"Can I interest you in some more Yigrish cream pie?"  Julian Bashir smiled at his lunchtime companion.

"No thank you, Doctor, I'm quite full."  Garak dabbed at his lips fastidiously and put down his napkin.

"But you've hardly touched your food!"

"Well, the truth is, I'm trying to lose a little weight," Garak replied, patting his stomach. "Hemming women's dresses may provide me with a modest income, but it offers very little in the way of exercise." he added with a wry smile.

Bashir murmured casually, "Well if you like, I can help you set up an exercise program in one of the holosuites."

Garak's smile widened.  "I might just take you up on that!"

He had gone on to give Bashir a birthday present, but instead of making the doctor happy, the gift had triggered a tirade on the unpleasant aspects of turning thirty.  Bashir's expressive eyes had flashed with annoyance and he leaned closer as the words spilled out, thrusting his face toward Garak as he concluded with an arrogant flourish, "And if I choose to be grumpy about it, that's my prerogative!"

Garak's voice had been stilled, his breath caught in his throat as he listened to the sudden aggressive torrent of Bashir's words.  'Ahh, Doctor,' he thought, '"out of the mouths of babes", as your curious saying has it.  ...If you weren't such an innocent when it comes to all things Cardassian, I'd swear you were - challenging me!'  A thrill tingled through his body at the idea, but he only had time to spread his hands encouragingly and say "By all means, Doctor, be as grumpy as you like!", before Quark had barged in and brought their fascinating tete-a-tete to a premature close.

***

And now, it was a slow afternoon in the shop: another in a long line of similar silent afternoons.  Garak straightened up from his workbench, one hand sliding down his spine in a vain effort to ease some of the stiffness that hours of bending over the cloth had bequeathed him.  He stepped into the fitting room, eyed himself critically in the full-length mirror that adorned the back wall. It was true, for once, what he had said to the doctor.  He had always been of a stocky, muscled build, and that was far from the accepted standard of Cardassian male beauty.  Compared to someone like Dukat - that thoroughly undeserving possessor of a perfect Cardassian physique - even in his prime, Garak's sturdy body had only ever been barely tolerable.

But when he compared himself to Bashir...  That sculpted, slender form seemed like something unreal, a fantasy made into living, breathing, infinitely desirable flesh.  ...Impossible, that he could measure up to those standards, that he could ever hope to stand at the rarefied height of beauty that Julian inhabited.  'Especially not at my age,'  Garak thought, a lopsided, mocking smile twisting the corners of his lips for a moment as he thought.  But, all the same.  Even though Bashir must be aware that his own good looks were hardly common, even though the human's amiable nature might forgive a good many small imperfections in a partner, still, such a man would have standards.  Exacting standards, that a crudely-formed Cardassian like himself would be most unlikely to meet.

And, Garak still had his pride, after all that had happened to him.  It was nothing short of a miracle that he had kept it, but it was as necessary to him as life.  He clung to the pride that remained to him with the strength of an exile's desperation.  He nurtured it amid the daily humiliations of running a shop, smiling, always smiling, wheedling and coaxing passersby to purchase any scrap of his merchandise; he guarded it from the constant, small-minded contempt of the Bajoran residents.  And yet...

And yet, when Bashir had made a single, offhanded suggestion that Garak should submit to the sweaty and awkward physical indignity of exercising in front of a
witness, he had thrown himself at the chance like a drowning man at a driftwood log.  And why?  Because it was Bashir who had asked it of him.  'You foolish
old man, doting over the whims of someone who will never want you or make it worth your while.' he smirked at his reflection.  But the smirk faded a moment
later into a considering look.  Was it simply professional concern that had led Bashir to make that offer?  He had seemed so casual.  ...A little too casual?  Surely, if it were just a medical matter of no importance, he could have prescribed a standard workout then and there, handed him a PADD full of useful instructions, rather than offering to help him in person.  Was Bashir interested?  There was only one way to find out, and that was to take the doctor up on his offer.

'Lying to everyone else is one thing, but I shouldn't lie to myself...'  Garak grinned teasingly at his reflection.  'I should face it: I'm curious...  And it's not as if I have any more pressing social engagements, is it?'  His grin shifted a little toward a grimace at that, but the pained look faded a moment later.  'Yesss, it's a long chance but isn't life full of the unlikely?  What if he too is - curious?  Wouldn't that be worth swallowing a little of that pride of mine, just this once?' Garak thought, nodding at his image, and smiling crookedly at the thought of what else he might be swallowing, if his luck should finally change.

***

At their next luncheon, during one of the rare lulls in the conversation, Garak leaned toward the doctor, masking his diffidence with a smile.  "I believe you said something about setting up an exercise program for me in one of the holosuites?  Is the offer still open, Doctor?"  He was careful to keep any hint of double-entendre from his tone.  Now was most definitely not the time.

Bashir smiled, "Well of course I'd be happy to help out."  He paused for a moment, "In fact I think I'll supervise in person, at least for the first few
times while you get used to things."

Garak needed all his wiles to keep his offhand manner.  "Why thank you Doctor, that's kind of you..."

The human smiled and shrugged.  "Oh no, it's no bother.  It'll make a nice change from racquetball in my own exercise regime."  He tilted his head, considering.  "I have a rostered day off in two days' time.  Shall we say, 1400 hours in Holosuite Three?"

"That would be splendid," Garak said, and of course there was far more truth in his words than he dared let on.

Their conversation turned naturally to other matters, and Bashir spent much of the remaining lunch hour talking about a new treatment he was pioneering for a
minor Bajoran-specific virus.  The first trials had been promising and the medical community planetside had shown a great deal of interest in his ideas.
At length, Bashir put down his dessertspoon, as Garak disposed of the last bite of his frugal main course.

"Well I have to go now, Garak, time and Bajoran redrash waits for no man!"

"Just a moment, Doctor," Garak interjected, "About our exercise appointment: just what did you have planned?"  He kept the casual tone in his voice and the
look of polite inquiry on his face, but inwardly he winced at the uncharacteristic bluntness of the remark.  But Bashir's open expression remained unaltered.  Luckily for Garak, the human had remained oblivious to his momentary lapse.

"Well I haven't quite decided on the details of the exercise program yet, I'll need a little time between here and then to design a program that's best suited to your physical needs.  But don't worry about bringing any gear, we'll start simple.  Just bring yourself and some unrestrictive clothing.  ...I'll leave the choice of style up to you."  Bashir concluded with a sudden, teasing grin, before turning and leaving for the Infirmary with his usual breathless haste. Garak was left sitting alone, staring vacantly across the table toward the archway where Bashir had left, wondering to himself whether the human was really so oblivious after all.  There had been such an impish glint in his eyes.  Garak rose from the table, enjoying the faint frisson of uncertainty that had arisen in the wake of the doctor's parting words, and now added so much to his anticipation.

***

At 1400 hours exactly, Garak entered the small private anteroom leading to the holosuite.  Mercifully, he didn't have time for more than a few glances at his chrono before the outer door opened and Bashir rushed in.  "Ah Garak, good to see you..."  Garak gave a small bow as the doctor unsealed the front seam of his jumpsuit and shrugged out of it and the lavender turtleneck with a businesslike briskness which Garak regretted even as he forced himself to turn deliberately away, ostensibly busying himself with the fastenings of his own coat.  When Garak glanced up again, he saw that underneath the jumpsuit Bashir was wearing a pair of shorts he'd ordered from Garak a while ago, out of the same advanced fabric as his racquetball suit.  The material had been tricky to work with, and the commission a difficult one to put his full attention to, but privately Garak had to admit that the results were - most gratifying.  Bashir tucked a miniature medical scanner into a loop at his waist and looked up to meet Garak's eyes.  He smiled,  "You see, Garak, I do get use out of these shorts after all.  I told you that my athletic interests aren't limited to  racquet sports and darts."

"Which reminds me, Doctor, what are we going to do today?"  Garak asked as he removed his shirt and trousers, turning away to arrange the garments neatly on
a hanger, and also to draw a steadying breath and get a tighter grip on his self-control.  The last thing he could afford to do right now was to let the sight of Bashir's long smooth body cause a rush of blood to his head.  Either of them.

"I thought we'd start easy: I want to assess you for speed and stamina, check your heart rate and blood pressure under stress, and so on..."  When Garak turned back from the hanger he noticed Bashir's eyes on him in a frankly assessing look.  Garak forced himself to stand the scrutiny with no outward sign of his regret.  With no more than a very basic pair of black shorts, simple and square-cut unlike Bashir's carefully moulded racing clothes, Garak was left vulnerable: there was nothing of his tailor's art that could hide his coarse lump of a body from that clinical gaze.  Inwardly, he sighed as Bashir's look of assessment lasted a moment too long, shaded into an expression of shock.  Garak's heart constricted as if a fist had closed over it: he ached inside, knowing that there was no way now that this elegant wraith would ever feel any interest in his true, broad, ugly self.

Bashir, meanwhile, couldn't stop staring.  In this age where medical examinations were done by tricorder, and even surgery was performed on fully clad patients, he had never seen Garak wearing so little.  And he was astonished by what he saw.  Garak had seemed sincerely ashamed of his physical condition: and indeed his layered and concealing style of clothing had seemed to hide a thickset body starting to run to fat, as was often the case in middle-aged humans.  But he could now see that the Cardassian's arms and legs were solid with the solidity of thick swells of muscle rather than fat.  The shoulders and chest were massive, highlighted by the flaring sinew of his neckridges.  Even the belly was knotted with gnarled, heavy abdominal muscles rather than the incipient spare tire he had expected.

Bashir's mouth went dry and his heart beat faster.  For one endless moment his mind whirled in turmoil, suspended between reactions: surprise, disbelief, ...and on the heels of these, desire: sudden and shockingly intense.  With an inner effort he returned to himself, finished what he'd been going to say. "...I ah, thought we'd start off with a little running."  He turned away to the holosuite door, outwardly to key in his passcode, in reality needing something to take his eyes away before he could give in to the urge to stare at the shapes beneath the folds of black cloth at Garak's groin.

"Running?"  Garak found himself echoing distractedly, even as he followed the human through the holosuite arch and into an unfamiliar landscape.

Bashir paused as the holosuite doorway disappeared and the illusion sealed itself around them.  He eyed Garak in growing puzzlement, "Yes, haven't you ever just run; you know, as a workout?"

"Not as a usual thing, no."  Garak arched an eyeridge in his own look of faint surprise, and the heavy scaled shoulders lifted in a shrug.  "But I'm willing to give it a try."  His sharp eyes flicked away, scanning the surroundings for the first time.  ...Narrow streets, quiet with the soothing hush of early morning; what looked like private houses surrounded by individual lawns and vegetation, most of it oddly brilliant shades of green; and a sun already glaring too-brightly amid a sky of the most unlikely blue.  "By the way, where are we, Doctor?"

Bashir looked around, a faint smile on his face.  "Oh it's just a quiet little suburb on Earth.  Nothing special, just one of my standard running settings: it was one of a series of programs I had written just before I left Earth for my assignment here.  I thought I might like a touch of home, but nothing personal enough to make me homesick."  He shrugged and grinned slightly.

Garak nodded.  "Well can we get started?  I'm really not dressed for the cold here."  Bashir saw a faint tremor pass across the broad shoulders, and was fascinated to see that the more clearly-marked scales along his chest and upper arms seemed to move in a subtle shiver, bristling for a moment like gooseflesh.

Bashir's eyebrows rose. "Yes, it would be cool for you, wouldn't it?"  Garak nodded, noting that the human didn't appear at all uncomfortable.  "I could alter the program's temperature of course," Bashir added, "but I think you might welcome the cool in a little while, particularly if you're not used to running.  We'll get started in a minute, but you'll need to stretch yourself first, to warm and loosen your muscles.  You don't want to develop a strain."

Garak nodded, and watched with exemplary care as Bashir demonstrated a set of stretches, though truth to tell he was far more absorbed in the play of light
and shade on the lean sinews of Bashir's body.  Garak copied the stretches as best he could, but it was very clear that he simply did not possess either the
flexible muscles or the supple joints of the human.  When Garak arranged himself into a yoga twist it was with a grunt of suppressed effort.  He barely avoided startling (and no doubt doing his poor spine a grave disservice) when he felt a warm narrow hand descend on his shoulder, turning his upper body slightly.  "Breathe out.  Relax..."

Garak, his head bent away from the human, indulged himself in a momentary grin of wild hilarity.  'Relax?' Garak thought,  'What does he think I've been telling myself to do ever since he took off that damnable uniform?  If I hadn't succeeded, he would've already charged me with lewd conduct by now!'  With a gusty sigh, he forced the hard muscle in his back to relax, and eased himself into the rest of the stretch.  After more stretches, Bashir eyed him with that same intent yet detached look, nodded and smiled.  "Let's go then, shall we?" And without another word he swung away, moving off down the thickly grassed footpath with an easy gait.

Garak jogged after him, already feeling more than a little ridiculous, though the sense of humiliation was lessened by the fact that there were, after all, no witnesses to his embarrassingly poor state of fitness apart from the doctor himself.  And he wouldn't see anything at the moment, not unless he had eyes in the back of his head.  Meanwhile, Garak was content to feast his eyes on the delectable sight before him: the reality which outstripped all the fevered imaginings of his lonely nights.  Julian Bashir, his glorious body almost completely exposed to Garak's hungry gaze.  The slender sinewy triangle of his shoulders and back, the impossibly long lean legs, all shining like the darkest of gold under this bright alien sun.  The effortless grace that sang in every deceptively lazy swing of his stride.  The sureness and silence with which he moved: the slow rise of his chest was accomplished without gasping, and even his footfalls made no sound to Garak's ears.  ...But he found his eyes straying most often to that incredibly taut ass, every line and curve accentuated by the shining silver material that clung to him like a coat of paint.  The hard pads
of muscle moved with his buoyant stride, powering it with an easy clench and relax, forming a rhythm that made Garak's own heart race.

...Or perhaps, after all, it was just the exertion.  Because try as he might, Garak could not keep pace, and this burning vision was steadily drawing away, even though unlike Garak he was clearly not exerting himself at all.  For the first time, Garak's pride really stung him at this, and the human's elegance suddenly soured in his eyes, became arrogance instead.  The Cardassian lowered his head, and dredged up a burst of speed, paying for it with loud, panting breaths.  And still it was not enough.  But Bashir turned his head, perhaps alerted by the sound of Garak's breathing, and he added insult to insult.  He stopped, and waited for Garak to catch up, pulling out the small medscanner and training it on Garak as he came lumbering and panting up to his side.

"You're doing fine, Garak, keep going!"  Julian gave the Cardassian a wide, happy smile he would have loved to see just half an hour ago, under more civilised circumstances: a smile he would have courted with one-liners and elegant witticisms.  Now he just grunted harshly and powered past that annoying human with all the considerable strength he possessed.  His panting breaths roughened into a quiet snarl when moments later Bashir streaked past him with absolute ease, the long slim body moving as though every slight sinew greeted the unfolding road with joy, instead of struggling with it like a deadly foe, as Garak himself was doing.

Again, Bashir drew steadily away, with an effortlessness that now seemed to Garak like the most spiteful of taunts.  Fiendish in its subtlety: for there was not even any spoken insult at which he could take offence.  It was merely the visible, undeniable proof of the fact that he could not match a mere human's capabilities.  And so Garak thudded grimly on in Bashir's lengthening wake, and all his normally-lively appreciation of beauty was poisoned by resentment and growing anger.  The svelte grace of the body before him had ceased to entice him, had become a cruelty, a tantalising torture, withdrawing further each moment from his reach.  And he had no eyes at all for the odd, alien loveliness of his surroundings, the quiet domestic peace of the houses and their gardens full of strange plants which shed drifts of coloured petals on the grassy footpath or waves of sweet perfumes into the air.  As he passed, too slowly, gate after gate, garden after garden, as time wore away and Bashir dwindled further into the distance, up ahead he saw an old man emerge from his front door, wander outside to pick some of the strange flowers.  As Garak drew near the human smiled at him, untroubled by the outlandish sight of a Cardassian clad only in shorts and a layer of sweat despite the chill.  The man
tilted his head up the street, nodding toward Bashir.

"Is that your young man?"

The question jolted Garak for a moment out of his bitter preoccupations.  'My young man...'  Garak gave his current best approximation of a smile at the thought, though he guessed it would look more like a grimace of pain.  He nodded, for once lacking the breath for even a word of speech.

The human chuckled.  "Well if you want to catch him you'd better hurry up, or he'll get away!" he called, his tones full of cheerfulness as Garak puffed past.

A soundless snarl of irritation twisted Garak's mouth as his own embarrassment filled every nuance of those cheery singsong tones with open mockery.  Insufferable, that his own silent fears should be so perfectly parodied aloud! His mood was not improved as, up ahead, he saw Bashir stop and pause again, standing tall and perfectly at ease as he waited for Garak to catch up a little of the gap between them.

And then as he finally drew nearer, not only did Bashir again not permit him to actually draw level, he added another weal to Garak's lacerated ego: he actually turned around and started to jog along facing Garak!  And even backwards he was able to keep pace, though for the first time there were traces of effort in his breathing and a faint frown of concentration creased his smooth forehead.  Under the human's watchful eyes Garak pulled up his head, partly in stubborn pride, partly so he could haul gulps of air into his heaving lungs.  Shame and anger at this mortifying scrutiny would have brought the blood to his face, if his whole body hadn't already been darkly flushed with exertion.

After a tiny stumble over a slight unevenness in the path, Bashir turned his back in midstep and returned to his former light, springy strides.  Now unseen, Garak bared his teeth and hacked at the air in a series of gasps and panting hisses, tearing off great openmouthed draughts of the impalpable stuff and dragging it down into a chest which was becoming a single burning mass of pain.  He could feel every cable in his legs and back start to scream at him silently.  He could feel the dull, sullen throb of his feet, and even his arms hurt from the constant clenching of his hands into rocklike fists.  But all of this paled beside the growing blaze of his fury.  He found his stare riveted on the slender body before him in a very different way from just a short while before.  Again and again he rallied, pouring his rage and pride into bursts of pounding speed; and again and again, all his pride and all his strength and all his rage were not enough: could not bring him one step closer to... it.  No longer just a person but the distillation of all his desires.  The sheer physical stress, the pain and frustrated lust had slowly stripped away the urbanities, the polite facade that Garak presented to the world.  Now, his entire body and being was focused on one goal, on one primal, predatory need: to catch his chosen prey.  All else that was Elim Garak floated in a blood-dark mist.

It was pure fate that made Bashir pause at a quiet intersection, glance back at Garak.  Something in those fixed, intense eyes, black from this distance; something about the starkly bared teeth and the hard hiss of his breathing; something about the grimly determined flexing of his thickly corded muscles; something touched Bashir with a moment of real fear.  He had intended to take the scanner out and get another reading from Garak as he went past.  But some nameless instinct whispered to Bashir that this was not a good idea; and he let this instinct turn his body, ease him into the light, loping stride that poured the road away beneath his feet.

And still, through an ever-rising haze of pain and exhaustion, Garak followed. Until the loose gravel of a roadway turned beneath his feet and he skidded, crashing to his hands and knees.  For a long moment he crouched there, his head hanging, his whole body heaving with the effort to haul more air into his aching lungs.  Then, with the slow subsidence of a collapsing building, he thudded onto his side and from there rolled to lie on his back, his chest still spasming harshly.

Bashir approached him slowly, the medical scanner held out at arms length.  Its readouts flickered with eyecatching lights, but his attention was on the man sprawled on the ground.  Garak lay, his skin flushed almost as dark as the bitumen of the road, the lines between his scales nearly black with the flow of blood just beneath the surface.  He seemed beyond making any attempt to hide his exhaustion: his gaping mouth gave him a helpless, yearning look.  There was a rasp underlying his desperate breathing that the doctor did not like at all. He glanced at the scanner but it reassured him: while Garak had torn some alveoli in his lungs, the damage was minimal.  Garak's eyes were mere slits, all but invisible beneath lowered lids: he didn't react at all to Bashir's approach.

"Garak...  Garak, are you all right?"  Bashir murmured softly, taking the last few steps to stand beside the supine form.  And the next instant one square hand lashed out with sudden blinding speed, batting at his ankles in an openhanded swipe that nevertheless had more than enough power behind it to knock his feet clean out from under him.  As he fell, the other hand swung up to meet him, closing around both his wrists with a hard slap of skin on skin. The scanner went spinning out of Bashir's grasp as he thrashed, struggling with all the strength of both his arms, his whole body, trying to prise open the single fist that had locked like a vise around his wrists.  And all Bashir's desperate struggles were nowhere near enough: they could not loosen that iron grip by so much as a hair.  In a single swing of his arm Garak had Bashir's arms pinned to the ground, as he rose to kneel on the human's lean thighs.  He clamped his free hand to Bashir's jaw, held his head as still as if it were set in concrete as he lowered his own head until their faces were almost nose to nose.  Blue eyes bored into hazel with a stare like a laser.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?  Let me go!" Bashir gasped, as breathless and furious as Garak himself in that moment.

Garak bared his teeth in a savage smile.  "Don't... ever... insult me again..." he hissed.

They paused, panting, staring into each other's eyes, as hot sweat rich with the Cardassian's spicy scent trickled down onto suddenly hypersensitive human skin.  The moment stretched and Bashir could feel his heart thudding in his chest, could feel the hard wet heat of the alien body pressed over him.  For the second time today he felt the sudden turmoil of conflicting reactions within him.  He didn't know now whether he wanted his hands free so he could hit Garak, shove him away; or so he could stroke that strange, scale-tiled skin, knead it, know it.  He hated this; he wanted it.  Garak scared him; Garak ...excited him.  A shiver rippled down his body, and he averted his gaze, veiling his eyes beneath long dark lashes.  Breaking the stare seemed to snap the invisible wire that held them together in suspense, and Garak released his grip, rolling away to climb a little unsteadily to his feet.  Bashir stood in one smooth movement, though his hands rubbed at each wrist in turn, trying to restore the circulation and judge the amount of bruising there.  He looked up to see Garak standing a careful distance away.  The Cardassian's pale eyes were fixed on the grass in front of him.

"I... acted rashly, Doctor.  I apologise." he muttered, his face and voice a study in neutrality.  "...I realise now that you did not intend any insult. But," and here he looked up into the human's eyes for the first time, "I believe there is much you have yet to learn about my species.  Permit me to suggest a reading list of a few non-fiction works which I think will help clarify matters a little."  He took one step closer, but was jolted to a halt by the human's tiny instinctive lean away from him.  A wild glitter of regret flared in Garak's eyes, just for a moment, and was ruthlessly suppressed.  "I will send the list to your office, Doctor, you need not trouble yourself." he said in a too-formal voice. "...All I ask you," he added, his voice lowering and the stung tones softening into a quiet, pleading timbre, "...is that you
reserve your final judgement on me until after you have read the material."

Bashir looked down at his hands and murmured "...I'll do that, Garak."  The Cardassian inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned and called for the holosuite arch, stepping through it and disappearing without another word.  For a long time, Bashir stared after him, rubbing absently at his wrists, his expression distant and absorbed.

***

When Bashir returned to work the following morning he found a brief text-only message on his terminal from Garak.
 

Dear Doctor Bashir,

I do hope the morning finds you recovered.  Here is the list of reading material I promised you.  I trust it will prove a rewarding (though perhaps less culturally uplifting) alternative to my usual modest offerings of Repetitive Epics and Enigma Tales.

Yours,

Garak.
 

The reading list that followed was indeed outside the usual scope of their literary lunches, and consisted of chapters from texts on a wide variety of fields of Cardassian study, including culture, archaeology, and physiology. Several references were annotated with codes which would facilitate their transfer out of Cardassian databases.  These particular databases were declassified but (as Bashir knew already from that hellish time with the wire, among other occasions) the Cardassians were often remarkably reluctant to release even information officially designated for public access.

Bashir spent the hour before the start of his shift in tracking down and saving the articles into a PADD.

***

That evening, he curled up in the most comfortable armchair in his quarters, with the PADD in hand and a mug of Tarkalean tea at his elbow, and began to read.  Slowly, unnoticed, the tea grew cold as he continued to read the eclectic collection of material well into the night.

The first text was a study of comparative evolution of Homo sapiens and Cardassiensis sapiens.  At a time when his own ancestors were tiny, timid lemur-like creatures eating fruit and the occasional insect, Garak's ancestors were carnivores: lynx-sized creatures with mammalian physiology but reptilian appearance.  By the time Julian's forebears had graduated to apedom, Garak's progenitors had taken over the top of the food chain in the thick rainforest of the species' original home.  The article included holovid reconstructions of this creature: Cardassiensis carneraptis, or 'meat-seizing'.  It hunted like the jaguars and extinct sabretoothed cats of Julian's own world: not by running down prey (unlike later pre-humans who would wear down herbivores by long pursuit), but by lying in wait and pouncing on large prey from cover, preferably from the higher branches of a tree.  This arboreal habit which it had in common with early pre-humans led to the development of similarly structured hands (perhaps helped along by the dormant genetic code from the Preservers).

Bashir spent a long time staring at holovids of the creature: in size and overall shape it reminded him vaguely of a lion, but it was covered in hard armoured scales dappled and streaked in different shades of grey: camouflage perfectly suited to the dark forest canopy.  Most of the features he found so striking in modern Cardassians could be seen in exaggerated form in this hulking creature: the powerfully muscled neck; the jawline, heavily ridged with bone to anchor massive jaw muscles; even the eyeridges, whose limiting effects on peripheral vision mattered not at all to a creature which had no predators itself.  The thick torso gave an overwhelming impression of solid, brute strength; and behind the leaf-shaped 'third eye' or infra-red sensor, was a high forehead which indicated an intelligence that had already progressed beyond the mere animal.  At one point in the short recording, the creature looked up from its hunting vigil and stared assessingly at the viewer, and even in that primitive face there was a glint of rapacious cunning that made Bashir's blood run cold: instinctively he realised that to this creature, he
would be no more than a very easy meal.

...Much like modern Cardassians?  Perhaps, Bashir mused, this explained a great deal about them.  They had never gone in fear.  Every other species they met
were prey, to be outwitted, outfought, and devoured.  This had been true of them for so long that it had been that way even before the first tiny glimmerings of intellect in their forebears.  It was fascinating how much this patient, calculating killer resembled, in a primal and quintessential form, its more civilised children.  The only things which struck him as being strongly different in general shape from its descendants, were the limbs: they were short and thickly muscled, clearly not adapted to bipedal life.

Julian looked at images of later descendants: and here the difference was striking.  Instead of having gone through a relatively gradual adaptation to bipedalism as pre-humans did, the line of descendants from carneraptis seemed to retain the thick, solid body and short, heavily muscled arms and legs, until quite late: not until a time equivalent with Neanderthal Man did the overall proportion of the limbs begin to change, but after that the change was rapid: the stocky, solid muscle was replaced with long, thin, bony arms and legs better suited to the creature's new, drier grassland home and new mode of hunting in packs.

The text then moved from physiology to more detailed hypotheses on the first societal structures to emerge in either species.  Even very early pre-humans had shared the general apelike habit of congregating in large groups for safety's sake; but the earliest pre-Cardassians had been solitary, strongly territorial creatures, showing no sign of joint raising of offspring.  It wasn't until the larger species such as carneraptis that lifetime bonding developed, with pairs hunting cooperatively and reinforcing their pair bond not only by eating together, but by mating over the kill.  The text digressed into a note that perhaps vague remnants of this instinct had persisted even into primitive societies in the modern species: celebrations after victory in battle were usually very carnal and uninhibited.

At this, Bashir thumbed off the PADD and stared into the darkness of his room, feeling his heart start to race, remembering again that endless moment: Garak
crouched over him, his eyes wild, his body trembling in the grip of savage fury.  ...Or so Bashir had thought, at the time.  Now...  Now, he simply didn't know.  He felt suddenly cast adrift into a sea of dark speculations, and his future was clouded and uncertain.  He reactivated the PADD and stared into the lighted screen, desperate for more than mere physical illumination.

Another text: a study of depictions of the Cardassian body, in art throughout history.  To Bashir's eyes, accustomed on an instinctive level to the human form, one theme seemed constant across the periods, the schools, the differences in material and method.  All of the depictions of the males in particular seemed to emphasise the unique proportions of the Cardassian body: the flared muscle of the neck, the breadth of bone across the shoulders and chest; all the thicker by comparison to the slender waist, narrow hips and the long, thin, spidery limbs.  This startling contrast in proportions, so odd to human eyes, was exaggerated still further, glorified: clearly to Cardassian artists down the ages it was an enduring ideal of male beauty.

Bashir frowned.  He had thought, when he first saw Garak earlier, that the other had been deceiving him, playing one of his unfathomable little mindgames by pretending to be dissatisfied with his fitness.  Bashir had been annoyed when he walked out of the holosuite, thinking that Garak had strung him along, was laughing inwardly at the surprise the human had no doubt been unable to hide from that shrewd gaze.  But now, Bashir sighed in concern.  It seemed that for once Garak actually hadn't been lying.  The society that had exiled Garak had also taught him to despise himself, to see his powerful body as ugly, as some sort of clumsy throwback to a primitive age.  The meaningless injustice of it ached in Bashir's sympathetic spirit.

At long last, he put down the PADD and prepared to turn in.  Usually, he slept covered with childlike modesty from neck to ankle, in pyjama suits.  But as he set aside his uniform, he happened to glance up at the floor length mirror in his bedroom.  For a long, silent moment he stood there, studying the image of his naked body with the same dispassionate spectator's eye with which he had just been studying Cardassian artwork.  He saw the same long, slender arms and legs, sinewy waist and angular hips as he had seen immortalised across ages of artistic works.  For just a moment, a merest flash, he saw the curve of his neck, not as 'normal', but as something exotic, unusually slim and graceful. He met his own eyes in the glass.  They were darker than the shadows of the room, and held an indefinable glitter in their depths.  Silently, he turned away from the mirror, and slid his body, naked, between the sheets.  He stretched with sensual grace, the slither of the cool fabric unfamiliar on his skin, before calling the room into darkness and giving himself up to sleep, and to heated dreams.

***

The following morning, Garak found a message waiting on his terminal when he arrived at the shop.  It was from him.  Doctor Bashir.  ...Never Julian, oh no, not now.  Like Garak's own brief note of the day before, this message was text only.  The Cardassian sighed, stubbornly refusing to draw any conclusions from this small aloofness.  He stared blankly at the empty screen, bracing himself against despair and hope alike, before calling up the message.  Best to get it over with.
 

Dear Garak,

I've read the papers you suggested, and on the basis of that information and my observations of your reactions yesterday, I've substantially revised your fitness program.  I've made an appointment for a further exercise session today in the same venue, at the same time, 1400 hours.  Please don't have lunch beforehand: I don't recommend exertion on a full stomach.

Yours,

Julian Bashir.
 

Garak's eyeridges lowered in a pensive look.  There were so many conflicting messages in those few lines.  It was encouraging that the doctor had replied at all, and the fact that he was willing to continue supervising Garak's workouts was positively intriguing...  But perhaps that was it, Garak sighed inwardly, perhaps Bashir was just being the Doctor, merely seeing after a patient's health, with no deeper meaning behind it at all.  The cool formality of the first sentence, and that blunt warning against overeating at the end: those were hardly good signs.  And yet...  And yet, he had signed himself Julian Bashir.  The 'Dr.' title was almost glaringly absent.  What to make of that? And what to make of the fact that he had used Garak's own salutation at the end of the note?  Ironic mockery, or a return of his own, carefully unspoken feelings?  Garak snorted, annoyed with his futile speculation.  'Well, I'll find out soon enough, won't I?' he snapped inwardly, feeling a flash of the
irritability that often signalled sexual preoccupation in his kind.  He had to take a deep breath to compose himself, before sending a few brief words of acceptance to the doctor's terminal.

***

True to form, Garak was as punctual as always, but when he entered the anteroom he found the holosuite arch already lit, telling him that a program was already running.  He tapped into the door controls, found the suite had been activated by Dr. Bashir's code.  He shrugged inwardly and stripped with silent speed, relieved not to have to endure again Bashir's faintly shocked scrutiny as he disrobed.  When he was down to the plain black shorts he paused for a moment in front of the door.  Soon, soon he would know.  One way or the other.  The same proud will that had already kept him alive through so much, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as he keyed the arch open and stepped through.

The arch disappeared, stranding him in a landscape as familiar and surprising as his dreams.  Heat folded itself round his body, stroking his skin like the breath from a great fire, and wisps of silvery grass brushed his bare calves. All around him the straight blue-grey trunks of *kohar* trees towered like columns in a cathedral, upholding thick canopies of dark furry leaves, and faintly he could catch the scent of *hika* blossom on the breeze, light and sweet.  Overhead the sky glimmered subtly: a coppery expanse of cloud, burnished by the dark gold glow of *Raii*, the sun beneath which he had been born.

Cardassia.

He simply stood for a while, poised painfully between reactions.  The beauty of this place tightened his throat, made his heart beat faster; but even as he turned slowly, drinking in every tiny detail of the vista, he could not forget.  For all his skill at lying, to others and to himself, he still could not completely surrender to it, could not quite accept this gift - if indeed it was a gift and not a subtle mockery.  Exile that he was, Garak could never forget that all this delight was as much an illusion as his nightly dreams: of home ...and of love.

A tiny part of him was not surprised to see the slender bronze form that haunted his thoughts appear just at that moment as if called: framed amid the trees like the wild spirit of this place made flesh.  When Bashir moved close enough to see Garak's mutely raised eyeridge, he gave a small shrug.  After the spectral moment just before, the human's voice was startlingly ordinary and non-committal as he said "It seemed clear to me that yesterday's suggestion wasn't suitable, either in surroundings or in the type of workout.  It's obvious you don't have a body that's suited to running."

The muscles along Garak's ridged jaw clenched just for a moment as he fought it all down, the despair at Bashir's manner and the quick sting of anger at the insult, but his tones when he spoke were controlled and polite.  "...I see. Then why are we here, if I am beyond help?"

What a smile the younger man turned on him then!  As quick and bright as ever, but ah, the spark of impishness glinting in his eyes.  "Ohh, I don't think you're beyond help, Garak, far from it."  Then the subtle hint of teasing was gone as he rushed to reassure the Cardassian with his usual open, disarming manner.  "You see, it's just that, in my professional opinion, you have a physique far more suited for another type of exercise."

Garak studied the human's manner as intently as he'd ever studied anyone or anything in his life.  Just what in all the Hells did he mean by that?  Was he teasing?  Or did he...

Garak concluded that this human had suddenly become entirely too adept a student of his own mental machinations.  It was most disconcerting to have the tables turned.  In a fever of suspense that it cost him a great deal to hide, he asked "And what form of exercise am I suited for?"

"Wrestling!"

Bashir shoved at him utterly without warning, with such speed that he was taken completely by surprise.  He rocked back, and one foot skidded in the loose leaves of the forest floor.  Grinning, eager as a boy at play, the human leapt at him, hands on his chest pushing hard enough to overbalance him completely. As he fell, Bashir followed him down, reaching to pin his shoulders in the old gesture of triumph.  But Garak was no longer there.  He had twisted his torso aside and swept out with his legs in one whipping movement of his whole body, hooking Bashir's ankles with his feet and dumping the human unceremoniously on the ground in turn.  But even as he landed, Bashir was still chuckling breathlessly, his whole face vividly alive with the sheer fun of it, with the victory of having actually surprised the hell out of the inscrutable Cardassian for once.

Garak snorted his own amusement at the laughter in Bashir's face and lunged after him even as the slighter man skittered backward in a shower of dead leaves, feet slipping out from under him as he tried to stand.  Bashir's greater speed and agility kept him only barely wriggling out of Garak's grasp; but none of it was quite enough: not the slipperiness of his moves and not even his sweat-slicked, smooth human skin.  All at once the blur of flailing limbs and the gasps of hilarity and exertion froze into a tableau.  Both of the human's slender wrists were held in one of Garak's knotted fists: immobilised in a grip as solid as a boulder.  Garak crouched over him, pinning him, staring down into his face from a distance of inches.  Their panting breaths fanned each other's faces, and each of them could smell the mingled scent of their bodies, warm and suddenly intense.

The moment was so much like the disastrous end to their last meeting that it held both of them in timeless suspense.  Silently, endlessly, they stared into each other's eyes.

And then, a tender smile spread, so slowly, over Garak's face; and he lowered his head and kissed Julian full on those parted lips.

He could feel Julian's whole body go still, hear the ragged gasp he gave: was it pleasure or shock?  But the next instant all the hideous suspense was washed away as that sweet mouth opened naturally to him, and a soft tongue tentatively traced the contour of his lips.  He released his grip on Julian's wrists, lowered himself to lie with his whole body pressed to the sinewy length of him.  He plundered Julian's mouth, delving deeper, lost in exploring this enticing new sensation.  His heart thudded as Julian's tongue stabbed suddenly deep into his own mouth, sliding forcefully in and out, mirroring his own unspoken desires.

Garak reared back from the kiss at last, panting, his pale eyes glittering with fierce delight.  Julian's sensual lips, slightly swollen and reddened from the intensity of the kiss, curved into a smile of breathtaking promise.  All of Garak's jaded, cynical poise deserted him at the sight, the touch of his deepest dreams, solid and warm and alive beneath him.

"I...  I thought you would turn away from me...  After yesterday..."  Garak husked, the very intensity of his desires raising the ghost of the despair that had racked him ever since: the old and oft-confirmed fear that all his joy would be snatched away, just when he finally dared to reach out his hand to touch it.

Bashir's smile widened a little and he lifted a hand, laid his fingertips lightly against Garak's lips to silence him.  Garak's eyelids lowered in a look of sensual absorption and he pressed a light kiss to each fingertip in turn.

"I couldn't do that..." Bashir whispered intensely, his very tones an intimate caress.  A smile broke over Garak's face, shone from his eyes like the dawn, at the growing realisation that, yes, this was no dream born of the fevers of his body or his brain.  "I did a lot of thinking last night ...Elim."  The soft, delightfully-accented
voice rose again into the stillness, pausing with a charming shyness over his intimate-name.  "I think I know what you were trying to tell me, with those texts."  Bashir's other hand came up, and his long fingers slipped into the Cardassian's mane of thick black hair, caressing its sleekness.  When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and sad.  "Do you really see yourself as ugly?" he whispered.  The long fingers moved over Garak's face, their tips tracing his eyeridges with an exquisitely delicate touch.  Garak's gaze slid away from him, in a moment of silent shame.

Slim brown hands cupped Garak's jaw, turned his head a little, silently asking him not to look away.  When he met Julian's gaze again, the tenderness shining in those dark eyes froze him into stillness.  "But Elim, you're magnificent!" Julian breathed, beaming up at him, sliding his hands down the hard cords of sinew at Garak's neck, to stroke the taut swell of the muscled upper arms. "Powerful... you're so strong..."  The husky, very male tone of admiration underlying the words sent a pulse of pleasure straight into the animal depths of his brain, with an immediacy that not even the wire had ever done.  Erectile tissue in his neckridges - and elsewhere all over his body - hardened further in an instinctive response.

Julian looked up at him, his head tilted on one side, and chuckled softly.  "Do you know, if I was annoyed with you yesterday, it was only because I felt that you didn't need my help!  You've obviously been exercising very ...hard to have kept this body..."  The caressing hands slid up his arms to knead at his broad shoulders, follow the trails of ridges down his spine, "...all this time, working yourself into a sweat... always alone..."  The soft, intimate tones loaded the words with double-entendres in a manner Garak himself had often used.  Then, Julian sighed at the bleak image his last words had conjured, and he leaned up to claim Garak's mouth in a melting kiss, a silent promise that all those lonely years were over at last.

Heat flowed through Garak's body, rich and heavy, pooling deliciously in his groin, where his hardening shaft pressed into Julian's crotch, nudging against the intriguing curves of warm human flesh.  He leaned back, Bashir following him up until he was sitting with Garak crouched over him, their mouths still locked in a hungry, probing kiss.  Garak's deft hands were at the seam of Bashir's shorts as their kiss broke at last.  He sank to his knees before Bashir, gazing raptly as he slowly, slowly opened the seam and peeled the skintight fabric down and away.  Garak smiled vividly as Julian's released erection bobbed out, leaning toward him as if it had a will of its own.  Julian mmmed in relief as the pressure on his groin was eased.  Garak leaned lower, but was stopped by one smooth palm placed flat in the middle of his chest. Bashir leaned forward in turn, one hand reaching out to fondle Garak's aching member through the (now quite damp) fabric of his own shorts.  Garak's breath shuddered in his chest and he wriggled out of his shorts in a burst of frantic impatience.

"Let me look at you..."  Julian breathed, in a low sexy voice that sent a shiver rippling down Garak's body.  Those hazel eyes seemed impossibly huge as he stared at Garak's glistening wet erection, its length lined with three thick ridges and adorned with subtle swirls of scale patterns.  Tentatively, he reached out a hand and closed it, warm and tight, on Garak's shaft, his grip sliding easily in the clear slick fluid that sweated from between each scale. The scales had looked hard, but they were velvet soft, their edges almost feathery, for all the heat and hardness of the flesh beneath.  Bashir leaned forward and drew the fingertips of his other hand up Garak's scaled thigh, stroking the three hard bulges of armoured skin that housed his testicles, one at the base of each ridge.  Garak gasped at the too-light touches, and he
reached for Julian with hands that trembled, but the human looked at him imploringly.

"Please, Elim.  I want to do this.  I want to know you."  Intense dark eyes met Garak's gaze with utter openness.  "And I want you to know, how very desirable you are."  For all his self-control, Garak could not call back the tiny sound of need that rose from his tight throat.  Julian smiled and brushed his lips  across Garak's mouth, but lifted away before it could deepen into another kiss.  Instead, he rained delicate kisses over the sensitive eyeridges, as he leaned in and cupped his hands round Garak's shoulders, slowly pushing him down onto his back.  He eased himself down with Garak in the same movement, stretching out at full length on top of him.  He wriggled sensually, smiling at the feel of the warm, patterned skin beneath him, the ornate lines of ridges swollen into high relief, and above all, the burning column of Garak's erection pressing insistently against his body.

Julian met Garak's heavylidded eyes, and gave him a secret, knowing smile, before bending his head and trailing his tongue down the taut cord that lined the side of Garak's neck.  Garak bared his teeth and hissed his pleasure aloud, and under his lips Julian could feel the massive tendon tighten further. Julian's smile widened at the sound, Garak knew it from the tiny movement of the mouth still pressed to his sensitive throat.  Julian breathed softly into Garak's ear before deliberately fitting his teeth over the arcs of scales adorning his neckridge, and softly biting each one, working his leisurely way down the flaring line of sinew.  Julian could feel a subtle ripple pass through the scales all over the body beneath him, as the edges lifted away from the surface of the skin, bristling in a brief shiver of passion.

Julian shifted, sliding down Garak's body, leaning back a little so he could devour Garak with his dark gaze.  Slender brown hands glided over the Cardassian's panting torso, searching out the sensitive spots with the skill of a surgeon and the care of a lover.  Julian stroked the intricate mosaic of scales fanning out across the broad, solid pectorals, and watched as tiny waves of movement followed his touch, the shivers trailing his fingertips in riffling wakes of arousal.  He nuzzled, following the pointed fan pattern of scales down Garak's muscled torso, pausing to lap briefly at the hard stomach, before gliding teasingly away to stroke and nibble at the ridge that crowned the crest of one hipbone, before lifting his head away to repeat the caress on the other side, studiously avoiding the needful flesh between.

Garak's panting breath changed, a desperate rasp entering the sound, and hands as strong as stone closed on Julian's shoulders with an impatient slap, bodily lifting him away and pushing him down.  Julian gave a breathless gasp of assent and lowered his head, staring hungrily at the rock hard organ that jutted toward him.  It was no longer than his own, but the textured ridging made it much thicker.  The smooth glans was more pointed than his, and was almost black, flushed with dark Cardassian blood.  As he watched, more of the slick lubricant seeped from between the rows of scales on the shaft, glistening with enticing wetness.  Julian gasped through parted lips, drawing the spicy scent deep into his lungs as he leaned in, pressing his tongue to one of Garak's bulging testicles and licking slowly all the way up the ridge toward the tip. As Garak spread his legs wide, Julian slid both hands around the base of the wet shaft, kneading the Cardassian's balls with a harder pressure than he had ever dared to use on himself.  All the while, his tongue circled the slick head, before he opened his mouth as wide as possible and slid as much of Garak's thick cock into his mouth as he could.

He heard Garak's groan as if from a great distance, but he had closed his eyes, utterly absorbed in the experience.  He fondled the fleshy width of Garak's shaft in his hands, in his mouth; felt the slippery nudge of the tip as it pressed again and again past his lips and against the back of his throat; stroked the swollen ridges with his fingertips and his tongue.  The tip of his tongue flicked down the rows of scales as their edges lifted in Garak's rising ecstasy.  The sharp, exotic scent of Cardassian arousal surrounded him, filled his lungs with heady fragrance.  Fire, spice, heat.  The smoke of burning sandalwood and cinnamon.  With every breath he was becoming more and more addicted.

And then big hands cupped the back of his head, pleading, warning.  In sudden, instinctive impulse Julian tightened his jaws even as Garak's hips lashed up and he thrust with sudden force, plunging powerfully into Julian's mouth. Julian could feel the tension gather and break under his hands as they caressed the hot mounds at the base of Garak's cock; he could feel the pulses pound through the ridges pressed along his tongue and deep into his throat.  As the grip of Garak's hands in his hair trembled and loosened, he drew back his head a little, suckling eagerly as Garak poured out more of himself.  Julian swirled his tongue around the swollen head of Garak's cock as his mouth filled with hot essence; it was a distillation of Garak's scent: smoky, spicy, subtle; and it was surprisingly sweet and luscious.  Julian held it in his mouth with his eyes closed, savouring it, treasuring this moment: this never-to-be-repeated first experience.  At last he swallowed leisurely, and lifted his head slowly away. His hand surrounded Garak's thick shaft, stroked firmly up toward the head, until a last dark bead appeared at the slitted opening.  Julian smiled and
bestowed a final, lingering kiss to the very tip of Garak's cock, licking away the droplet.  He leaned forward, and looked down into Garak's face, as the Cardassian gradually surfaced from his ecstasy and his eyes drifted open.

Julian froze at what he saw.  All of his old friend's teasing masks, all the urbane civilities, the charming, cheating double meanings, all the witty lies were gone; and all of Garak's patient, hidden passion lay bare at last in that blue gaze.  Trembling hands slid up Julian's arms to cradle his face with silent reverence, and Garak leaned up to him, their lips meeting in a kiss of utter tenderness.

Then Garak's mouth opened, and the wet muscle of his tongue slid past Julian's lips with aching slowness, twining with Julian's tongue, tasting his own rich sweetness in the depths of Julian's mouth.  At Julian's muffled whimper, strong Cardassian arms folded around his body, held him close as Garak rolled, laying him down in the rustling carpet of leaves.  Garak braced over him, tilting his head down, deepening the kiss with the power of the massively muscled neck behind the movement.  Grey hands drifted like mist over smooth bronze skin, stroking the long, elegant limbs, the taut, sinewy torso shining with sweat. Garak inhaled the rusty human scent, now mingled with new salt.  He pressed the ridged tip of his nose against the soft curve of Julian's throat, feeling the alien rasp of stubble there, and he snaked his tongue out, ran it slowly down the delicate throat, tasting the warm salt of the sweat, memorising it.  Garak bent his head lower, serenaded by the tiny, longing sounds that Julian murmured, until at last the Cardassian swirled his rough tongue around one of the brown nubs of flesh on the smooth expanse of the human chest.  With diabolical precision, he closed his teeth on the tiny bud and tugged softly at it, his clever fingertips toying with its partner, before lifting his head away and switching his attentions to the other side, sucking and nibbling teasingly until both were swollen into sensitive peaks.

Then the light stroking of Garak's hands became bolder as he pressed the flats of his palms to Julian's smooth sweaty skin.  His hands stroked down the lean ribs and slid under Julian's body to lift his hips a little, fingers spread to hold and massage the taut pads of muscle beneath.  Julian sighed and stretched sensually, and the next moment Garak silently trailed one fingertip down Julian's cleft, just brushing lightly across the puckered skin.  Garak stared intently into Julian's face, the voiceless question clear not only in his expression, but in the poise of his whole body.

Julian's breathing caught, just a little, and his eyes widened.  He vividly remembered the feel of Garak's thick shaft, and from that memory came a moment of doubt: Julian had never given himself in that way to anyone.  What if it hurt him?

But as he looked up at the Cardassian who knelt before him, a warm wave of love and need surged through Julian, and he answered the question in those azure eyes in the only way he could.  Julian spread his long legs without shame and wrapped them around the scale-dappled waist, using the grip to pull Garak down toward him.  A jagged moan broke from Garak's chest as he covered Julian's body with his own, angling his hips to slide his cock slowly down Julian's thigh and into the velvety cleft, pressing the pointed tip to the exquisitely sensitive skin at his opening.  The wet slithering sensation was delicious, and Julian sighed as he felt the eager flow of Garak's lubricant, trickling over his delicate tissue, anointing it.  Their gazes locked as Garak leaned forward, and Julian's eyes flickered as he felt the tip of Garak's cock press into the tight ring of muscle, pushing it slowly apart, wider and wider, until suddenly the swollen head slid inside his body.  Fighting against the blazing desire to thrust with all his strength, Garak paused with only the head of himself inside, as he watched Julian's face intently, searching for any sign of pain.

Julian gasped.  No-one had ever touched him there before, and he was shocked by it: the profound intimacy of it; the utter vulnerability of his body, being spread wide and penetrated; it was beyond anything he had ever known in his life.  He had braced himself, prepared for pain: the lack of it cut away all his certainties, cast him adrift in deep, uncharted waters.  Although he felt the massive width of Garak's cock intensely within his own tautly stretched flesh, the warm slick wetness that was running from Garak's shaft had made his entry astoundingly easy.  Julian's head fell back on the slender arch of his neck, and he moaned his pleasure aloud.  Garak mouthed at the tender skin at Julian's throat, as he eased his hips forward, feeling more and more of his aching length slide into the hot tightness of Julian's body.  Slowly, slowly he moved, arching his neck and smiling sharply with the incredible delight of it, until at last the ridged base of his shaft and his swollen balls pressed against Julian's ass, and he knew that he could go no further, though he ached to climb deeper still into that pulsing heat.  Julian's hands came up to knead
at Garak's hard neckridges as sounds of blissful acceptance sighed past his parted lips.

The great muscles of Garak's back and legs gathered themselves, knotted into powerful cables as he started to thrust.  Julian shifted under him, his supple body bending as he opened himself freely, until at last he wrapped his legs around the broad Cardassian shoulders.  Julian's slender body arched, pressing up against the long, measured thrusts, and he moaned and cried incoherently as depths that had never been stimulated before awoke to blazing life under the pressure of Garak's pulsing thickness.  Garak growled and released a little more of his strength, pressing Julian down further into the carpet of leaves as he changed the angle of his hips, grinding harder into the tight heat of his lover's body.  Julian yelled aloud, a strangely shocked sound, as the throbbing head of Garak's cock pressed into his prostate, returning to rub there again and again.  Julian's whole body thrashed in response, squeezing his hot and swollen length between their bellies, rubbing it against his own thin trail of coarse hair, and against Garak's textured abdomen.

Nameless instinct claimed Julian and he suddenly craned his head up and sank his teeth hard into the strong cord at Garak's throat.  Garak's eyes snapped wide, and a rumble like the thunder of a tropical storm reverberated in the depths of his chest.  All over his body, the ridges swelled and flushed still further, turning charcoal-dark; and the scales bristled with the intensity of his passion.  The soft massaging of the risen edges of Garak's scales was an exquisite new sensation, joining the leathery texture of his swollen ridges, stroking Julian's tingling skin all over, inside and out.  As Garak thrust, even Julian's deepest, most intimate places knew this subtle, feathered touch, and it threw him into complete sensory overload.  Tremors racked him from head to toe and his arms and legs clung to Garak's labouring body with fierce intensity, as he threw back his head and screamed in absolute abandonment. Trapped between their bodies, Julian's veined shaft gave one last throb and erupted in burst after burst of hot cream.  The musky scent of it rising in warm waves, the rapture echoing in Julian's cries, and most of all the
contractions that throbbed and clutched at his own deeply buried shaft, overwhelmed Garak in turn.  As he plunged, harder, again, again, white-hot ecstasy crashed over him and he roared his bliss aloud.  One last powerful surge buried him to the hilt and liquid heat poured from him in a thick torrent, milked from his throbbing shaft by silken, clenching flesh.

They shuddered together at the peak, locked for a timeless moment in perfect unity.  Then, with a long, quivering moan, oddly harmonised through two throats, the thrumming tension in both bodies ebbed at last.  Garak collapsed to lie stretched along Julian's body, glued to his lover's skin by sperm and sweat and glowing satiation.  Julian's arms and legs loosened their former, frantic clutch, sliding bonelessly away from Garak's body to fall to the leaf-covered earth with faint rustling thuds.  After a moment, Julian sighed, and with an effort he slid shaky hands up to stroke the back of Garak's bowed head.  Garak purred, a warm, drowsy, caressing sound, and brushed his lips lightly against the soft skin at Julian's throat.  Julian blinked up at the canopy of dark leaves and the deep gold Cardassian sky beyond, and heaved another slow sigh, his lips curving into a dreamy smile.  The storm of passion that had shaken his whole being had quieted for the moment, leaving a sublime peace in its wake.  His slender hands continued their caresses as if of their own accord, fondling the sleek black hair, idly following Garak's paired
forehead ridges up into his hairline, tracing the faint curves buried beneath his hair, snaking down behind his ears, to form the start of his neckridges. His stroking fingertips strayed down to the neckridges themselves, feeling the swells of muscle and tendon now subsided into a lax curve against Garak's nape and shoulder.  Garak rumbled softly and shifted his weight, rearing back onto his forearms.  Pale blue eyes met dark hazel: so different, but the warmth and silent tenderness in each man's gaze was very much the same.  Garak leaned down and just brushed his mouth against Julian's with the delicacy of a moth's wing.

"*A nooar o, et sahneshta Julian.*"  I love you, my dearest Julian, he whispered softly against the silken lips.

Julian smiled up at him blissfully, slim hands sliding down to cradle Garak's ridged cheekbones as tears tingled behind his eyes.  He had to swallow to get past the tightness in his throat, but eventually he simply husked, "*A nooar o, Elim.*"

Garak slid his hands behind Julian's back and eased them both into a sitting position, sliding himself gently out of the embrace of his lover's body with a sigh of regret.  He reached out to stroke back the unruly hair that had fallen onto the smooth human brow, marvelling at the way his sweat turned the usually-neat strands into a mass of dark curls.  "...Do you think we should go now?"  Garak murmured, making an effort to push his own needs and desires into the background.  He was determined, now as always, to consider Bashir's needs before his own: even willing to help him manufacture an alibi, should he not wish to admit to others what had just happened here.  "We've been here already more than long enough for an 'exercise session', and if you have other duties..."  He kept the regret away from his face and his voice, but it took all of the expertise of a lifetime of lying to do it.

The low, teasing chuckle that Bashir gave raised the scales all along Garak's spine in a tiny shiver of lust, reborn startlingly soon.  "Ohh, don't worry, Elim," Julian purred, trailing a hand down Garak's torso, sliding his fingertips over Garak's groin, just for a moment, then away.  "I don't have any 'other duties'."  He favoured Garak with a delightfully conspiratorial smile, before leaning closer to breathe hotly into the ridged ear, "I suppose you really are 'plain, simple Garak.'  ...You see, if you'd broken into the file containing my personal roster, as a spy might, then you'd know that I've already arranged to have the afternoon off."  Julian grinned happily at the sudden, sapphire glint in Garak's eyes as that quick Cardassian mind raced to make new plans.  Garak fired a sharp, teasing smile at him, returning his own
expression of a moment ago in full and with interest.

"Computer,"  Garak raised his voice and asked airily, "initiate program *Garakte zanira chetya*, authorisation Elim Garak, security code *kla kirintse telano*."

"*Keret.*"  replied the computer, the synthesised voice suddenly more intent and businesslike than the slightly apathetic tones Bashir had always heard it use.

He supposed the word meant that the computer had accepted Garak's commands, as all around him the forest dissolved in a wash of golden Cardassian transporter
energy, shimmering and reforming into something completely new.  He climbed to his feet and slowly turned where he stood, taking in the entire scene, his eyes
widening and his lips parting in sheer, delighted disbelief.  At last he spun round to face Garak, who was standing and watching his reaction with a smile of
indulgent amusement.

"Oh, Garak!" he gasped, his eyes shining as he continued to take in the details of Garak's program,  "This...  this is amazing..."

"Then you really don't have any 'other duties' that you must attend to?"

A soft chuckle, and the brush of skin on skin.  "Ohh, I assure you, no duties more, ah, pressing, than tailoring a long-term exercise regime to suit my patient Garak's personal needs..."
 
- The Beginning.