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Calculated Risks, Part Two (DS9)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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From: [email protected] (Pam & Rick Buickel)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.startrek
Subject: Calculated Risk (ds9): 2 of 2
Date: 1 Apr 1995 01:01:18 GMT
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Distribution: world
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
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This is a sequel, of sorts, to an earlier posting of mine--"Random Acts"
(sent under the edress [email protected]). Another Julian/Garak story?
Why not?
You know the routine. If you're offended by sexual content, hetero or
homo, do NOT read on.
Paramount owns the characters. But I'm the one who loves them.
CALCULATED RISK, PT 2
Garak sought to block out the memory. He squeezed his eyes
shut, and clasped his hands at the back of his head. He cursed
under his breath. Garak was disgusted with himself, acting like
some rutting, pubescent boy. He marched over to the table, and
picked up the bottle of kanaar. He went to pour out another
glass, and realized the bottle was empty. In frustration, he
threw the glass against the wall, where it shattered onto the
floor. He slumped down in the chair, and taking deep breaths,
fought to control his anger. In reality, Garak had a fearsome
temper. He'd worked for many years to control it, that rage
being more detrimental to himself than anyone else. There had
only been one other time recently that he let loose his
temper--and it had been beyond his ability to stop it, suffering
horrible withdrawal pangs from the breakdown of his cranial
implant. And only one person lay witness to it. Julian Bashir.
The doctor never displayed any fear, or distrust. And he never
mentioned it once the whole incident was over. Julian again.
If he wanted to, Garak could blame it all on Julian. After
all, it was the doctor who reached out to *him* for affection.
It was Julian who initiated the physical relationship--that one
night. There was a bit of information he should have thrown back
in the Trill's self-righteous face. But Garak knew he couldn't
really fault the young man. He had it within his power to refuse
the offer--to say no. Julian would have backed down. But Garak
wanted him, and would have him no matter what argument his own
internal demons offered up. And when it was over, Garak thought
he had a handle on the situation by walking out, and saying
enough was enough.
But who had control of whom? Garak looked over at his own
bed along the wall. In was in that bed, night after night, that
he lay awake reliving his passion for Julian, to the point of
unbearable frustration. Their first coupling had been frantic,
almost nerve-wracking. And almost as quickly as it was over, did
they try again. But that was only a little less awkward, with
Garak's own rusty ardor beyond control of his ability to ease the
young man's first-time nervousness. Ah, but if he had a chance
to do it over again.
Over and over. That's how his fantasies ran each night.
Despite the chill of the station's internal temperature, Garak
had taken to sleeping naked each night in order to bring some
physical dimension to his dreams. In his mind's eye he saw
Julian's handsome face turned toward his--those big, dreamy eyes
and full lips smiling back at him. Having had the advantage
since his youth of living off world, of traveling and meeting
many races, Garak could be certain of Julian's genuine beauty.
Without the crutch of xenophobic eyes, he saw and appreciated
fully his loveliness--and it took his breath away.
If he thought hard enough, he could almost feel Julian's
slim, silky, hard body pressed up against his. The color
unimaginably exquisite. Golden-brown from head to toe, like the
color of kanaar. Like the smooth, delicious texture of that
inebriating concoction. He imagined running his hands over every
square inch of the young man's neck, chest, abdomen, arms and
legs. Sleek and smooth, with fine, soft hair on his arms, long
legs, and taut thighs. His fingers skittering over his stomach
and slender waist, causing Julian to gasp and squirm from the
ticklish sensation. He would beg Garak to stop, and so he would.
Sliding his hands up his lithe body to run his fingers through
the soft, brown curls of his hair, Garak would clutch a fistful
in each hand, causing Julian to arch his slender neck. Garak
would trail kisses, and lap his tongue over the velvety skin of
his neck, tasting the a trickle of salty sweat forming there. He
would rub his cheek against Julian's, feeling the fine stubble.
Then he would close his mouth over the young man's, tasting his
sweet breath, and sucking on his tender, soft tongue. Far away,
Garak could hear the young man's moans breaking through his own
growls of arousal.
And now Garak would take the time to devour the rest of
Julian's beautiful body, inch by delicious square inch. He would
nibble and suck every indention, and every curve. Garak
remembered Julian's sensitive nipples, and he would concentrate
his attentions there, licking and nipping until they were firm
and swollen. By this time Julian's arousal would be building
unbearably. His breath would come in short, quick pants, and he
would arch his back, pressing his body firm against his
partner's. Garak would wrap his arms around the small of
Julian's back, kissing his stomach and lapping at the sweat
pooling in the navel. Then he would bury his head between the
young man's legs, drinking in the wonderful, musky scent of his
sex. Garak could feel the tight, ebony curls there tickling his
nose. He would slowly, and lightly lick up and down the hard
shaft of his cock, then circle his tongue around the soft head.
Then he would take him fully inside his mouth, once, twice, three
times, not letting him build too fast. Giving him only a taste,
he would remove his mouth completely despite Julian's cries of
frustration. Garak would focus his attentions further down,
kissing and licking his scrotum, and the soft skin between his
thighs. At the same time he would stroke Julian's smooth, erect
cock with one hand. By now the young man would be writhing
uncontrollably. Garak would wait to hear him plead for release,
beg to have Garak's mouth once again on his sex. And when Garak
himself could stand it no longer, he would take Julian in again
deep against the back of his throat, sucking hard and long until
he tasted the warm, sticky fluid of the young man's orgasm, and
heard him cry out and whimper, finally sated.
And it was at this point each night that Garak found himself
in a lather of sweat, breathing hard, and aching between his own
legs. He would lie on his back and grab his penis firmly with
both hands. With his eyes closed, he would slowly begin to
stroke himself, all the while fantasizing he was still lying atop
his lover. But now Garak would devote his attentions to his own
desires. He would spread wide Julian's shapely legs, and
grasping his pert backside, would push himself inside the tight,
inviting crevice as far as he could go. In and out, slowly at
first, then building the rhythm, faster and harder. All the
while he would gaze down at Julian's beautiful face, the
mischievous twinkle in those liquid, brown eyes, teasing and
urging Garak on. He would start to buck wildly, ramming himself
inside Julian's ass, harder and farther than he thought possible.
And when the tension in his cock built to an awful, unbearable
peak, Garak would lean over and grab Julian's mouth with his own,
exploding without abandon inside his lover . . . spilling his
semen into his own trembling hands.
Trembling hands. Garak looked at his hand clasped around
the empty kanaar bottle, shaking. He realized his face was wet.
He could not go on like this. Perhaps it was time for him to go.
Grabbing a napkin, Garak hastily wiped his face. He threw
the cloth back on the table, then got up and walked over to the
desk. He ran his hands over the smooth, inlaid Cardassian design
on the top. A beautiful and delicate piece of art work. It
reminded him of home. Gently he pressed three, seemingly random
points in the design. A drawer hidden from view and
unsusceptible to scan was released. It contained only one item.
Garak removed the tiny data clip, then activated the drawer to
retract, once again unseen.
Behind the desk he retrieved a small, carrying case. He
placed it on top of the desk, and opened it. Inside he had
packed a change of clothing, a few personal items and toiletries,
and the tools of his *trade*. Garak placed the data clip inside,
then started to close the case. He paused as he noticed one
other item on top of the desk that he wanted to place in there.
He picked up the antique, paper-made hardcover *book* that Julian
had given him on his birthday. "Seven Pillars of Wisdom". "It
just smells like literature," Julian had joked. Garak held the
book up to his nose, and inhaled. It smelled musty. He closed
his eyes for a moment, then placed the book inside the case, and
snapped the lid shut. The chime sounded, and it startled him.
Garak looked over his shoulder at the closed door. Then he
quickly stowed the case back behind the desk, and called out,
"Enter."
"Good evening, Garak." The Cardassian was taken aback to
see the source of his torment walking through the door at that
particular moment. But he forced a smile to his lips, and said,
"Why, Doctor, what a pleasant surprise. I-I must say, I didn't
expect to see you this evening." Garak noticed Julian was
wearing the skin-tight silver athletic suit he always wore for
playing racquetball. The outfit hugged him like a second skin,
accenting every firm, hard curve of his young body. *Every
indention, and every curve . . .* Garak himself could not have
designed a more suitable article to showcase that lovely frame.
Julian's hair was damp, and the curls hugged his head, framing
his face like a halo. Garak bit his lip to keep from groaning.
"You, uh, you're not coming off duty, I see."
Julian took a quick glance down at himself. "Oh, no, I was
just playing racquetball with Chief O'Brien."
"Racquetball." Garak almost whispered the word. He cleared
his throat, and said, "I'm surprised you had the time. Your lady
friend must be furious at missing your company." The words
tasted bitter, and Julian couldn't help but note the sarcasm.
"Um, well, I don't think so. She left a couple days ago.
Back to Bajor, and then a trade run to Vulcan." Julian looked at
the Cardassian, questioning. "Did I come at a bad time?"
Garak realized if he wasn't careful, he'd make a fool of
himself. He put on his broadest smile. "Of course not, Doctor.
Please, come sit." He indicated a chair by the table. "Where
are my manners? Would you like something to drink?" Garak
picked up the bottle of kanaar, then shrugged his shoulders,
looking somewhat sheepish. "Ah, I forgot, the kanaar is all
gone."
Julian laughed lightly. "That's alright, Garak, I didn't
come by for kanaar." He followed Garak to the table, removing
his gym bag from his shoulder. As he placed it on the floor,
there was an unmistakable crunch when it landed on a shard of
glass. "What happened here?" he asked, indicating the shattered
remains of Garak's recent tantrum.
"A minor accident, nothing serious. I'll clean it up later.
We'll sit over there instead." He sought to steer Julian toward
the couch. But the doctor bent down and started to pick up the
larger pieces of glass.
"Garak, if you don't get these off the floor you're going to
hurt yourself."
"DON'T DO THAT!" Julian stopped instantly what he was doing
to look up and see Garak's face twisted in anger. He remained
kneeling on the ground, wide-eyed with confusion at the
Cardassian's outburst.
"Garak . . .?"
The Cardassian squeezed his eyes shut, and visibly took in a
sharp breath. When he opened his eyes again, he forced a smile
to his lips, and tried to rectify the situation.
"I just don't want you to injure yourself." He walked over
and stooped to take the glass from Julian's hand. "See, you've
already got a cut," indicating a drop of blood on the doctor's
right forefinger.
Julian gave his finger a cursory glance, then looked back to
Garak with concern. "You startled me. Why did you yell like
that?"
Garak stalled, unable to give an answer. His emotions were
in flux, alternating between anger and gratitude at the young
man's untimely presence. He gently pulled Julian to his feet by
the forearm, then simply said, "You'll need to put something on
that."
The doctor furrowed his brow, and scrutinized the other man.
"It's not serious. I'm more concerned about you. Are you
feeling all right?"
Garak waved him off. "Forever the physician. Don't worry,
Doctor, I'm not suffering a breakdown in my skull." He rubbed
his eyes with one hand. "Perhaps I'm more tired than I thought."
Julian picked up the kanaar bottle. "How much of this did
you drink. All of it?" he accused him.
The question elicited a strangled laugh from the other man.
"You're one to talk."
"Damn-it, Garak!" Julian replaced the bottle on the table,
with a thud.
The Cardassian could no longer keep his temper at bay. With
a sneer, he said, "It's really none of your business what I do in
this *miserable* room, when that door is shut. I don't interfere
in your personal life. I don't care to know what you do, and
with what *whore* you're doing it with!"
The doctor looked as though the other man had physically
struck him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Why are you here?" Garak countered. "What do you want?"
Julian's expression was a mixture of befuddlement and
malevolence. He said, pointedly, "I don't know what game you're
playing tonight, Garak--but I'm not in the mood." He picked up
the gym bag, and turned to leave.
"You didn't answer my question, Doctor!"
Julian turned back to him with exasperation. "What
question?! You're talking in riddles, and I don't like it!" The
two men glared at each other. Finally, Julian broke the
stalemate. He looked down at the floor, and shook his head.
When he looked back at the other man, his own hostility had
waned. With a sigh, he said, "I just wanted to see you, Garak.
Because you're my friend. Because I *thought* we were friends.
And," he paused, "and because I've missed you. That's all. No
mystery, no agenda. Just dropping in on a friend. I didn't
realize it would effect such havoc in your life." The last part
dripped sarcasm.
Garak walked up to Julian, standing no more than a few
inches from his face. Abruptly, he grabbed the young man roughly
at the scruff of the neck, and jerked him in for a hard, full-
mouthed kiss. Julian was caught completely off guard, and pulled
back, biting Garak's lip in the exchange. The Cardassian smirked
at him, licking the pale-green blood pooling on his lip. Then he
grasped Julian's right hand, and bringing it to his lips, sucked
on the wound on his finger. The doctor was stunned, and unsure
of where the scenario was leading. At the best of times, Garak's
behavior was fraught with contradiction. At others, like now, it
was reeling. Julian was uncertain whether to be angry, or
afraid. Finally, quietly, he asked, "What are you doing, Garak?"
The Cardassian stopped sucking his finger, to tenderly kiss
the palm of Julian's hand. As Julian had done to him, once. *So
long ago*. "Garak . . ." Julian started to say. But he was cut
off harshly when Garak slammed him back against the wall. With a
growl, the Cardassian was on him again, pinning Julian's lean
body with his own broad one, and securing his arms at his sides.
Garak pressed his mouth against Julian's once again. The doctor
finally dropped the gym bag he'd been clutching all this time.
He started to struggle from his grip, but Garak was much stronger
than he. He strained for air, and Garak released him long enough
to take a breath. Then he grabbed for his mouth again, even more
hungrily than before. He sought to push his tongue inside
Julian's clenched lips, and began to rub his body against his.
Suddenly, Julian started to relax against him. Garak could
feel the tension in his thin body give way to a baser instinct.
Julian's lips parted, and Garak thrilled to the taste and feel of
his soft tongue playing with his own. After a time, Garak
released Julian's arms; and instead, enveloped the doctor in a
fierce hug. The doctor wrapped his own arms around Garak's back,
and pressed himself in tight against his body. The Cardassian
could feel the firm outline of Julian's growing arousal,
straining against the tight, unforgiving material. The two men
continued to kiss, devouring each other with tongue, teeth and
lips. Garak ran his hands up Julian's back. He found the hidden
fastening, and pulled it down slowly, to the small of the back.
He caressed the smooth, silky brown skin now revealed. Julian's
breathing quickened. Finally, Garak pulled back and looked
squarely at the young man. He noted his eyes were now clouded
with desire, and Garak smiled at this. He said, smugly, "Now,
tell me what you want."
"Don't tease me, Elim." Julian panted out.
Garak reached down, and placed his palm hard against the
doctor's erection, and said, "What's the matter? Haven't you
been getting enough sex lately?"
Julian pulled back, and took in the spiteful glint in
Garak's eyes. Truly hurt, and finally embittered, he shoved the
Cardassian off him, hard. Garak hadn't anticipated the young
human's strength, and stumbled backwards. Julian glared at him.
"Fuck you," he spat.
Garak laughed, acidly. "Whatever you want, darling. Would
you like me to bend over right here?" He stopped short when he
caught the venomous pall on Julian's face. His normally gentle,
and fair expression overshadowed by something darker, almost
sinister. Garak was taken aback. He'd gone too far, and he
wasn't even sure why.
Julian's eyes misted, and abruptly he turned away. He bent
down to retrieve his gym bag, remembering then that the back of
his suit lay open. He reached around to pull the fastening back
up. The clasp stuck, and he struggled with it, frustrated--his
back all the while to the Cardassian. Garak's own animosity
dissipated completely. He felt drained, and weary. He came up
behind Julian, and hesitantly reached out to help him with his
clothing. At his touch, Julian stiffened, but said nothing.
Garak started to close the fastening, then stopped. Without
thinking, he pulled it all the way open again. Almost
reverently, he traced circles softly on the warm flesh. Julian
flinched, too stunned to bolt. Garak pressed up against his
smooth, lean back, and wrapped his arms around the doctor's
waist. He buried his face in Julian's sinewy neck, and breathed
in his scent. The doctor held his breath, unmoving. Garak
whispered something he couldn't hear. "Wh-what," Julian
stammered. The Cardassian's face was wet against his neck.
"I'm sorry." Garak said it so low, the doctor had to strain
to hear it.
Julian couldn't even think at the moment. His mind raced,
and his heart beat so hard, it resonated in his ears. He simply
stood there, feeling Garak pressed against him--lips and tongue
teasing at his neck. After many long minutes, which seemed like
hours, Julian gingerly reached up behind him to stroke Garak's
neck. "It's all right, Elim," he whispered, as if he were
coddling a child. "It's o.k. now." He wasn't sure if he
believed what he was saying. Garak let out a sound--a cross
between a moan and a sob. Julian wasn't angry, just hurt. And
that pain diminished with each passing minute. With a little
more confidence, the doctor said, "I just wish you wouldn't play
games with me. I want you to tell me what's wrong--what it is
you want from me."
Garak let out a sigh. "It's pathetically obvious what I
want."
Julian was sure of that, at least. The realization made his
heart ache. Gently he disengaged himself from Garak's embrace,
and turned to face him. The look on the Cardassian's face told
him all he really needed to know. "Believe it or not, I want the
same thing too . . . sometimes."
"Sometimes." Garak spoke as if it were a mantra.
"It's just that . . .," Julian paused, and weighed his words
carefully. "I-I wasn't sure where we stood--after that one time.
I mean, I don't want to lose our friendship. That's very
important to me. It's more important than . . ." Garak didn't
need him to finish to understand what he was saying. "But,"
Julian continued, "I have to admit, I do think about it. And--
and I miss you."
"I'm here," Garak said simply. "I'm always here."
Julian smiled. "I know. But, I don't want to take
advantage . . ." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then
back up at the other man. "I can't promise anything."
"And I can't ask--for anything."
The doctor looked squarely at him. "I don't want to hurt
you."
Garak laughed lightly. "You can't hurt me."
"And I don't want to get hurt. You won't be here forever."
With a start, Garak said, "What do you mean?"
"Well," Julian began. "I'll eventually be transferred."
Garak relaxed somewhat. "And you--you'll go back to Cardassia
one day." Garak started to interject, but the doctor held him
off. "At some point, I know you'll get to go home. For whatever
you've done, or whatever reason you're here--it'll be resolved.
And you'll get to leave." His belief was sincere. Garak fought
the urge to pull the young man back into his arms.
"So, my dear--*dear*, Doctor." Garak stepped in a little
closer. "Where does that leave us now? I know," Garak paused as
if a thought just occurred to him. "Let's discuss, *sometimes*.
Julian smiled sheepishly. "Sometimes."
Garak took his hand. "Could now be one of those--times?"
The doctor looked down at their hands entwined. Without
glancing up, he said, "I think it could be."
Garak cupped Julian's chin in his other hand, and tilted his
face up. Tenderly he kissed him, just barely brushing the lips.
Then slowly he began to pull the top half of Julian's suit off
his thin shoulders, painstakingly exposing his chest and arms.
The cool air on his chest made Julian's nipples hard, and Garak
bent over to nibble one, and then the other. The young man
sighed, then breathed, "Elim, wait."
Garak looked up with a sinking heart, afraid Julian had
changed his mind. The doctor smiled at his obvious distress. He
hastened to say, "I'd like to take a shower first." Garak cocked
his head, confused by the request. Julian explained, "I've just
played two hours of racquetball . . ." The Cardassian smiled
broadly, and nodded his understanding. "But," Julian continued,
"Maybe you could . . . scrub my back for me?" With a twinkle in
his eye, he took Garak's hand again. And without another word,
pulled his willing partner behind him into the bathroom.
Garak released the lock on the hidden drawer, and returned
the data clip to its original place. He took the book out of the
carrying case, and layed it carefully on the desk top, arranging
it just so. His motions were swift and quiet, so as not to
disturb his lover, asleep on the bed. The other items he left
packed, for ultimately one day he would need to make a hasty
departure. But not now. He left the case behind the desk, for
the time being. Garak looked over to where Julian lay sleeping.
One, lean leg stretched out, uncovered. His head was cradled in
his arms--soft, brown hair hopelessly tousled. Garak sat down at
the desk, and hurriedly finished composing the message . . .
. . . so I continue to maintain that my assignment here
is incomplete, and termination is premature. Further
investigation is required. I have calculated the risk,
and regard it to be minimal. Therefore, recall of
operative is not justified, at this time.
He entered in his personal security access, scrambling the
data beyond any present and reasonable means to decode. Then he
formatted the subspace message to piggyback the station's next
routine scan of the surrounding space. It would never be
detected. It never had been before. Thanks to Chief O'Brien's
federation-honed efficiency, his message would be delivered
within the next four hours--beyond DS9 and Bajor, beyond
Cardassia . . . beyond the Obsidian Order.
Garak walked over to the bed. He slipped off the pants he
had hastily thrown on before, and crawled back in beside Julian.
The doctor stirred and shifted onto his back. A lazy smile
formed on his lips, and he stretched his arms above his head.
His eyes fluttered open, and he took in Garak's face, beaming
down at him.
"Mmmm, what are you doing?" He murmured. "Can't sleep?"
Garak ran a hand tenderly through Julian's hair. "Not with
you here."
"Want me to leave?" The doctor taunted.
"What do you think?" Garak leaned in, and kissed him. When
he pulled back, Julian grinned wickedly.
"Roll over," he commanded with a leer, firmly pushing the
Cardassian onto his side.
Garak laughed complacently, and said, "You know I can't
refuse you anything."
Julian spooned against his back, grinding his hips against
Garak's scaly buttocks. "I know," he said, plainly. Julian
peered over Garak's shoulder, at the desk with the inlaid
Cardassian design. In his mind he replayed the sequence of
pressure points, over and over, committing them to memory.
Smiling satisfactorily to himself, Julian said, "I know
everything I need to, now . . ."
THE END
--
"Who am I to argue with me?" -- Bashir ["Visionary"]
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