that
sort of thing...'

He felt Garak sigh. 'You see, Julian, we are a secretive and reticent
people.  We prefer to keep the more intimate aspects of our society to
ourselves, and we tend not to practice miscegenation - the occasional
casualty of the occupation notwithstanding.  There's no mystery
attached to our sexuality, we just keep it private - like our rituals
of death, for example.  It's not for outsiders to witness...Unless we
happen to be in love with them, of course,' he added, affectionately.
'There's nothing to worry about. I'm no different to yourself.
Presumably.'

'Presumably?'

'Well, naturally I've assumed that other people would prefer to have
their privacy respected, so I've never undertaken any distasteful
investigation into the matter.'

Bashir digested this. 'So you don't know a great deal about human
sexuality, am I right?'

'As I say, all the indications are that it's similar to my own.  I
mean, we come from the same stock, after all.  And you're pretty
similar to the Bajorans, who are compatible with us...' He shifted in
his seat, a little uncomfortably.

'Julian, this discussion of our respective sexualities, fascinating
though it is, is having its inevitable effect on me.  You're an
empiricist; I suggest we abandon theory in favour of experiment.' His
tone was as courteous as ever, but Bashir caught the underlying note
of need, and without stopping to think he drew the tailor's mouth down
to meet his own, kissing him into breathlessness.  The Cardassian's
blue eyes were glazed with desire.  Breaking free, he murmured into
the doctor's ear 'Come to bed...'

Once through the bedroom door, Garak once more pulled the doctor to
him, holding him close.  Bashir relaxed against him, content to let
the older man dictate the pace.

Garak murmured 'We were talking about sexual rituals...You should know
that there   are certain Cardassian customs I'd like to follow.' He
drew away to gaze into Bashir's eyes.  'You mean a lot to me, do you
know that?  And so does our first time together.  There are a couple
of things I want to do...'

Bashir, entranced with love and desire,  could only say   'Anything. 
Whatever you want.'

Walking with predatory grace, Garak led him across to the bed and
whispered into his ear   'Lie down.'

Obediently, Bashir did so, and lay listening to the Cardassian moving
around the room.  He heard a hiss as Garak lit a coil of incense.
Then the Cardassian was murmuring some invocation that the translator
failed to catch.  Bashir raised his head to look, but at that moment
the tailor turned off the light.

'Darkness...' Garak's voice whispered in his ear, very close.  'Death
and desire, you see...'

'I'd like to be able to look at you,' Bashir said, a little unnerved.

'I understand.  But not yet.  Not this first time.'  A hand brushed
his side. 'You've still got your uniform on.'

'I know.'

'Well, we can't have that...'

The doctor felt gentle hands drawing aside his clothes until his body
was revealed to the air and the smoke.  He shivered.

'It's all right...'  The tailor's tongue flickered across his throat.

In the absolute darkness, Bashir couldn't see a thing, but he sensed
the Cardassian's presence above him.  He reached up and encountered
smooth, cool skin.  The tailor gasped.  Memories flooded back to
Bashir: the sensation of another man on top of him, inside him, taking
him with an easy possession.

'Come here and fuck me, Elim,' he whispered, urgently.

'Hmm?'

The thought of the Cardassian taking him made Bashir discard any
remaining inhibitions.  Clasping the tailor around the waist, he
brought Garak down to lie beside him, running his hand along the silky
skin of Garak's belly until he could grasp the Cardassian's -

'Garak?'

'Yes?'

Bashir struggled up until he was resting on one elbow, then resumed a
slower exploration of sudden, uncharted territory.

'Garak...What is *that*?'

'What?'

*That*.'  His fingers probed yielding scales.

Somewhat nonplussed, the Cardassian replied,   'That's my (...)'

'I beg your pardon?  The translator didn't quite catch that -'

Garak repeated the word but it still failed to make any sense. 
'Julian, why are you asking questions about my (...), mmm?  Isn't your
own already at (...)?'

The tailor's capable fingers brushed Bashir's thigh, then curled
quickly around the young man's erection, where they froze.  Bashir,
through the haze of sudden pleasure, heard him say   'Julian?'

'Yes?'

'What exactly am I holding?'

A brief silence.

'You don't know?' Bashir asked.

'Well, to be honest, I've no idea *what* this is.'

'It's my cock.'

'I'm sorry. The translator didn't quite catch that -'

'Penis? Prick? One-eyed trouser snake?' Bashir recited, somewhat
wildly.

Silence, then the tailor said, 'Well, never mind.  Do you *like* what
I'm doing?'  Garak, ever the pragmatist, had evidently decided to
bypass potential difficulties and cut to the heart of the matter.

Bashir said,   'Do you think you could move your hand a bit?'

'Like this?'

'Perhaps more a sort of up and down motion?'

'Like that?' Garak's strong fingers slid in an obedient caress.

'Oh my God!'

His erection was abruptly freed.  The Cardassian said, alarmed 'I do
hope that wasn't some kind of heretical act -'

'No!  No, it's just an expression.  You're very stimulating, that's
all.'

Garak's fingers slipped lower.

'Careful with those!'  Bashir felt himself curl in instinctive
defence.

'You seem terribly fragile,' the Cardassian said, disconcerted.

'In certain places...Look, why don't you let me touch you for a
change...'

'All right...' the Cardassian murmured sensuously, and lay back.
Steeling himself, Bashir stroked the soft flesh of Garak's stomach,
lingering until Garak sighed, grasped his hand and drew it down
towards the base of his belly.  Bashir's fingers encountered pliable
scales, a triad of ridges which seemed to swell against his touch
until they  parted and -

'Garak!'

'Mmm?'

'Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?'

'Of course I will,' the Cardassian murmured.

'I'm not, am I?'  His fingers slid deeper.

'Oh, yes!...just there...' The Cardassian's voice had taken on an
unfamiliar note of urgency.

Bashir's tentatively probing touch met something silkily wet, then a
hardness -

'Because it feels as though I'm actually inside you...'

'Mmm...'

Something was enveloping his fingers, sliding up; an edge like bone
pushing insistently against his skin, and the Cardassian was crying
out, writhing against him.  'Julian...'

Then Garak's hands were on his shoulders, settling him back down onto
the bed.  Kneeling over him, Garak clasped Bashir's erection;
apparently the tailor was a fast learner.  His need communicated
itself to the doctor; Bashir suddenly found himself uncontrollably
aroused. He abandoned himself to Garak's touch, realising too late
that he was about to come.  He heard himself cry out with pleasure as
he flooded out across the Cardassian's fingers.

'Julian?'

'Ohhh.'

Garak's hand still cradled the doctor's diminishing cock.   'Is that
supposed to happen?  I haven't, well, *broken* anything, have I?' The
Cardassian sounded thoroughly unnerved.  He added  'Maybe  I should
have left the light on...That's not blood, is it?'

'No, no, no.  No, it isn't.  It's a - a natural fluid.  Basically it
means that the sexual act is completed for me.'

'Oh.  It seems a little - rapid.'

'That's because you're very arousing...' It was true, Bashir realised
dimly, although at present he couldn't for the life of him think why.
He added 'Don't worry.  I'll be ready for more in a while.'  He hoped
that was true, too, though one never knew...He drew the tailor down to
lie against him.  'It's not what you expected, is it?' he asked.

'It seems my assumptions about human anatomy were somewhat off base.'

'As were mine.  About Cardassians.'

'So - that's it, for you?' Garak asked, diffidently.

'Give me a while.  Don't you - don't Cardassians do that?'

'What?'

'Climax.'

'Is that a particular practice?'

'No, it's what I just did.  It's the peak of the sexual act.'

'Only one at a time?' Garak said, amazed.

Intrigued, Bashir reached down to the Cardassian's groin and brushed
his fingers across the unfamiliar landscape.

'Don't you have several peaks?' the tailor asked, a little
distractedly.

'Unfortunately, not as a rule.'

'Ah.  You see, I had rather assumed that we were going to make a night
of it.  I thought humans would go in stages, like we do.'

'*Stages*?'

'In fact,' the Cardassian gasped 'I rather think I'm at (...) right
now...'

He coiled against Bashir, moaning faintly.  Something was happening,
the doctor realised.  Something was stirring against his palm,
something  hot and hard and satiny, but it didn't feel like anything
recognizable.   He gripped it, as best he could.

'Don't stop...'

It seemed to be ridged, like a spine.  It drew his hand back with it;
there seemed to be a soft socket.  The Cardassian's powerful body was
arched against him.

'Julian!  Ohhh....' Bashir's fingers probed.  If he could handle
diseased and mutilated patients, he told himself, he was certainly
capable of handling this. Literally.  Besides, it was Garak there
beside him on the bed; beautiful and exotic and mysterious, and the
contradictory shifting flesh beneath his hand was not unpleasant,
merely strange.  He ran a finger down a slick crescent of what was,
perhaps, bone, caressing the flesh beneath.

'Is that okay?' he asked.

'Yes...Who taught you to do that?' There was a slight, smothered
laugh, ending with a sigh.  'Don't you know that's illegal?'

Then Garak's mouth was on his, avid, and Bashir found himself grinding
his own erect cock against that peculiarly sensual combination of
slippery scale and velvet flesh; somehow inside, somehow penetrated,
but taken in a way that he had always, he knew now, dreamed of.

---

Much later, Bashir awoke.  The Cardassian lay sprawled in exhausted
sleep beside him.  Bashir rested on one elbow and gazed down at his
lover. Garak's head was turned away from the viewport; his glossy
black hair fanned across the pillow.  His chest rose and fell with his
peaceful breathing.  Bashir watched for a moment longer, then reached
down to twitch the sheet aside.  He shook his head in bemusement.  A
number of obscure and seemingly unconnected elements passed through
his mind: the Cardassian fondness for triplicities...a docking
pylon...the vulnerability of soft flesh beneath an armoured
carapace...

In the glow of the distant starlight, the Cardassian's skin seemed to
glow from within, and Bashir smiled, entranced again by beauty, and
difference, and the marvellous uncertainties of love.

---

The End