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It was only early evening and yet the habitat ring corridor was empty, the station's background hum challenged only by a Human and a Cardassian's paired footsteps and Bashir's lilting voice as he earnestly continued to argue a point of Earth literature left over from their dinner in Quark's. There was a time, Garak thought idly, smiling as he watched his young friend punctuate his statements with small emphatic motions of his hands, when anyone who found me alone with them under these circumstances would be in fear for their life, and rightly so. But now… ah, now he was only a tailor and there was no terror in such a moment, only the glow of pleasure in an inexperienced Starfleet officer's lively eyes and his own carefully hidden appreciation of it. How far he'd fallen since his days of glory and power! That was surely worth a glass or two of kanaar later this evening in the privacy of his own quarters, but for the moment there was Bashir, who always provided a very effective distraction from his troubles.
Really, though… the Doctor was far too trusting, even under the circumstances. The man suspected that he was a spy — and rightly so — and yet he exhibited not a trace of caution: his manner was free, his posture unguarded, his face open to every passing emotion of eagerness, puzzlement or frustration. And yes, sometimes even yearning; Garak had to wonder if Bashir was even aware of the gazes he offered from time to time, lingering and full of something that might have been desire with just the slightest shift in emphasis.
Like the one he was wearing just now, for example, fallen silent in his dissertation and regarding Garak with such melting expectation. Oh, you pretty child, he thought as they came to the junction where their paths to their separate quarters diverged and paused, if you only knew what you were asking! But he didn't, of course: Julian Bashir was devastatingly intelligent but showed a lack of self-insight that would be regrettable if it didn't so often play right into Garak's hands. He smiled back blandly, letting a beat or two pass, making the impatient Human wait for his answer to the question that had just been posed.
But spies — in particular the most effective ones — did not operate only on logic and strict analysis: they had also learned to obey the promptings of intuition and take the opportunities provided by random chance. Take this night, for example: an uncharacteristically deserted corridor, a pause in walking, the moment of open willingness in a young man's face that would be gone in such a short span of heartbeats. Garak did not let the opportunity pass him by. He came to his decision in the process of drawing a single breath, and instead of responding to Bashir's point on the class struggle in the works of William Shakespeare he moved in — not much, only the space of step, but much closer than the short conversational distance that the Doctor had been comfortable with in the past.
Trusting indeed: Bashir was evidently not alarmed by his approach. He had the presence of mind to look wary when Garak stepped close… but he didn't take a step back to re-establish that safe distance. A most encouraging sign, Garak decided. Curious, every sense now attuned to the warm alien body in front of him, he waited to see what the Human would do next. If all else failed he could always claim that he'd seen a loose thread on Bashir's collar and pretend to pluck it off, then retreat with little or no harm done to their relationship.
"Garak —?" Such wide eyes, their animated motion suddenly solemn and still, and uncertain. Openly questioning. Garak smiled slightly and almost asked him: When have I ever given you a straight answer? Instead he remained silent and simply met Bashir's disquieted gaze across the scant few centimetres that remained between them, letting his position speak for itself.
The young Human only maintained eye contact for two and a half seconds before his gaze flickered anxiously across Garak's face, scanning for nonexistent clues, then slipped lower, to the collar of his tunic and down over his chest. Bashir swallowed audibly, hesitated, then spoke in a soft and almost plaintive voice: "I've… I've never…"
It was a plea that Garak did not want to let touch him, but it did nonetheless, filling him with a solicitous and triumphant sense of how innocent this man was in some ways and of how little he could hide. And it certainly was not a protest or a denial. He maintained his silence for another two seconds before taking pity on the boy and asking gently: "You've never what, my dear?"
Another nervous up-and-down flex of that delicate larynx. Those dark eyes, which had reached the region of his belt, flickered up again and met his, half-pleading and half-defiant with a whisper to match: "Are you —?"
It was absurdly adorable, that he couldn't even bring himself to say it. Garak felt a sudden impulse to end the game and put Bashir out of his charming misery, but instead he just quirked an eye ridge and shifted a bare couple of millimetres closer. After experiencing the swiftness with which the Doctor could follow his cues in verbal exchanges he was quite curious to see if he was capable of —
The result was unexpected but not unwelcome: without another word Bashir stepped forward, closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Garak with a kind of tentative hunger, as if even now he was afraid of reading the signals wrong and being rebuked. For a second or two Garak stood still, marvelling at the man's daring and the heat of his soft, full lips; then he caught hold of Bashir's waist and pulled him even nearer, dominating the kiss and deepening it without warning. Instead of resisting Bashir emitted a sharp little gasp of unmistakable eagerness and wrapped both arms around him, pressing hard against him from shoulders to thighs, lithe and radiant and full of lusty life, his mouth answering force with force. He'd gone from virginal and blushing to trying to take charge in less than ten seconds, a statistic that Garak found quite impressive, but when Bashir finally pulled back just enough to look into his eyes he was pleased to see that the blush was still there, along with a certain… not hesitation, not shyness, but a sense of someone poised on the verge of entering unknown territory. The wolfish smile that Garak felt in his heart did not reach his face, even though the thought of ruining the boy's virtue made his slow reptilian pulse beat faster with fierce anticipation.
At last Bashir blushed more deeply and finished his sentence exactly as Garak would have predicted: "I've never been with another man before."
No prevarication, no attempt to negotiate, only easy acceptance of the radical change in circumstances and an implicit request for mercy. Garak bared his teeth in what a Human would no doubt interpret as a knowing smirk and reached up a hand to stroke his fingers into the thick soft hair just above the nape of his friend's neck. Even as naive as you are, surely you should know better than that, he thought, but what he said out loud was: "Never fear, Doctor. I'll teach you." And then, as Bashir closed his wonderful eyes and shivered, he drew him close again and leaned in to whisper into one elegant unadorned ear: "Trust me…"
THE END