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His lunch hour ended fifteen minutes ago. He had to go back to his quarters, however. He’d been oddly turned on and needed to find a way to control his raging emotions, not to mention the slight tightening in his crotch. He’d need a looser uniform if this kept up.
The conversation had gotten rather heated. They’d been avoiding heated conversations. Both of them could feel the tension ready to snap. Yet, somehow, they’d danced on the edge of an argument all through the meal, neither of them willing to actually step over the thinly veiled line they’d drawn months ago. And since when did I find that such a turn on?
They needed to talk about it. But, of course, they both knew the impossibility of talking about this particular topic. It would probably go years without being discussed, if ever. Provided we live long enough. It’s war. People die. The thought aggravated him further and he sat down, head in hands, trying his damnedest to get his feelings under control. It’s for the best. It’s not something that would ever work.
The doctor ran his hands through his hair and sat back on the couch. He closed his eyes and tried to fight back images from the night of Jadzia’s funeral. He tried, but if he told himself the truth, trying wasn’t good enough. Hands on my hips, that voice whispering in my ear…‘relax, Julian. Let it happen.’ Oh, I let it alright…
He shook his head and opened his eyes, looking down at the newly reformed bulge in his lap. I’ll need to take care of that, won’t I? Damn it.
“Bashir to Infirmary. I’m going to be about fifteen more minutes. Switch my schedule around, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
With an aggravated sigh, Julian shed his uniform and headed to the sonic shower, setting it as high as it would go. And if this doesn’t work, I can always inject myself with a blood thinner. He stepped into the stall and tried his damnedest to relax.