Title:   All the Sides of a Triangle
Author:  Kathryn Ramage 
Codes:   DS9 - G/B & O'B/B
Rating:  R for multiple m/m situations
Summary: The doctor attempts to balance his relationships with 
O'Brien and Garak, but can he get them to agree to his terms?
Setting: Near the end of the 3rd season and the beginning of 
the 4th.

Note: This story has three alternate endings to let the reader
have a choice of who gets Julian in the end (I give full credit 
for this idea to Blue Champagne and the multi-ended "Who Do Ya 
Love?"). Each of these endings was originally posted separately,
and are listed below as chapters "end1" (the Garak ending), 
"end2" (the O'Brien ending), and "end3" (Julian gets his own 
way).
   
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters.  
This story was written for personal amusement and should not be 
taken as intended copyright infringement--just me, entertaining 
myself and anyone else who enjoys this kind of thing.

Revised version: July 2000

*/~1~\*

Bashir had set his dining-room table for three.  A bottle of 
brandy stood on the low table before the sofa, nestled within 
a circle of tulip-shaped glasses.

The door chimed, and he went to answer it.

O'Brien and Garak stood in the corridor, somewhat wary in each 
other's company.  As he welcomed them in, he noticed the way 
each man's eyes swept down over him.  

He had taken special care with his appearance tonight.  The top 
he'd chosen was of a chocolate-brown velvet with a prim, high 
collar and long, thin V-shaped slit down the front trimmed in
gold piping that caught the amber flecks in his eyes. Garak had 
made it for him, and he knew he looked very attractive in it. 

Their first overtures at conversation were cautious, as his
confused guests tried to feel the situation out.  Garak made a 
few complimentary remarks about the furnishings, as if he had 
never been in Bashir's quarters before. Miles took an interest
in the brandy.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked as he took the armchair at 
the end of the table to examine the bottle more closely.  "Bas 
Armagnac Hors d'Age," pronounced correctly, to Julian's surprise. 
"It looks as if it must be a hundred years old."

"My great-aunt Julia gave it to me as a graduation gift," Bashir 
told him, glad of this opening.  "I've been saving it for a 
special occasion."  He sat down on the sofa to unlink the nest 
of glasses, and poured small amounts of brandy into two of them.  
"I thought it'd be a pleasant way to start the evening off." 

As they tasted the brandy and found it palatable, Julian poured 
a glass for himself.  He took a sip, then got down to business. 
"I suppose you're wondering why I invited you here tonight."

"The question did cross my mind," Garak answered, and eyed
O'Brien suspiciously.  He'd been trying to lure Julian into
dinner in *his* quarters for some time and had eagerly accepted 
tonight's invitation, but the Chief's presence confounded all 
his expectations.

"You said something about a special occasion," added O'Brien.
"What's so special about it?"

"That depends," he answered.  "Before we have dinner, there's 
something I'd like to discuss." 

Lately, he'd become aware of certain feelings underlying his 
friendships with both men. While there had always been a note of 
playful flirtation in his conversations with Garak, since he'd 
seen the tailor off to search for Tain, he thought he detected 
something more serious, more tender, in the Cardassian's tone.  
And how many times during those hundreds of racquetball games 
he'd played with O'Brien since Keiko had gone to Bajor, had he 
caught his friend's eyes on him in a way that made him self-
consciously aware of just how tightly his jumpsuit fitted--until 
Miles had suggested they play darts instead?  

This knowledge had startled him at first, but once he'd gotten 
used to the idea, he found himself contemplating their interest 
in him with flattered pleasure.  

He'd always looked to his friends, as he had many older men
before, as mentors and father-substitutes. But now, he was able 
to see other possibilities. They might do more than fulfill the 
need for approval and acceptance his own emotionally distant 
father had never provided; there was potential here for another 
kind of love he'd been missing.

He wanted to explore those possibilities. He'd even entertained 
tentative fantasies about each man; he was curious, he admitted 
to it.  What better way to proceed than by letting them know 
that *he* knew?  He was certain their response would be favor-
able. 
 
"You've been my dearest friends," he began, a little nervous 
now that he was actually at the point of broaching the subject. 
"We've been through a lot together--I've shared so much with 
you, and I've come to feel- ah- very close to you both.  I 
know you feel the same about me, and I think it's- er- time-" 
Another, deeper, bracing sip.  "I think we should be closer."    
   
Garak glanced at wide-eyed O'Brien, to see how *he* understood 
this nearly incoherent overture.  "Doctor?" he asked.  "Is this 
meant to be a seduction?"
 
"Um- yes.  That is-"  Fidgeting with his glass, Julian nearly 
spilled it; he gulped down the rest, and abandoned all subtlety
"You do want me?  I- er- I mean, I'm not mistaken?"

"No," the tailor admitted, "you're not mistaken."  O'Brien was 
still gaping at Julian, stunned; his face had gone red, but he 
didn't answer the question. 

"Well, then.  We ought to talk."  Julian rushed on: "Now that 
everything's out in the open, we can discuss the situation 
frankly and decide what we're going to do.  Perhaps we can- 
ah- work something out?  I wouldn't be adverse to-" 

"Wait a minute," Miles said suddenly.  He was still very red. 
"You're asking *both* of us to 'work something out' with you?  
We'd share you, you mean?"  

"It's only fair.  I can't choose one of you over the other."  

"No."  O'Brien shook his head.  "Maybe I want you, Julian, and 
maybe I don't, but if I *do*, d'you really think I'd put up with 
that?  Or what about *him*?" with a wave in Garak's direction.  
"It's not even what *you* want, is it?  Look at you--you're 
scared to death somebody'll say 'Yes' to this offer of yours."  
He set his glass down deliberately.  "Well, I can put your mind 
at ease: I won't.  Even I wanted to, I wouldn't.  I know Keiko 
and I have been having some troubles lately, but I'm not going 
to toss aside everything that's important to me just because 
you wear your shirt half-open and talk about 'getting closer.' 
If you want to know, I'm insulted.  You think just dangling the 
promise of you is enough to get me to join whatever fun-n-games 
you want to play?  Jesus, Julian, you've got an ego!"

Bashir blushed at this not-entirely unjust rebuff. 

"I'll say 'goodnight' now, before I say anything more."  And he 
got up and stalked out.

"'Say anything more,'" Julian repeated as he watched the door 
shut.  "I'll be lucky if he even talks to me tomorrow."  Then he 
turned to Garak, who had been sitting quietly and swirling the 
dregs of his brandy while observing this disaster.  "What about 
you?"

"I agree with Chief O'Brien.  You *are* egotistical, and your 
proposition was insulting." 

"I didn't mean to be so arrogant," Julian answered, abashed. He 
had blundered.  These were cautious, emotionally guarded men: No 
matter how they felt about him, the last thing they wanted was a 
frank discussion of those private feelings.  Instead of opening 
up the possibilities, he'd only hurt and embarrassed them.  Poor 
Miles must be mortified; it would've been hard enough for him 
to admit to the attraction under more comfortable circumstances, 
and *he* had brought it out bluntly in front of Garak!  And what 
must the far more circumspect Cardassian feel at having his 
secret exposed?  "Elim, I'm sorry.  I wouldn't blame you if you 
walked out too."

"Oh, I'm not going to leave."  The tailor rose from his chair 
and advanced toward the sofa.  "Do you really think I'd refuse
an offer from you, no matter how presumptuous?"

Bashir's hands began to flutter nervously as Garak sat down 
beside him; he shut his eyes when his friend moved closer and 
nipped the curve of his cheek.

"Which would you prefer," Garak continued between a series of 
soft nips to his throat.  "Dinner first?  Or shall we leave 
dinner until later, and see where this evening leads us?  I 
could carry you off to bed right now..."

Julian froze before this bold advance. 

Garak looked into his eyes.  "Dinner," he decided, and got up 
from the couch.

"I- er- don't think I could eat." 

Garak stopped on his way to the replicator and turned to stare 
at him until Julian could no longer meet that intense, question-
ing gaze. "Something to drink instead?" the Cardassian offered. 
"A cup of tea might calm you, or would another glass of your 
antique wine help you to relax?" 

"Yes, I think it would." Bashir reached for his empty glass, but 
Garak, at the other side of the table, had already taken up the 
brandy bottle. 

"There is one other thing which Chief O'Brien was right about--
you are 'scared to death,'" he observed as he refilled Julian's 
glass.  "Do you know, Doctor, it has just occurred to me that 
perhaps the Chief and I were too hasty in our assumptions. Your 
offer was not all we imagined, was it?"

"No.  Er- yes," Julian answered.  "I wanted you and Miles to 
know that I was interested. I thought we'd go more slowly, get- 
ah- better acquainted.  I might become your lover, or Miles's, 
if it seemed like the right thing to do, but I wasn't planning 
to get into bed with anyone tonight.  I don't think I'm- well- 
ready to go that far yet."

As Garak handed over the glass, he gave the younger man a quick, 
startling kiss.  "Do you realize how much trouble you could 
have gotten yourself into?" he asked.  "You may be thinking 
of engaging in experimental love-play, but you're toying with 
emotions you don't understand.  Surely you've noticed that Mr. 
O'Brien and I are not on the best of terms?  Have you never 
wondered why?"

"I know how Miles feels about Cardassians," said Julian.  "He 
doesn't like me being friends with you-"  The truth dawned on 
him.  "It's me, isn't it?  You're jealous over me?" 

Garak gave him a small smile.  "Once again, Doctor, I marvel at 
your ego, but in this case, you happen to be correct.  You've 
been a long-standing point of contention between us."

"You didn't argue about me?"  

"No, but we didn't need to.  When one...wants, it's easy to 
recognize a rival. Until now, we were merely competing for your 
attention over lunches and dart games.  We could be civilized. 
But tonight, you've given us something much more interesting 
to fight for.  Where would you be now if Chief O'Brien had 
abandoned his pride and stayed as well?"

"In way over my head," Bashir admitted, chastened.  "I don't 
want the two of you to fight."

"Then it's fortunate that he has decided to forego a quarrel 
over you."  There was an unmistakable note of contempt in 
Garak's voice, and Julian wondered at it.

"You think Miles is a fool for leaving, don't you?"

"I question his reasons," Garak replied. "You see, I understand 
Chief O'Brien.  In certain respects, we're very much alike. 
Where *you* are concerned, dear Doctor, you might say I know his 
fears and desires as if they were my own.  I doubt that he ran 
out of here so quickly because he was thinking of Mrs. O'Brien, 
or because he objected to the idea of sharing you with me--at 
least, that was not all there was to it."

Julian began to understand.  "He's afraid of what will happen 
if he lets himself love me."

"It is a terrifying prospect, loving you," Garak agreed; Julian 
couldn't tell if he was joking.  "The difference between the 
Chief and myself is that *I* will take the risk.  I think that 
the potential rewards outweigh the inevitable dangers."  He 
returned to the sofa and sat facing Julian.  "Believe me, Chief 
O'Brien has my pity.  I can't respect him for his cowardice, 
but I can't resent him either.  After all, he's given me this 
opportunity." Very gently, he took Julian's chin in his fingers 
and drew him close for another kiss. 

*/~2~\*

O'Brien came into the Infirmary early the next morning. "Julian, 
I want to know what happened last night.  Garak didn't-?"

"Can we talk about this in private?" Bashir cut him off quickly, 
conscious of the nurses and medics around them.  He took O'Brien
by the arm and hauled him into the office.

"What did he do with you after I left?" Miles demanded once they 
were alone.  "Did he-?"  His eyes ran up and down Julian's body, 
as if he were looking for some obvious physical sign of defile-
ment.

"No," Julian almost laughed.  "We didn't."

O'Brien looked momentarily relieved, then his face clouded again. 
"Then what?"

"We kissed for awhile, talked.  I didn't go to bed with him, if 
that's any business of yours."

"Any business of-" Miles sputtered in exasperation.  "Of course 
you're my business!  I *care* what happens to you, Julian."

"After the way you stormed out of my quarters last night, I
wouldn't have guessed it," Julian retorted. 

"I do care- I was just so- I-"  Then he let out a *whuf* of 
breath, said, "Oh, damn it," and took Julian's head between his 
hands to kiss him hard.

Utterly surprised as he at being grabbed and kissed senseless, 
Julian couldn't help feeling a giddy, gratifying sense of 
delight.  In spite of all the harsh things Miles had said last 
night, he'd come back.  He did want him after all.  

But Julian was also aware that his office door was not locked 
and that anyone could walk in on them; he couldn't allow this 
to go on much longer.  

Taking Miles by the wrists, he pulled him away.  Both were 
panting for breath. Julian let his forehead rest on his friend's 
shoulder, while Miles stroked the short-clipped hair at the nape 
of his neck and murmured against his ear.

"Why d'you *do* this to me?  You make me crazy, Julian.  You 
push all my buttons just to see what kind of reaction you'll 
get--don't you think I see what you're up to? I *know* I'm only 
headed for trouble, and still..."  One large hand slid around 
to the side of Bashir's head and lifted his face; Julian found 
himself staring into startlingly earnest eyes.  "I could've 
lived with things as they were forever as long as I believed I 
never stood a chance with you.  Did you have to hold that door 
open?"  

"I'm sorry," Julian answered and lowered his gaze.  He hadn't 
realized how strongly Miles felt about him.  "I behaved like 
an idiot last night.  I shouldn't have tried to talk to both of 
you at once.  It was arrogant of me, and insensitive--Everything 
you said.  Garak's already scolded me for it."

"But *he* stayed on your terms," said O'Brien. "I don't suppose 
I can blame `m."  He released Bashir and paced a few feet away. 
Julian understood that his friend was almost ready to come to 
the same terms himself.

"What about Keiko?" he asked.  "Last night, you said you didn't 
want to forget your marriage."

O'Brien frowned.  "And I meant it too.  But when I got back 
to my quarters, I had a message from Keiko.  She's decided to 
stay on Bajor `til the end of the summer in Rakantha province, 
another six months. I knew this was coming--for awhile now, 
she's been talking about how important her work is and about 
how nice it'd be to go on *longer*.  First, she was only going 
to be gone for three months, and I didn't mind that.  Then it 
was six, and I said it'd be okay. It'll be more than a year now. 
Sometimes I wonder if she ever plans to come back.  I have to 
wonder why I waste my time taking cold showers for her sake." 
He turned back to Julian.  "The minute after I walked out on 
you, I knew I'd made a stupid mistake.  I'd lost my chance--
practically handed you over to Garak! It's not too late, is it? 
You're not *his* now?"

"No, I'm mine," Julian told him. "I can see whomever I want."  

Miles hesitated, then asked, "Can I...see you?  I- er- don't 
know how far I want this to go, but I can't stand to lose you.  
I promised myself if I still had any kind of a chance, I wasn't 
going to throw it away."

"I don't want to be the last straw between you and Keiko, but 
perhaps we can...ah-"

"Work something out?"  

Julian grinned.  "I promised you dinner last night.  Let me 
make it up to you--Can you come around 2200?"

O'Brien burst into an amazed smile at his luck. "I'll be there." 
As he passed near Bashir on his way to the door, he paused to 
slip an arm about the doctor's waist and pulled him into another 
kiss.  Julian yielded.   

After Miles had gone, Julian slumped into his desk chair.  It 
wouldn't do for his staff to see him all flushed and tousled; 
they had already seen enough to arouse their suspicions, and if 
he were going to be carrying on with a married man, he must be 
more discreet.  

The minute or two it took to compose himself also gave him time 
to think about what he was going to do next.  

Like O'Brien, he was uncertain how far he wanted to take this.  
Perhaps they could begin by treating tonight as an evening no 
different from a dozen others they had spent together.  He 
wouldn't be so tactless this time.  He'd keep it casual--wear 
his uniform, give Miles a simple meal.  They could finish off 
that brandy, and see where things went from there...  

The comm-panel on his desk bleeped and Julian sat forward, 
jolted out of his reverie with a guilty start as Garak's face 
appeared on the screen.

"Elim."

"Julian," the tailor replied evenly, as if this use of first 
names was not still new.  "I hope I haven't interrupted your 
work."

"No, I'm not busy.  What is it?"

"If you don't have any other plans, I'd like to come to your 
quarters again tonight.  Will 2200 be too early?"

"Er...I'm afraid that's not convenient," Julian answered, still 
flustered but quickly rearranging his plans.  "Can you come a 
little later?  2500 would be better."

*/~3~\*

The uneasy lull that followed the Dominion's destruction of 
the joint TalShiar/Obsidian Order fleet ended abruptly when a 
Changeling infiltrator sabotaged the Defiant's systems to launch 
an assault and instigate a war between the Tzenkethi and the 
Federation.  The newly promoted Captain Sisko narrowly averted 
a disaster by regaining control of the ship at the last minute; 
the Changeling was killed, but his final words haunted the 
shaken crew: "We're everywhere."

After this incident, paranoia spread through the Alpha Quadrant: 
people were seeing shapeshifters in every familiar face. Borders 
were closed and zealously guarded.  Blood screenings became a 
daily routine.  Sisko summoned his senior staff and proposed 
they run a series of sweeps to detect any Changelings on DS9.  
Teams would be assembled and simulated hunts, with Odo as the 
target, would be conducted.  

Tension on the station was high, but life on went on as usual in 
spite of the pending Dominion threat.  Aside from his new duties 
as a team leader for the proposed sweeps, Bashir spent his days 
in the Infirmary.  He met Garak for lunch regularly, and he and
O'Brien stopped at Quark's for a synthale and a game of darts at 
the end of their duty-shift. To all outward appearances, nothing 
was different--but scarcely an evening went by without one of 
his friends asking to come by his quarters and, unless he had a 
prior engagement with the other, Julian consented.

He hadn't told Miles he was still seeing Garak. O'Brien never 
asked; he seemed to assume that the relationship had been broken 
off, and Bashir did not try to correct this assumption.  Nor did 
he tell Garak he was seeing O'Brien.  He hated this deception--
he would have preferred to tell them that, since he had made the 
same offer to both, and both had accepted him, it was only fair 
that he divide his time--but he knew how they would respond to 
*that*.  Miles had told him point-blank that neither would be 
willing to share him, and Garak had warned him how volatile the 
situation could get if he encouraged the rivalry between them.  
Julian wanted to be honest, but above all he was anxious not to 
start a fight.  

He'd learned his lesson: He wouldn't try to bring them together. 
He wouldn't play with their emotions.  He kept the two affairs 
secret and separate, and he kept an appointment book.

It surprised him how easy it had been to bring this about. 
The seduction, if it had been a seduction, had taken remarkably 
little effort:  All he had to do was show himself to be 
receptive.  As Miles had said, he'd held the door open.  And 
he had them. 

Well, 'had' was not precisely right.

With Miles, this new relationship was only a little different 
from their old friendship; the greatest change was in their 
verbal, not physical, intimacy. Miles talked to him more openly 
now, as if he had decided that Julian had seen so much of his 
heart already, it was useless to try and guard it anymore. Over 
dinner, he talked about his day, but once they had moved to the 
couch and he settled with Julian nestled against him, he talked 
about his marriage: how he and Keiko had first met, fallen in 
love, about the silly fight they had had just before their 
wedding, and the problems they were facing now.  If he received 
a message from Keiko during the day, Julian knew to expect him 
that night.  He was not so much Miles's lover as a confidante 
or counselor; except for their kisses, the affair was barely 
adulterous.

With Elim, things progressed much more swiftly.  They too had 
begun with kisses on the sofa and personal conversations--though 
Garak was never so forthright--but before the end of the second 
week, they had gone to bed. Sort of. Elim had been exploring him 
at a leisurely pace, taking the time to learn about the human 
body; he'd examined Julian's skin with methodical thoroughness, 
making note of every touch that provoked a reaction--the tick-
lish spots, the sensitive ones, the caresses that made Julian 
squirm or yelp out loud.  If Garak stayed late enough, Julian 
had the comfort of falling asleep in his arms.  They were un-
questionably lovers, even though they had not yet coupled.  

Bashir took this restraint on Garak's part as consideration for 
his own inexperience, and he appreciated it.  But, as the weeks 
went on, it seemed more and more strange to him that Elim never 
even *tried*.

*/~4~\*

Julian lay on his bed, watching the dark head of the Cardassian 
tailor moving slowly down his chest and belly, leaving a trail 
of flickering kisses; the ends of his hair tickled as it brushed 
the bare skin.  He reached down with one hand to stroke the 
broad back of Garak's neck. 

This was part of his education.  After completely examining 
his body, Garak had instructed him in the touches which were 
most pleasing to a Cardassian.  Julian knew now that there was 
a long-practiced art to each caress. He had learned the precise 
degree of pressure to apply to those ridges--too light, and 
it would not register on the nerve clusters beneath the over-
lapping scale-plates, too hard could be painful.  He'd learned 
that the spoon-shaped formations on Garak's brow and collar 
were insensate bone, and any touch there was a purely symbolic 
gesture of intimacy, but the more delicate scales at the nape 
of the neck were extremely sensitive.

As his fingertips traced those sensitive scales, Garak paused 
in his kisses, then placed both hands on Julian's thighs to 
spread them.

"Elim," Julian said anxiously, warning, but when Garak's lips 
closed around the tip of his penis, the young man relaxed.  He 
settled back on the pillows as the tailor's mouth engulfed 
his sex, surrounding it with moist warmth and sending waves of 
delicious sensation through him. 

Garak had taught him how to do this too.  His first attempt 
had been an embarrassment--he'd hit his gag reflex right away 
and nearly fallen off the bed retching--but Elim had been very 
forgiving.  He'd improved after a few more tries, and with a 
little more practice...

Orgasm slammed into him unexpectedly.  For a long moment, there 
was nothing but his pulse pounding in his ears and the electri-
fying jolt that seized his body, arching his back and bringing 
an astonished cry to his lips.  He flailed in brief convulsion,
and, once he had regained his senses, gently smoothed down the 
tousled hair of his lover, whose head lay on his abdomen.  

"Elim," he asked, "do you want to make love to me?"

"I thought I had."

"No, I meant-" the hesitation made Garak look up and consider 
him carefully.

"You told me you didn't want to do that."

"I- er- don't."  He squirmed, aware his legs were still wide
apart, and Garak could move to take him at the first sign of 
consent.  "But I know you'd like to have me that way, and I've 
wondered why you haven't been more insistent. I know you, Elim
--you're always testing my limits and trying to take me past 
them."  

"I have never taken you anywhere you haven't wanted to go," 
the tailor answered with a note of indignation.  "You like to 
give the impression you've been led astray, but *I* know *you*
better than that, my love.  I've learned quite a lot about 
you these past weeks."  One hand spread over the taut skin of 
Bashir's belly; his voice became a purr.  "As for your limits, 
I confess I don't know where those lie.  Your...capacities 
astound me."  He kissed softly, tongue darting into the navel,
then he chuckled.  "I wonder if Chief O'Brien had stayed, if 
he would find you as remarkable as I do."

"Miles?" the young man said with a pang of guilt.  Fortunately, 
Garak had lowered his head to continue kissing, and did not see.

"I suspect he'd be terrified.  He wouldn't be able to keep up 
with you--wouldn't be able to give you what you want."

"And, of course, *you* can?" 

"I think so.  *You* know what it is you want from me, Julian.  
When you're ready to inform me exactly what that is, you will." 
Another kiss.  "I can wait."  

*/~5~\*

"What're you *doing*?" O'Brien tried to wriggle out from under 
Bashir, who had slid down in his embrace and was tugging to 
unfasten his trousers.

Julian lifted his head.  "I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it."
Besides, he needed the practice.

"I do, usually..."  As he sat up, O'Brien took the doctor by 
the forearms to raise him as well.  "But not from you. I don't- 
well, I don't like the idea of you knowing that kind of trick."

"It's too much, you mean?"  Bashir settled back on the sofa
arm, facing Miles. "I know you don't want to let things go too 
far, but I think we can still explore a few ways of...pleasing 
each other.  Frankly, Miles, I've been wondering if *this*-" 
he gestured at the length of the couch, where they had spent 
so much time in each other's arms, "is really all you want."  

It didn't seem fair to him that his relationship with one man 
had advanced so far ahead of the other. Miles, thankfully, never 
brought up Garak's name when they were together, but Garak spoke 
of O'Brien with disconcerting frequency, as if the tailor were 
aware that the competition between them was not over yet.  Again 
and again, he returned to the same theme: O'Brien was a coward. 
It was jealousy, of course, but after last night, Julian had 
begun to wonder if there might be an essence of truth within 
Garak's venom.  *Was* Miles afraid?

O'Brien sighed.  "I think about making love to you, Julian.  
Believe me, I give it *a lot* of thought.  You don't know 
how rough it's been sometimes, lying awake nights, imagining 
all the things I'd like to do with you.  It's damned hard, 
when Keiko's so far away, and you're right here.  But if we 
take that step, there's no turning back."

"Then it's because of Keiko?" asked Julian. "You told me that 
that was over."

"All but the serious talk and the papers signed.  We're not 
calling ourselves 'separated' yet, but I can't kid myself 
about where this is going to end up."

"Have you told her about- um- me?"

Miles shook his head.  "Not about *this*.  She knows I have 
dinner here half the time, and that I spend my off-duty hours 
with you.  She seems happy about it."  He huffed.  "I dunno, 
maybe it's just that she's glad I have a friend to keep me 
company while she's away, but sometimes... Julian, I swear 
sometimes that she knows damn well what we've been up to and 
she doesn't mind.  She's relieved to have me off her hands.

"Maybe that's only wishful thinking.  I'd like to tell her.  
I've been about to a dozen times, but it's not something I can 
just spit out over a commlink--'Oh, by the way, dear, I'm in 
love with Julian and we've been having an affair'--such as it 
is. If she'd come to DS9, or if I'd went down to Bajor, maybe
she'd see that something was troubling me.  I could tell her 
everything then.  Now, if she already guessed the truth, it'd 
be all right.  But for all I know, she could just as easily 
scream bloody murder, grab Molly, and file for divorce on the 
ugliest terms the law allows. 

"Thing is, Julian, we're in enough trouble right now.  If it's 
going to end, it shouldn't be harder'n it has to be.  Why make 
it worse by throwing *you* into the mix?"  He glanced up at 
Julian.  "Do you want more?"

"I don't want to push you," Julian answered, "but it would be 
nice."  

O'Brien considered him for a moment, then sat forward to take 
Bashir by the arm and draw him close again.  "I suppose we 
could go a little further."  He played with the small, round 
buttons of Bashir's shirt, rolling them between his fingers.  A 
light tug undid the collar.  "But I'm warning you, Julian, if 
this gets out of hand..."  He lifted an eyebrow so archly that 
Bashir chuckled.  

"I'm willing to take the chance if you are."  Miles reached 
inside his shirt; Julian gave a pleased little shudder--the 
hands on him now were so much warmer than Garak's--and he arched 
into the touch.  He was caught up abruptly in the other man's 
arms.  His shirt was pulled away and O'Brien nuzzled his bared 
shoulder. 
 
"Gently," he said, still laughing, "Miles, gently."

*/~6~\*

He was sexually ambiguous enough that, although he had no 
previous experience with men, he found a surprising amount of 
pleasure in the way they made love to him.  This was a totally 
new experience, nothing like his romances with women, and he 
delighted in each discovery.  

Sometimes, he thought he was at the point of giving himself 
completely, but when it came to it, he always held back.

It wasn't the physical act of penetration that he balked at. 
Beyond that was insoluble problem of favoring one man before 
the other.  While Garak seemed far more likely to be the first, 
no matter which one he chose, the other would be furious. They 
might not know about it right away, but he couldn't keep these 
relationships secret indefinitely.  He'd already seen Miles 
wildly jealous at the thought that Elim had had him.  Would 
Garak be any less outraged if he knew O'Brien had been granted 
that privilege?  When they did find out, the results would be 
catastrophic.

Since the beginning of this complicated love affair, he'd been
astonished--and a little frightened--by the powerful emotions 
he had aroused in both men.  No one had ever wanted him so 
intensely before.  No lover he'd been with had run her mouth 
down his throat, over the curve of his shoulder, covering the 
arc of a pectoral muscle, as if she meant to devour him.  No 
one's hands had run down his torso in that slow, exploratory 
way that sent thrilling little tremors through him in the wake 
of each finger's brush.  He had never been so fully handled 
before, as if every inch of his body was meant to be ravished.  
This was more than simple, sensual pleasure; they each meant to 
possess him.  Even the most casual touch, an arm placed about 
his waist, a hand on his shoulder, revealed some small part of 
that desire.

Could he be engulfed if he gave himself up to it?  

And yet, disturbed as he was by this inexplicable passion, he 
was excited by it as well.  In spite of the dangers in the game 
he was playing, he enjoyed being the object of so much attention. 
He liked being fussed over. Petted. Courted. Loved.  

He did love both men dearly, but he wasn't in love with either
--not in that fierce, almost obsessive way his friends loved 
him.  He gave them what he was capable of, enjoyed what they 
offered, and knew that all that volatile emotion was going to 
explode eventually.

He wondered how long it could go on like this.

*/~7~\*

"You're *glowing*, Julian," Dax teased. All of the leaders for 
the proposed Changeling sweeps--with the exception of O'Brien, 
who had been called out for an emergency repair in one of the 
docking pylons--had met in the wardroom to coordinate the 
placement of their teams for the first drills.  Jadzia had been 
smiling at him throughout the meeting, and now that the others 
had gone, she turned to him with an interrogating grin. "I know 
that look.  You're in love."

"I am not," Julian protested.  While he would have liked to 
confide in someone, Dax was notorious as the station's biggest 
gossip--except perhaps for Quark--and *this* secret was too 
juicy to trust her with.  One word, and his private life would 
be a common topic of conversation all over DS9.  Which, he 
wondered, would be considered more scandalous: his involvement 
with a possible spy, or with a married man?  

"You're seeing someone-"

"No one special."

She refused to believe it.  "Personally, I'm glad, even if you 
won't tell me who she is.  You've been lonely too long."  She 
gathered up her datapadd from the table, took a quick sip to 
finish off her raktajino.  "You've needed someone."

"Oh, that's lovely, coming from *you*," he retorted playfully.  

"*I* never put that wicked sparkle in your eye," she responded. 
"Or that little bounce in your step. I'd love to meet the woman 
who could.  You're so secretive lately, Julian.  If you won't 
tell me who it is, I'll have to guess.  Now let's see... Who-?" 

Julian began to pray for an escape before she came too close to
the truth, when he received a summons to the Infirmary he would 
rather not have had: O'Brien had been injured.

*/~8~\*

A flux coupler had malfunctioned, shorting out in O'Brien's 
hand and leaving him with some painful but superficial burns. 
After treating his friend's injuries, Julian escorted Miles 
to his quarters, gave him a sedative to help him rest, and 
brushed aside all apologies about spoiling their plans for 
that evening.

It was still early when returned to his own rooms; with a long 
evening alone stretching out before him, Julian made some tea 
and was just settling down with the latest issue of 'Lancet' on 
a datapadd, when the door chimed.

It was Garak.  "Have I interrupted anything?"

"Not at all," Julian answered, smiling.  "In fact, I'm happy 
to see you."

"I'd hoped I would find you in.  I had just closed up my shop 
and was contemplating my choices for dinner--I wondered if 
you'd made any plans.  Have you eaten yet?"

"No." He stepped back from the doorway to admit his guest. "I 
haven't had my dinner.  Please, come in."

Later that night, as he lay curled in Garak's arms, he wondered 
at the odd luck of his friend showing up unannounced on the one 
occasion when he unexpectedly had an evening free, but he was 
too sleepy to ponder the coincidence for long.

*/~9~\*

The first Changeling detection exercise was conducted a few days 
later, once Bashir had declared O'Brien fit for duty and able 
to participate.  Odo had shifted into another form, living or 
inanimate, and was hiding somewhere on DS9.  That was all the 
information the search teams were given.  Their objective: Find 
him.

Julian's team was on the Promenade, sweeping all objects and 
surfaces with their modified phaser rifles--designed to disrupt 
the molecular cohesion of the Changeling and force it out of 
whatever shape it had assumed--when his commbadge chirped.

"Eddington to Bashir:  Changeling sighted on Level Three, 
Section 27 of the habitat ring, headed in your direction. Can 
you intercept?"

"On our way.  Bashir out."  He waved an arm, gesturing to send 
his team to the nearest connecting bridge between the central 
core and the habitat ring.  He slapped his commbadge again.  
"Bashir to Chief O'Brien--Miles, where are you right now?"

"We're in the habitat ring, Section 29 and headed your way."

"Can you meet us on the bridge?"

"Be right there.  O'Brien out."

Bashir ran down the Promenade in the direction his team had 
gone, past the assay office, the tailor's shop, the jum-ja 
kiosk, and Keiko's old school.  As he crossed into the habitat 
ring, a small bird--a Bajoran red-plumed windsweeper, if his 
knowledge of local fauna was accurate--soared into the passage-
way over the startled heads of his advance team members. 
"Fire!" he shouted.

The team fired with their modified phaser rifles, but the tiny 
windsweeper dodged the blasts with a flit of its wings, and 
shot upwards to splat into a mass of shimmery orange proto-
plasm against a vent in the ceiling, then oozed through.

Julian hit his badge.  "Bashir to O'Brien: He's gone into the 
ventilation system. Can you set up a forcefield to seal it off?"

When he joined his team in the habitat ring, Eddington's team 
had not arrived yet, but O'Brien's team was already at the 
intersection of the corridors; Miles was busy at the controls 
with an open access panel.

"He's trapped in the ventilation duct," he announced.  "I can 
set up some more fields in there, to herd 'im down to this end 
and keep him contained."  He tapped a few controls inside the 
open panel, when there was the sudden *Zot!* of an energy dis-
charge and a bright flash of light.  O'Brien was thrown back 
on the carpet.

"Miles!" Julian dropped to his knees at his friend's side.  He 
had no tricorder with him; he felt for O'Brien's pulse at his 
throat, then pushed up one eyelid to peer at the dilated pupil 
beneath, which did not respond to the increased light.

This exercise was over for him.  Bashir slapped his commbadge 
one last time.  "Infirmary, this is Dr. Bashir.  Lock on to my 
coordinates for emergency transport."  As they beamed away, he 
took O'Brien's hand.

*/~10~\*

"You've sustained a nasty plasma shock," Julian informed his 
patient once he had repaired the worst of the damage and brought 
Miles around.  "Plus a blow to the back of your head when you 
hit the floor.  I've taken care of the concussion, but I'd like 
to keep you here overnight and monitor your condition in case 
there's been any neurological damage."

O'Brien groaned in protest, but he did not try to get up from 
the biobed.  "Just as long as you don't make me put on one of 
those stupid purple hospital gowns.  We had a date tonight, you 
know."

"I remember, but I'd rather keep you here, where I can treat 
any problems right away if this injury turns out to be more 
serious than it looks."  One of his nurses was at the far end 
of the room; they spoke softly.  "I'd hate for you to pass out 
in the middle of dinner, or- er- on the sofa."  
 
"The least you can do is stay here with me."

Julian gave him a soft smile. "Yes, all right. I'll sit up with 
you tonight.  It won't be exactly what we planned, but it will 
have to do.  We can make it up tomorrow."  The smile became a 
full grin.  "If you don't want to go on breaking our dates like 
this, you might be more careful.  This is the second accident 
you've had in a week."

"Funny how clumsy I've become lately, isn't it?" 

Something in his tone made Julian pause in the middle of one 
last neural scan.  "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing," Miles answered bluntly.

"You think someone...?"  A fresh suspicion welled in Julian's 
mind and he shut up abruptly, no longer eager to question Miles. 
"I have some work to attend to in my office, but I won't be 
very far away."  The nurse had gone; Julian leaned down to give 
Miles a quick kiss before he left his bedside.  "I'll be back 
to check on you later."

*/~11~\*

Other duties took him away from Miles at intervals, but he 
stayed in the Infirmary all afternoon and, whenever he had a 
minute, he stopped to check on his injured friend's condition. 
When he had more time, he sat down to keep him company. O'Brien 
was bored and restless at being kept abed when there was work 
to be done, but eventually he dropped off to sleep.

Julian took the opportunity to pop over to Quark's for a quick 
break and a bite to eat.  Dax was waiting in ambush.

"It's the Chief, isn't it?" she asked, catching him barely a 
meter from the entrance to the Infirmary. 

"Chief O'Brien *was* injured," he replied, deliberately mis-
understanding her.  "But it's not too bad. He'll pull through."

She rolled her eyes.  "*Julian*!  You know what I mean.  Is 
he the one?  It's old news that the O'Briens' marriage is in 
trouble, and you've been seeing so much of him since Keiko 
left-"

Bashir stopped before they reached Quark's; he did not want 
this conversation to continue within the range of Ferengi ears. 
"You're letting your imagination run away with you," he spoke 
more guardedly, grateful that Garak's tutelage had taught him 
how not to answer a direct question.  If he were forced to say 
'Yes' or 'No,' she would easily catch the lie.  "Miles and I 
are friends."

He went into Quark's, but to his dismay, Dax followed.  The 
crowd was not very heavy; Bashir began to wonder how he could 
lose her, when a hand fell on his arm, and he turned to find 
Garak at his side. 

"Won't you join me, Doctor?"

"Yes, thank you," Julian said with sincere gratitude.

As the tailor guided him to a table in the shadows behind the 
stairway, he spoke softly near Julian's ear: "You looked as if 
you were in need of rescue."

"You have no idea..."  He glanced back over his shoulder--Dax 
was standing near the bar, staring after them with a puzzled 
frown.  They took their seats and Julian ordered a sandwich and 
drink.  While he ate, Garak went on in a louder voice for the 
public benefit.

"I watched you on the Promenade earlier today.  May I say, 
Doctor, how impressed I was?  It was a splendid performance.
But, as fascinating a show as Starfleet puts on, I must ask: 
Do you think this exercise will be effective against a real 
invasion?"

"Captain Sisko thinks it will," Bashir answered between bites. 
"The Changeling sweeps, the blood screenings, the inspection of 
all ships that come in from the Gamma Quadrant--we have to use 
whatever measures we have at our disposal." 

"Perhaps you are right," Garak said doubtfully, then he added, 
"I heard about Chief O'Brien's unfortunate accident.  How is 
he?"

Another mouthful was swallowed.  "A few shock-related injuries, 
but he's going to be all right.  He's resting comfortably in 
the Infirmary."

"I am pleased.  In spite of our differences, I would be sorry 
to hear that the Chief was in real danger."  He glanced 
speculatively at Julian, and spoke in a much lower tone, "If 
you are not occupied with a medical emergency, perhaps you'll 
consider joining me for dinner?  You can't possibly call that 
sandwich you just gulped down a satisfactory meal.  Allow me 
to give you something more...leisurely--in my quarters, for a 
change?"

"No, I can't tonight."  Julian finished his drink.  "I don't 
want to leave Chief O'Brien alone for too long."

"Yes, I see."

Julian heard the jealousy in this blunt reply.  "Elim, I'm 
sorry.  I promised Miles I'd sit with him."

"Quite all right, Doctor.  I understand.  You have your duties." 
Unobserved under the table, Garak patted his knee, then got up. 
"Perhaps some other time."   

He walked out of the bar, leaving Bashir's mind bubbling with 
more suspicions.

*/~12~\*

Bashir released O'Brien from the Infirmary early the next 
morning.  They made up for their missed date that night.

The instant they sat down on the couch, Miles was on him with 
more energy than he had ever shown before, as if he intended to 
make good on his promise to give Julian 'a little more.' They 
were still fully clothed; they hadn't gone *that* far yet, but 
Julian had his hopes for tonight.  Even now, as Miles pressed 
him down into the cushions, he could feel an encouraging hard-
ness prodding his thigh.  If they kept going on the way they 
were, rubbing against each other, they'd have a mess to deal 
with very soon--and an undeniable excuse to get out of their 
uniforms.  He might even be able to lure Miles into the shower.

Julian anticipated a brisk, not fancy, but enthusiastic bout 
of lovemaking--nothing like Garak's deliberate and methodical 
caresses, but just as delightful in its own way.  They might be 
alike in many respects, but he was glad of their differences.  
Even when they had only been his friends, he recognized that 
each man satisfied a separate set of needs; he could experience 
all that was reliable, thrillingly unpredictable, comfortable, 
mysterious, exotic, and familiar at once.

Miles tugged open the fastener on Julian's uniform and pressed 
his face to the fabric of the shirt beneath.  Julian squirmed 
at the hot breath bursting against his skin.  "Miles, that 
tickles!"

O'Brien lifted his head.  "Tickles, does it?  I'll show you 
'tickles.'"  And he dove his hands into the open folds of the 
uniform tunic to pull up the undershirt. As he ducked to press 
his mouth to the exposed flesh, Julian bucked beneath him and 
shouted with anticipatory laughter.

A commbadge chirped.  Julian thought it had been struck  
accidentally during their scuffle, but Miles released him and 
slapped his own chest.  

"O'Brien here," he said impatiently as he sat up, swinging his 
feet off the sofa.

Odo's voice emerged from the badge: "Chief, we have a problem 
on the Promenade."

"What is it?" Miles left the couch and paced to the other side 
of the room. Julian tugged his shirt back into place and poured 
himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey on the low table--a 
gift from his friend.  It didn't matter if Odo knew that Miles 
was in his quarters, since it was no secret they spent an 
occasional evening together, but he stayed quiet.  He tried 
not to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help overhearing fragments 
of the conversation.

"Bloody Christ...now how d'you suppose that happened?"  Odo's 
response was a tinny, indistinguishable buzz.  "Yeah, I know, 
Cardassian technology.  What can you expect?  I'll be there to 
take care of it as soon as I can. O'Brien out."  He slapped the 
commbadge again and returned to the couch.  "I'll have to go," 
he told Julian.

"What's happened?  Is it an emergency?"

"Not life and death."  O'Brien took the glass from Bashir and 
had a sip.  "There's a door stuck shut on the Promenade--some 
poor bastard's trapped in his shop.  It looks like he triggered 
one of the old security forcefields when he tried to get the 
door open, and no one can get `im out."
  
"I thought you deactivated all the Cardassian security devices 
after we were trapped by that counterinsurgency program last 
year?"

"I thought I did too, but we must've missed this one. You know 
how the Cardies are--just when you think you've seen the last 
of their tricks, there's another one waiting to spring on you. 
I'll probably be working at it `til the middle of the night."

"Well, if you've got to go..." Julian tried not to sound dis-
appointed.

After regarding him for a moment, Miles set down the drink.  
"Oh, what the hell. It can wait awhile longer--he's not going 
anywhere."  And he reached for Julian. 

*/~13~\*

Bashir was having breakfast alone the next morning, when Garak 
came up the Replimat steps and enter the line for the nearest 
replicator.  He waved to draw his friend's attention.  The 
tailor turned and smiled and, once he had gotten his rokassa 
juice, joined Julian at his table.

"You missed all the excitement on the Promenade last night, 
Doctor," Garak began as he took his seat.  "We drew quite a 
crowd--Quark was outraged when half his customers left the 
dabo tables to come out and enjoy the commotion."

"I heard about it. Someone was trapped..." he stopped at Garak's
ironic smile.  "Oh, Garak, not *you*?"

"Yes, Doctor, it was I. I was imprisoned in my shop for more 
than three hours.  The engineering crew could do nothing to
override the old security forcefield I inadvertently set off
--but since they were all Bajorans, I question whether or not 
they really gave the problem their best efforts.  I insisted 
on Chief O'Brien's expertise, but he seemed to be mysteriously 
delayed in coming to my assistance."  

Julian's suspicions were almost certainties now.  "Elim," he
began carefully, "are you and Miles fighting?  He's had several 
peculiar 'accidents' lately, and now your shop's been sabotaged. 
I can't help wondering..."

"Dear Julian, if I wanted to harm Chief O'Brien, I assure you 
that his accidents would have been far more unfortunate."

This cryptic answer was enough for Bashir.  But why were they 
at war with each other?  Did they know that he was seeing both
of them, and they wanted to eliminate the competition? 

"What's Miles done?" he asked as innocently as he could.  

"He's become an annoyance," Garak told him.  "I find his 
curiosity about our friendship distasteful.  His persistent, 
prying questions."

"His questions..." Julian echoed with a pang of dread.  "Does 
he know about us?"

"No, but he suspects.  He wants me to know he suspects, and 
does not approve.  He is very protective of you, you realize.  
I believe now that I may have been wrong.  Chief O'Brien's 
reluctance is not cowardice--it's confusion.  He can't decide 
if he wants to take you to bed or to be your older brother."  
Julian laughed nervously; Garak gave him a searching glance as 
he concluded, "I thought some discouragement was necessary."

"Has this sort of thing been going on all along?" Bashir asked, 
attempting to divert the conversation.  "And I was too young 
and innocent to see the battle being fought over me?  What about 
the Chief's recent experience in temporal dislocation?  And who 
*really* blew up your shop?"  As he had hoped, Garak was dis-
tracted enough to smile at this joke, and Julian beamed at him 
before went on.  "Seriously, Elim, this has got to stop.  If 
anything else happens to Miles, I'll hold you responsible. I'll 
have to end this relationship."

"Yes," Garak replied slowly, "I understand.  If it will please 
you, Chief O'Brien and I shall come to some peaceable agreement. 
I'll talk to him."

Julian was surprised, but gratified, to see how quickly Garak 
had retreated before his threat.  "No," he said.  "*I'll* talk 
to him. You stay away from him, and I'll see that he leaves you 
alone."  

After he had finished his breakfast, Bashir exited the Replimat.
Dax was on the Promenade, waiting for him again.

"Is it Garak?" she pounced.

"Jadzia!" he protested. "Just the other day, you were convinced 
that Miles was my secret lover."

"That was before I watched you and Garak at Quark's, and then 
saw you whispering together just now in the Replimat.  If it 
isn't Chief O'Brien, then it has to be him.  It must be one or 
the other," she spoke with such determination that Bashir was 
actually alarmed.  "If it were anyone else, you would've told 
me all about it by now.  Miles, or Garak?  I know it can't be 
both."  She stopped suddenly and turned to stare at him, eyes 
growing wide.  "Oh, Julian, it's not *both*?"

"Now you're being ridiculous."  He could feel his face growing 
hotter by the second--he couldn't help it.  "I refuse to discuss 
this any further."  He walked away quickly--fled--leaving Dax 
standing there with her mouth dropped open.

*/~14~\*

They *must* know.  All those dangerous emotions were coming to 
the surface.  They weren't trying to kill each other with this 
round of mutual sabotage: As Garak had obliquely pointed out, 
if he wanted O'Brien dead, then O'Brien would be dead.  And 
Miles was capable of doing more than setting up forcefields in 
his own defense.  But they were fighting over him.  One man 
had been seriously injured already.

He would have to negotiate a 'cease fire'.  Julian thought he 
could manage it.  He knew how to make them behave now: that 
threat to end the relationship had worked with Garak; surely 
it would work just as well with Miles?

If they did know he was seeing both of them, he would have to 
face some jealous outbursts and demands for explanations, but 
Julian was prepared to deal with those.  In fact, he was 
relieved to have this chance to bring the situation out in 
the open.  They might finally be able to sort this mess out.

And if they asked him to choose between them?  No matter what 
contingencies he had prepared for, Julian knew that wasn't a 
question he wanted to face yet.

*/~15~\*

"...you *say* you haven't, but I don't know if I can believe 
you.  You'd lie without blinking."

Julian paused just inside the door to Garak's shop at the 
unexpected sound of O'Brien's voice coming from the back room.  
His first thought was that Miles was annoying Garak again with 
personal questions, and he was about to go in to put a stop to 
it, when he heard Garak's reply:

"*You* might lie just as easily, my dear Chief, when you tell 
me those charming 'cuddle on the couch' stories."  He was 
trying to sound amused and detached, to goad O'Brien, but he 
couldn't keep the jealous hiss from his voice.  "The only one 
who can verify what he's done is our Julian."

Bashir tried to hide before they realized he had come in, 
stumbled, but fortunately landed against a rack of velvet suit-
coats.  He slid soundlessly to his knees and crawled around to 
the other side.

"Look, we both agreed that we'd only go so far with him, and 
I've kept to that bargain."

"Of *that*, I have no doubt."

"And you see that you do as well.  You're not the only one who 
can rig a control panel, you know.  If you dare to do anything 
that hurts him, Garak, I swear I'll kill you."

There was a long silence, then Garak answered, "Yes, I believe 
you would.  I can only assure you that he will come to no harm 
with me."

"I know the kinds of things you've been teaching him," O'Brien 
accused.  "And I don't like what you're turning him into with 
your filthy tricks." 

"I-" Garak sputtered indignantly.  "*I* am not the one who 
proposed this arrangement!  He did.  You may rest assured that 
I did not suggest it to him.  Nor have I encouraged him to 
demonstrate his new-found knowledge to you."  That jealous hiss 
again.  "You can't attribute his behavior to *my* corrupting 
influence."
   
Julian sat, heart pounding hard at what he was hearing.  He 
thought he had been so clever, keeping his own careful balance 
between lovers.  And all this time, *they* had had some sort of 
agreement between themselves, each permitting the other to see 
him so long as neither tried to go too far.
 
He wondered about the excuses they had given him--Garak's  
patience and Miles's frettings about his marriage.  Could he 
believe a word either had said to him?  And their warfare made 
sense now: Of course they would quarrel, no matter what gentle-
men's agreement they had made; neither would be able to uphold 
that civilized level of conduct for very long where *he* was 
concerned.   

They were still talking, but Julian was barely listening as he
began to form a plan of his own.  He wasn't going to let them 
get away with this.  For so long, he had endured this affair on 
their terms.  Now, he had the means to make them do what *he* 
wanted.

*If two can play this game, my dear friends,* he thought, *so 
can three!*

He climbed to his feet and crept back to the door.  Poised as 
if he were just coming in, he rapped sharply on the doorframe 
and called out, "Elim?  Are you here?"

The tailor emerged from the back room.

When he'd first come in, Bashir had been intending to ask 
Garak to join him for lunch, but that was not the invitation 
he extended now.  "I just came by to see if you were free for 
dinner tonight," he announced. "I've decided, Elim--I'm ready."

*/~16~\*

The door chimed long before Garak was expected that evening, 
but Julian knew it wasn't the tailor.

"Hello, Miles."

"You're really going to do this?" O'Brien asked as he brushed 
past Bashir into the room.  "With Garak?"

"Now how did you hear about that?" Julian asked back.

"Never you mind.  You're not going to do it!"

"Yes, I am.  Why not?  Is there any reason *you* can think of 
why I shouldn't?" 

"Garak!" Miles erupted, as if that were reason enough. "Besides, 
I thought *we*-"

"You'll have your chance too," Julian told him, "whenever you 
want to take it.  I intend to be as fair and reasonable to the 
both of you as I've always been, dividing my time between you 
and Elim--that's not a surprise to you, is it, that I've been 
seeing Garak too?"

"No," Miles shuffled and admitted. "I knew about it."  

"Did he tell you that I'd asked him here tonight?" Julian 
prompted.

"He didn't need to."  The confession emerged. "I was there, in 
Garak's shop, when you came in this morning. Julian, baby, you 
aren't really going through with this?  The last time you said 
you wanted us to share you like this, you were afraid."  

"I've given it a lot of thought since then," Julian answered 
solemnly.  "I believe I'm ready this time.  I've never played 
favorites and I won't start now."  He sank back on the sofa.  
"Surely we can be sophisticated about this?  After all, you and 
Garak have kept to your bargain so well, why can't I too?"

O'Brien gaped at him.  "You-? How-?"

"I popped into the tailor's shop a little earlier than you 
think." Bashir folded his arms. "I heard you talking. It was 
very educational.  I learned quite a lot--like what an idiot 
I've been!  When did all of this start, Miles?" he demanded.  
"When I asked you both to dinner that first night, and you 
stormed out and Garak stayed?  Or was it when you came into 
the Infirmary the next day?  Did the two of you have it all 
planned out then?"

Miles looked shocked. "Christ, no! D'you think I could be that 
much of a twisty-minded bastard?  Maybe Garak works like that, 
but *I* would never- That's *not* the way it happened."

"How did it happen then?"

"That first night, after I left, I knew Garak was still with 
you, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.  Him 'n' you.  What 
he was doing with you.  It made me crazy.  The next morning, I 
went to confront him.  He told me he hadn't done anything to 
you, but who can believe what Garak says?"

"And so you came to me for the truth." 

Miles approached the couch, knelt beside him.  "Honestly, 
Julian, I didn't plan for it to turn out the way it did.  I 
only wanted to be sure you were all right.  But when I saw you, 
all I could think of was how I was about to lose you--and to 
*him!*  I couldn't stand to let you go.  And- well, you know 
what happened next."  

"Yes, I remember."  Miles tried to take one of his hands;
Julian let him.  

"When I left you, I went to flaunt it over Garak that I had a 
date with you and he didn't have you all to himself. *He* said 
you'd drop me if he wanted to see you."

"And that was when he contacted me, asked me if he could visit 
me that same night," Julian murmured, putting all the pieces 
together.  "Were you with him while we were talking?"

"Standing right there," Miles admitted.  "He thought you'd say 
'yes,' and put me off with some excuse.  I thought you'd tell 
him 'no.'  Neither of us dreamed you'd asked him to come after 
I'd gone." 

"And when you realized I had no intention of giving either of 
you up," Bashir summarized, "you came to your own agreement."

"We couldn't share you the way you wanted us to, so we handled 
it in a way we could live with."

"But you didn't let me know what you were doing?"

"*You* didn't see fit to tell either of us about the other,"
Miles retorted.  "Besides, I was afraid that if you knew *we* 
knew, you'd only try to bring us together again."  Forehead 
resting on Bashir's thigh, he sighed loudly.  "Julian, I can 
almost put up with him being with you, as long as I don't have 
to *watch* it."   

"No...I suppose that is too much to ask." His free hand played 
contemplatively in Miles's curls.  "It can't have been easy for 
you, knowing when he was with me.  And Elim wouldn't like you 
coming here any better.  All those acts of sabotage--exploding 
panels, forcefields..."

"*He* started it!"

"It was very wrong of you both," Bashir chided.  "You know I 
don't like it when you fight."

"Julian, what can I say? I'm sorry about the whole bloody thing.  
It was a bargain with the devil--I should never have agreed to 
it."  

"It's all right, Miles.  I forgive you."  He slipped his hand 
under Miles's jaw, lifted his head and offered a kiss.

O'Brien's arms went around Bashir and, as they kissed, drew him 
toward the edge of the sofa.  His hands ventured beneath the 
waistband of the younger man's trousers, beneath the briefs, to 
encompass the slender hips and slide the cloth down.  Bashir 
was surprised; Garak had touched him this way a dozen times, but 
Miles had never been so bold before.  But he had meant to reward 
the penitent--now that Miles had literally been brought to his 
knees--and he saw no reason to alter his plans.  In fact, this 
might further them.  He shifted slightly, to be of help.  

Without breaking the kiss, and with only a few awkward tangles, 
they managed to work his pants down to his ankles.  Julian lifted 
one foot, then the other; Miles yanked the bunched-up clothing 
free, dropped it on the floor, and then ran both hands up his 
bare thighs in a broad caress.  Julian settled back against the 
cushions with an expectant shiver, and waited to see what would 
happen next.  It wasn't until Miles parted his legs to place
himself more snugly between them and fumbled to unfasten his 
own trousers that Julian realized with a jolt just how far he 
intended to go.  

He broke away, astonished that a man who had always been so 
reluctant to advance should suddenly move so quickly.  "Mi-?" 
he began, and his mouth was caught again.

*He* had brought this about: Poor, shy Miles, who would never 
have dared breathe a hint of his feelings.  Who had only been 
prompted to kiss Julian that first time in the Infirmary by 
an act of desperation.  Who, whether because of his pact with 
Garak, his marriage, or a protective desire not to despoil the 
object of his love, had to be coaxed through every step of this 
courtship.  Miles had finally been pushed past the limits of 
his restraint.  Convinced that Garak was going to take Julian 
tonight anyway, O'Brien was determined to be there first.

Hands hooked under Julian's knees, brought his legs up to his 
chest and sent him tumbling back.

"Miles!" Julian protested. "Not here, like this. We're not- ah- 
prepared.  And, besides, we'll make a mess of the upholstery."  
He planted one foot in his suitor's breastbone and gave him a 
light shove.  "Why don't we go into the bedroom?  It'll be more 
comfortable, and easier to change the sheets."

Miles blinked, perplexed by this fastidious interruption. "All 
right," he agreed, "the bedroom.  I'd sweep you up 'n' carry 
you off, but I don't think my back could take it."

"Not to mention that shoulder cartilage I just replaced," 
Bashir murmured, reverting to the role of physician and running 
an examining hand over the shoulder in question.

The door chimed. They both started guiltily, but O'Brien said, 
"Leave it."  He pulled Julian back into his arms, and the door 
chimed again.  Miles cursed under his breath, and then twisted 
to look over his shoulder at the sound of a series of high-
pitched, decoding beeps from the panel outside. 

Garak came in.  He was more than half an hour early, but he had 
almost certainly been tracking O'Brien's whereabouts as closely 
as O'Brien had been keeping an eye on him.

"Jesus!" O'Brien refastened his trousers as he climbed to his 
feet.  "Don't you have any bloody sense of privacy?"

"I believe this was *my* evening, Chief."

"You weren't supposed be here 'til 2200."

"And, in the meanwhile, *you* would take the opportunity to 
deflower our Julian."  His gaze swept scornfully over the 
flushed and embarrassed young man on the couch, who tugged 
modestly down on his shirt.  "Did you expect me to wait out-
side until you were finished?"

"Well, did you expect me to just stand by while *you* had him 
first?"

"*I* was invited."

"*I* wasn't exactly tossed out!"

Julian watched in dismay.  When he had invited Garak here 
tonight within O'Brien's hearing, he'd known that Miles would 
come storming in to put a stop to it.  He'd planned to goad 
the Chief into a confession, force an apology and, once he was 
completely satisfied that Miles had been taught his lesson, 
forgive.  Then, he would use Miles's presence to bring Elim 
to heel.  

The first part of his plan had worked out wonderfully, with 
O'Brien responding exactly as anticipated, but when Miles had 
surprised him by trying to make love to him, everything had 
begun to slip out of his control.  And then Garak had come 
in too soon; he was supposed to find them in a compromising 
position--but not so compromising as this!  Julian had only 
wanted to make Elim jealous, not furious.  

They were headed straight for a disaster.  The Cardassian was 
trembling in outrage, and O'Brien was red-faced with indignation. 
Civilized men or not, in another minute, they would be at each 
other's throats. 

"Miles," he tried to avert the imminent explosion, "Elim, 
please, stop it.  No fighting!"

O'Brien whirled on him.  "Keep out of this!  Haven't you done 
enough already, behaving like such a little slut!"

"More than enough, to let myself get into *this* ridiculous 
situation," Julian retorted, stung out of his alarm. Aware 
that he had no hope of maintaining his dignity half-naked, he 
reached to the floor to fish his underpants out of the crumpled 
trousers.  "You didn't mind passing me back and forth when I 
wasn't the one making the decisions.  Well, let's have that 
clear right now:  It's *my* body.  I decide what I do with it
--not you, and not you either."  Briefs on, he rose to confront 
them.  "Now, can't we discuss this like reasonable adults, 
without shouting or calling names?"

"There's only one way to settle this," said Miles.  "You want 
to decide?  Choose then.  Him or me." 

"I can't," Julian answered.  "I don't want to."  

Miles huffed in exasperation. "Then we're right back where we 
started!"

"That's how I want it."  He looked from one adamant face to the 
other.  "I was happy with things as they were.  I'd be just as 
happy if we went on the same way, once we establish a few basic 
rules of conduct."

"So, you propose that we go on sharing you?" Garak inquired. 
There was an unpleasant edge to his voice and a dangerous flash 
in his eyes--Julian was certain that the tailor was about to 
slap him--but he stood his ground.  

"Yes, that's right."    

Garak didn't slap him.  "My dear, it isn't practical," he said 
in less menacing tones.  "This arrangement has been extremely 
trying for all of us, you most of all."

"It's the secrecy that's been hardest on me," Julian responded. 
"Trying to keep things straight, lying to keep you from- er- 
finding out about each other.  Everything is out in the open 
now.  As long as you can behave yourselves and not quarrel over 
me, then there is no problem.  I'll pace myself--see you one 
night, Elim, and Miles the next, and I'll let myself have an 
evening off whenever I need it."

"Now you're being absurd.  You can't schedule meetings with 
lovers as if you were making appointments for patients at the 
Infirmary."

"How do you think I've managed this so far?  I've tried to give 
my time to you equally. I never wanted to be anything but fair." 

"Fair, and impartial?" Garak asked, eyes suddenly glinting with 
a new light.  "I am just beginning to understand you, Julian--
If you cared deeply for either Chief O'Brien or myself, you 
would be able to dismiss the other without a qualm.  But you 
have no preference, do you?  You can give yourself to both of 
us with such impeccable fairness because neither of us means 
very much to you."

"That's not true," Julian insisted.  "I do care, very much, 
for both of you. I am trying to give you *my* love in the best 
way I can--and I think it's unfair of you to make me choose 
between the two people who mean the most to me! Damned selfish, 
actually."  He sat down on the arm of the sofa.  "You've heard 
my terms.  You are free to say 'Yes' or 'No', and you're free 
to leave if you don't think I'm worth the trouble, but that's 
*your* choice, not mine."

He waited while O'Brien, who had been staring at him, first 
incredulously, then questioningly, began to pace behind the 
couch, while Garak took one of the chairs and contemplated the 
ends of his steepled fingers.  He was already confident what 
the outcome would be.  He knew how much they wanted him.  Oh, 
they would bluster and fuss and make demands of their own--but 
if he remained firm, they would accede to his wishes.  

The Cardassian spoke first.

"Julian, you are very dear to me. Your friendship has been the 
one bright spot in my otherwise dismal life on this station, 
and I will cherish the weeks we have spent together, in spite 
of the...inconveniences.  I've allowed your romance with Mr. 
O'Brien to proceed with only a few interruptions."  Miles 
scowled, but Garak did not look up from his fingertips. "I've 
even been considerate enough to be a little late when he stayed 
longer than expected--until tonight."  He no longer sounded 
angry, only thoughtful, his words carefully measured.  Julian 
felt a chill run through him.  "I can endure almost anything in 
order to have you, but I find I have reached my limit at last.  
This situation is intolerable, and yet you ask us to continue 
it indefinitely?  I'm sorry, Julian, but I'm afraid, this time, 
I must refuse."

Bashir gulped hard. He hadn't realized how much he had counted 
on Garak's tenacity, until now, when he found the end of it.  
"If that's what you want..."

"No, it's not what I want, but I think it's what I had better 
do for my own sake."  

"I'm sorry, Elim," Julian said in a subdued voice as the tailor 
rose from his chair.  "I didn't want it to end like this.  The 
time I've spent with you, it's meant a lot to me too, whether 
you believe that or not. I wouldn't have missed a minute of it."

Garak stood over him, eyes flickering over his face. "Nor would 
I, dear Doctor," he answered, and took Julian by the chin to 
give him one last kiss.  Then he turned to O'Brien, who stood 
watching them with his arms folded.  "If you are wise, Chief, 
you will do the same."

Miles replied with a pensive "Mmph!" 

After Garak had gone, Bashir slid off the arm of the sofa onto 
the cushions.  He retrieved his trousers from the floor, and 
when he glanced up, he found that Miles was still staring at 
him.

"Maybe it was lucky that Garak showed up when he did," the 
Chief said thoughtfully.

That same chill ran through him again. Miles had been quiet for 
some time; Julian had taken it for stunned silence, or perhaps 
a more cagey determination to wait and see what Garak did first, 
but he understood now that Miles was mulling over everything he 
had heard.  "You're going to leave too."

"I have a lot to think about, Julian--whether or not you're 
worth it," Miles explained.  "The thing is, I'm ready to give 
up my whole life for you, but what am I getting in return?"

"Me," Julian answered.  

"And what does that mean? Maybe you do love me in your own way, 
but Garak's right, isn't he?  It's not the same as what I feel
for you."

"It's all I have to offer. Is it enough?"

"I don't know." 

Hands trembling slightly, he spread the trousers out flat across 
his lap, folded them into thirds.  "No matter what you decide, 
Miles, I hope we can go on being friends." 

"Now who else do I have to play darts with?"
 
Bashir gave him a tremulous smile.  "No hard feelings?" 

O'Brien returned the smile as crookedly.  He studied Julian's 
face again, the same way Garak had before he'd left.  "No hard 
feelings."  Then he too was gone.

Julian went into his bedroom and undressed, throwing his shirt 
and briefs on the floor before flinging himself on the bed.  He 
didn't normally like to sleep naked unless he had someone with 
him, but tonight he wanted the feel of cool sheets against his 
skin.  It reminded him of what might have been if he hadn't 
been so arrogant, and what he actually had:  A night alone.  He 
would be facing a lot of those in the future.

He'd wanted to punish them for deceiving and humiliating him, 
to show them once and for all who was in charge.  He'd wanted 
them contrite, but he'd wanted them *here*.  Instead, *he* had 
been humbled.  Just when he thought he knew how to make them 
agree to his terms, everything had gone all wrong.  He'd been 
too sure of himself, relied too much on his personal appeal, 
and he had lost.

He crawled between the sheets and lay with his head in his arms. 
He felt like crying, but the catastrophe was still too fresh to 
be fully comprehended, and the tears did not come.  

*/~end1~\*

Garak was lingering in the corridor when O'Brien came out. He 
allowed himself a small, if surprised, smile of triumph, but 
waited until the Chief had definitely gone down the corridor 
in the other direction before he emerged from the shadows, and 
went back to Bashir's door.

*/~!~\*

Julian lifted his head from the pillow at the sound of someone 
entering his quarters.  He twisted to sit up, clutching the 
sheet to his bare chest, as the bedroom door whisked opened.

"Elim!" he smiled in relief.  "I knew you must be lying.  You
were just saying those things, weren't you, to get Miles to
leave?"

"No," Garak replied very seriously, "I meant every word I said.
If Chief O'Brien had stayed, I would have walked away for good
--regretfully, but necessarily."

He felt that chill once again.  "You really were going to give 
me up?"

"Rather than share you, yes.  Now, I believe you said you 
would let me have you tonight--if you meant that, then I will 
stay.  On one condition: There will only be two of us in this 
bed from now on.  Is that understood?"

Julian understood: Garak would no longer tolerate his dividing
his time.  Well, he could do that now.  He was ready to give
Garak everything he wanted. 

"Stay," he answered.  "You won't have to share me anymore.  
Miles is going to think things over--I'm certain he'll decide 
to go back to Keiko."

"I'm very glad to hear that."  Garak sat down at the edge of 
the bed.  

Julian moved over to give him more room. "It's the right choice," 
he said musingly while Garak coaxed the sheet out of his fingers 
and gave his shoulder a light, prefatory nip.  "Miles isn't the 
sort of man who can give up on his marriage easily.  All those 
nights I listened to him talk about Keiko, I know what she means 
to him."  The tailor's tunic, then his trousers, were tossed to 
the floor; Julian went on talking: "He'll be happier this way--
If I were responsible for breaking up his marriage, it'd make 
him miserable.  He'd hate me for it."

"Julian," Garak stopped him, "I don't want to hear another word 
about Mr. O'Brien."  Then he leaned down to kiss him and saw
to it that the doctor did not have the time to give a single
thought to anyone else for the rest of that night.

*/~end2~\*

Garak was lingering in the corridor when O'Brien came out. He
watched the Chief pace just outside Julian's door, then slug 
the opposite wall in frustration.  "Damn, damn, damn it all..." 
and then stop with his brow resting on his forearm.  

At that moment, Garak seriously considered killing him. O'Brien 
was so vulnerable in that hunched position, back turned to him. 
One quick blow to the point where skull met spine, and he could 
eliminate his rival once and for all...  

But killing O'Brien would not win him Julian.  O'Brien was not
the problem.

Then Miles raised his head, having come to a decision.  He went 
back to Bashir's door.

The tailor sighed, "Ah, well," and he slipped away down the dark
corridor.

*/~!~\*

Julian lifted his head from the pillow at the sound of someone 
entering his quarters.  He twisted to sit up, clutching the 
sheets to his bare chest, as the bedroom door whisked opened.

"Miles?"

"All right, Julian--I'll contact Keiko, and tell her what's 
been going on.  If she asks for a divorce, I'll do it."

Julian was astonished at this abrupt change of heart.  "Are 
you sure?"

"If it's what you want."  Miles stood at the foot of the bed,
fists on his hips and scowling with fierce resolve, then his 
expression softened to something that was full of longing and 
desperation as he looked over the young man before him. "I just
can't let you go.  Even if what you're offering isn't enough, 
I'd rather have what you can give me than nothing at all. I'll 
do it," he repeated.  "I'll talk to her tonight, Julian, if 
you make the same commitment to me.  No more Garak--I want that 
clear."

"Garak won't be back," Julian answered sadly.  He'd lost one 
lover tonight; he couldn't bear to lose both.  "I'm all yours."

"All right then."  And Miles took the sheet in both hands and 
yanked it clear, then crawled up the bed to claim his prize with 
a single-minded intent that--even after their earlier encounter
--left Julian dazed and somewhat breathless. 

*/~!~\*

He woke up a few hours later to the sound of voices in the other 
room.  Miles was on the comm to Keiko, Julian soon ascertained,
fulfilling his side of the bargain.  He couldn't hear all that 
they said, but their voices were rising, Keiko's growing shrill. 
And then the connection was cut off.

He pulled on his bathrobe and ventured out.  

Miles sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.  "I did it," 
he announced defiantly.  "Keiko knows, and it's all over between 
us."  

Julian felt a wild stab of guilt.  This was all his fault; Miles 
and Keiko might have had a chance to work things out if he hadn't 
interfered.  He'd pushed his friend into this decision. 

He understood now why Miles had been so determined to make love 
to him right away: It was an irrevocable act.  Miles had wanted 
to put himself in a position where it was impossible to turn 
back if he lost his nerve. 

"Miles, I-"

"No, I'm all right," O'Brien insisted.  He looked up at Julian, 
then held out a hand. "C'mere."

Julian went to him; he sat on his lover's knee and wrapped both 
arms around his shoulders.  Miles' arms went around him in 
return and they sat without speaking, holding each other, heads 
together.

"Just don't ever let me be sorry for it," Miles said softly 
after a long while. 

This man had given up so much for him; he'd do whatever he 
could to make up for that.  "I won't," Julian promised, and 
gave him a kiss.  "Come on, Miles--let's go back to bed."  
Climbing off, he took O'Brien by the hand and led him in.

*/~end3~\*

Garak was lingering in the corridor when O'Brien came out.  
The Chief paced just outside Julian's door, then slugged the 
opposite wall in frustration.  "Damn, damn, damn it all..." 
and he then stopped when the tailor stepped forward from the 
shadows.

"He *is* a heartless, manipulative little slut," Garak said.

"Don't I know it," O'Brien answered and rested his brow on his 
forearm against the wall.

"He teases.  He plays insufferable games.  Since he discovered 
the power he holds over us, he tests it to see just how much 
we're willing to put up with."

"Mhm," Miles agreed again.

"You did the right thing by leaving him.  He can only bring 
unhappiness to the man foolish enough to love him.  *You* still 
have your pride.  Your dignity.  You might be able to salvage 
your marriage--What better way to demonstrate that he cannot 
control you than by casting him off completely?"

O'Brien looked up. "And leave him to you?" he snorted. "Forget 
it.  D'you think I don't know you'd be right back in there the 
minute I'm out of the picture?"

Garak replied with a non-committal shrug.  The two men stood 
regarding each other, waiting, until it was clear that neither 
was going to walk away from Bashir's door.

The tailor threw off his disinterested facade.  "Do *you* want 
to go on with this miserable farce?" he demanded.

"No, no more'n you do."  O'Brien gave the wall another whap and 
huffed in resignation.  "Who're we kidding, Garak?  He's got us
--you know as well as I do what we're going to wind up doing."

"Yes, my dear Chief," Garak admitted, "I know." 

*/~!~\*

Julian lifted his head from the pillow at the sound of someone 
entering his quarters.  He twisted to sit up, clutching the 
sheets to his bare chest, as the bedroom door whisked opened. 

They had come back.  

He felt elated, relieved, and a little intimidated now that he 
was faced with two men who looked as if they weren't going to
take 'No' for an answer after everything he'd put them through, 
but he wasn't going to let them see that.

"So," he asked coolly, "have you got it all sorted out?"

*/~!~\*

Strong arms wrapped around his torso; warm breath billowed over 
the nape of his neck.  Bashir clung to the pillows beneath him 
and tried to catch his own breath as the lover he lay with on 
another night sometime later pounded into him ferociously with 
the need to claim possession.

Once he had gotten his way, there was nothing else to do but 
surrender.  He'd done so, the minute they'd sat down on either 
side of his bed, loosened his fingers from the sheets, and began 
to kiss him wonderfully, taking his mouth from one to the other.  
He'd given himself at last.

He wondered why he'd waited so long to do this.  But how could 
he have guessed what it was like to be ravished so thoroughly? 
*This* was what he'd feared might overwhelm him, but he'd been
swept up by that passion, not drowned.  He rode the crest of it.   

Kisses trailed down his spine between his shoulderblades; the 
blasts of breath came more quickly, panting now.  The arms 
around him tightened.

He saw them sometimes, sitting at an out-of-the-way table at 
Quark's, and he knew that they were discussing him--they really 
had only one topic of conversation between them.  He couldn't 
hear what they were saying, but he saw the furtive energy behind 
their words.  He saw the looks on their faces.  They were still 
resentful, still jealous, but bound to each other as they could 
not have previously imagined. 

As much as he would like to go over and join them, he knew 
better than that.  Except for that first time, he had tried to 
preserve the illusion of exclusivity for both men.  He knew how 
hard it had been for them to come back to him, and even though 
they said they would do whatever he wanted, he wasn't going to 
make the same mistake again by pushing them too far. If it made 
them happy, he could let each man believe that he belonged to 
him alone, for a little while.

He was lifted up from the pillows and pulled back against a 
solid chest; teeth nibbled delicately on his earlobe and sent 
him into the preliminary shudders of ecstasy.

This would not last.  Miles and Keiko had had a sort of 
reconciliation when she visited the station a week ago--an 
event which Garak observed with intense, hopeful interest, but 
Julian viewed with a more melancholy air.  If Miles decided to 
go back to his wife, he would have to let him go.  Or perhaps 
Elim would get tired of waiting.  And then there was the war 
with the Klingons, the coup on Cardassia, and the increased 
threat from the Dominion; the whole future of the galaxy could 
change overnight and take the fates of three relatively minor 
players along with it.  Anything might happen.  But until 
then... 

He threw back his head and, in his last coherent moment, cried 
out a name.  He hoped it was the right one.

Kathryn Ramage                              kramage@erols.com
~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~
"Gentlemen didn't fight over men in those days."

                        -Cary Grant,  "The Grass is Greener."