The Pleasure of His Company

© 2002 Lene Taylor

I took part in this Garak/Bashir round robin back in 2002 (I think). The actual zine, Strange Fits of Passion, is still online, but the round robin is only available through the Wayback machine. I've extracted the thread that has my contribution, which is the last bit and ends this storyline. NB: Karmen Ghia and I always maintained that these types of stories should end with "And then the ship exploded", simply for the laughs,  and I was going to do that, but I relented and let them go on their merry way.


Disclaimer: This original work of amateur fiction is based on the TV series "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" which is owned by Paramount, Viacom, and whoever owns them. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work; each author has the rights to their own section of this work, as indicated.


Bashir stepped from the shower and wondered why he was taking so much trouble. He was, after all, only dining with Garak that evening. In Garak's quarters. And Garak had been especially charming to him lately. And it seemed like a good idea to be immaculate, in a casual sort of way, for the Cardassian, whose critical eye could still make the doctor squirm. And there was something special about the way Garak had asked him; formal, gallant and wary, as if Bashir might refuse but he doubted it very much. And there'd been something breathless, reckless and daring in accepting this invitation to dine in the mysterious Cardassian's quarters.

So, Bashir was mulling all this over as he carefully combed his damp hair and selected a tunic and pants in tastefully muted hues he'd had Garak make for him when they first met. He'd never worn it before and belatedly realized he'd been saving it for a special occasion.

~end of Karmen Ghia part~

Once he dressed, he went to Garak's quarters. The first thing he noticed when Garak answered the door was the way the tailor's eyes swept over him.

"How very nice you look tonight, Doctor," Garak said as he ushered him in. "I don't believe I've seen you in that particular outfit before."

Bashir felt relieved. It had been the right choice: not only did Garak appreciate his clothing on an aesthetic level, but he seemed to be aware of its significance.

The second thing he noticed once he entered his friend's quarters was that the air was unusually steamy—and the few times he'd been here before, Garak had kept the room oppressively warm—and heavy with a number of spicy scents, some familiar from their lunches, others strange, even pungent, but none unpleasant.

He saw that a row of shallow copper pans of various sizes, all covered with funnel-shaped lids, had been set up over low flames on top of the long cabinet at the back of the room. Scented steam issued from the funnel tubes.

"You've been cooking?" Julian asked, surprised. For him, dinner was normally ordered from the replicator.

"Just a few fresh vegetables I procured for tonight," Garak explained. "Plus, some Cardassian delicacies I hope you'll appreciate. I've been saving them," he smiled, "for a special occasion."

~end of Kathryn Ramage part~

Julian returned Garak's crafty smile in kind, then stalked past him to the heavily laden table, hoping he looked a lot more sensuous and exotic than he felt. "And just what is the occasion, Garak?"

"Surely you've divined my purpose by now."

He chuckled softly, turning to meet Garak's eyes. "I imagine I have. I suppose it's rather optimistic of me to hope to hear you say it."

Garak's mouth curved into another insinuating yet strangely affectionate smile, and he closed the distance between them until Julian found himself pressed against the edge of the table. His breath caught in his throat as his jaw worked to overcome his sudden stammering, and his hands flailed helplessly until they planted themselves at the small of Garak's back. Garak leaned in further still, brushing his lips with a feather touch, then his cheek, finally whispering in his ear. "Would you like some wine?"

~end of Mark Russel Stanley part~

Julian felt his throat move dryly as he swallowed hard, his head tilting sideways, eyes drifting close. "Wine..." he rasped. "That sounds...lovely."

And all at once Garak was a few steps away, pouring wine from a carafe into two glasses. "This is a rare vintage, I'm told," he said, all smiles and cheer, any trace of his erstwhile sensuality erased from his ebullient features. Julian had to remember to breathe.

He leaned on the table and pushed himself upright, clearing his throat. "I'm not very knowledgeable, I'm afraid. Though I trust you," he merely said, hating the raucous scratch to his voice.

Garak's silken laughter erupted from his throat. "Trust me? That could very well be a first. Doctor, mind your hand," he tutted, nodding at where Bashir was fluttering nervously. When Bashir turned to see what he had nearly broken or dislodged, Garak moved swiftly forward, glasses ready in his hands. "Doctor," he murmured, startling the poor man. Caught again between the Cardassian and the table, Bashir lifted his hand timidly to take his profferred glass. "I believe you Humans have a ritual to outline this occasion. A toast?" he whispered, his eyes a mesmerizing mercury under the dim lights.

"I'd much prefer seeing what you Cardassians do when sharing a drink," Bashir said, emboldened by Garak's own assuredness.

Garak's face brightened. "Ah, my dear Doctor, I thought you'd never ask."

~end of BGM part~

Really, the tailor thought, if this was the best example of genetic improvement Federation technology could achieve, no wonder the war was floundering. Among other things. "Sitting duck," yes, that's how the hapless O'Brien might have called Julian at this precise moment. So easy. So unsporting.

Taking a step back, Garak raised his glass with a flourish. "I shall now call upon Hebitian tradition to toast your achievements, Doctor", he started smoothly, savoring Bashir's bewildered look. "The Fifth Book of the Hessenet says, as you no doubt recall..."

He went on for a minute or so, concentrating on his periods to preserve his composure. Not so easy, with Bashir giving a striking impression of a beached Risian halibut. "And now, of course, it's your turn to toast me. Should you feel I deserve it, of course," he finished suavely.


"Yes, my dear Doctor?"

"You... you..."

"Perhaps a little short for a traditional Cardassian toast, Doctor? Although of course concentration on the toastee's person is certainly the effect one should strive for."

"You didn't ask me to dinner to exchange toasts!"

"But my dear Doctor, you seemed to enjoy our literary lunches so much."

"There is a time," Bashir said with some dignity, "for everything. Lunch in the Replimat has nothing to do with dinner in your quarters."

It would have been tempting to abandon the pretense there and then, and soundly kiss the doctor, but Garak had rather higher expectations of the evening, and strongly believed in deferred gratification. "I really can't see much of a difference. Of course it's quieter here, and I have every expectation that you will prefer my cooking to commercial synthetiser fare."


"I believe you've said this already. Although it's always a pleasure to hear you speak my name, of course."

"Garak," Bashir hissed between clenched teeth, "if you don't stop this instant, I'll hit you."

The tailor raised an elegant eyeridge. "By all means, Doctor, if you think you can."

~end of Shezan part~

With a roar of anger Bashir lashed out. Garak was prepared for the lunge and easily side stepped the attack and caught the doctor's arm preventing him from running right into the wall.

"Really, Doctor, you should be more careful."

Embarrassed, Julian slumped to the ground and held his head in his hands. "What was I thinking?" he mumbled.

Garak cocked his head and answered, "You weren't." After sighing and lowering himself to the floor he continued, "Now then, why don't we try this a different way." Garak stood and gently pulled Bashir up and led him to the sofa.

When they were seated he produced a handkerchief from a concealed pocket and tenderly dabbed at Julian's watery eyes. "There, that's better." Then he cupped Bashir's chin and slightly raised it so they were eye to eye. "My dear...Julian," Garak smiled at the gasp he had caused. "I don't believe that we can continue to simply be each other's occasional lunch partner. I want more."

Bashir was stunned by his friend's candor. Unable to form the right words he instead pulled Garak's head to his and closed his eyes as their lips met. Then a second and third kiss followed. Each man ran his hands up under the other's tunic causing simultaneous moans.

"So...Julian, I take it you concur."

"Oh, yes, I do."

Garak pulled his head back and leered at Julian, "Then I suggest we should skip dinner and retire to the bedroom."

"Oh, YES!"

~end of Thanatos part~

Garak's room was pitch black; once the door hissed shut behind them, Bashir couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He'd never been in Garak's bedroom before, but he supposed it contained at least a bed, on which he was eager to lie down and find out what it was like to be fucked by a Cardassian. He reached out blindly into the darkness.

"Garak?" he called. His voice seemed tiny; whatever was in the room had the effect of absorbing sound instantly.

"Right here, my dear," Garak crooned in his ear. He stood close behind Bashir and slid his hands around his waist. In the artificial heat of the room Bashir could feel his core temperature rise and the sweat start to trickle down his back.

"Garak, I can't see anything in here," Bashir said.

"Can't you? I can see you quite clearly. I thought those genetically enhanced eyes of yours might overcome the normal Human limitations." As he spoke he felt for the clasps that held the tunic closed and expertly unfastened them (of course he knows how to get it off fast, he made the damn thing, Bashir thought), leaving Bashir in only his trousers, which Garak soon disposed of.

"Marvelous," Garak intoned. "Really, quite superb."

Bashir was led over to what he guessed was the bed; Garak pushed him down, gently. As a doctor, he knew that when one sense is deprived, the others sharpen: his hearing became more acute, and he could smell the delicious odors of the forgotten dinner creeping into the bedroom. The material he was sitting on was soft, almost furry, and seemed to wick the sweat off his body; he laid down full-length and rolled luxuriously around, like a cat making its bed, delighting in the caress of the fabric.

"My goodness, Julian, you are completely shameless, flaunting yourself in front of me like that. Such behavior should not go unrewarded - or perhaps, unpunished," he said, chuckling.

The next thing Bashir was aware of was a weight on the bed next to him and strong hands rolling him onto his back; then Garak slid down next to him and pressed a deep, searching kiss into his mouth. He was naked, his skin hot and not at all rough, which was what Bashir had expected, but firm and smooth, the scales providing an interesting texture to Bashir's eager hands. Garak's mouth tasted of the sweet wine they'd had earlier, and of something else, some smoky, spicy thing. Julian returned the kiss joyfully, bringing his arms around Garak in a fierce embrace before he remembered that Garak generally didn't like being touched - but now he seemed to want it, even to demand it.

The kiss went on for a long, long time as Garak allowed his tongue to explore Bashir's mouth, then drew back to suck and nibble on those warm lips, and, gods, when had anyone ever kissed Bashir like this before? His hands roamed over Bashir's slender body, his precise caresses becoming rough and urgent as he seemed to search for something in flesh or in spirit. Hard burning kisses covered Bashir's throat and chest and his taut erection rubbed against Garak's as he pressed their bodies together. Bashir wanted to say something but it was all moving too fast: no one had ever made love to him with this much passion and desperation and it was intoxicating.

Garak was on top of him now, his long arms wrapped around Bashir, holding him as close as he could while his kisses got harder and faster and he began to grind their hips together. Bashir's nerves were on fire; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out against this kind of assault.

"Please, Garak, please - " he gasped, as his legs were nudged apart by a muscled thigh. It had been some time since his last encounter with a male, and the pain of entry was intense at first, but Garak's well-lubed cock soon filled him comfortably. They moved in perfect rhythm, and Bashir reveled in the forgotten feeling of being pleasured, of lying back and being fucked professionally.

Garak started to move slowly in and out, almost gently, and a small moan escaped Bashir. "Do you like it like this?" he asked softly.

"Yes - Garak - oh yes- "

"But wouldn't you rather have it harder?" He shifted his grip to pin Bashir's hands above his head, stretching him out on the bed, making him completely helpless. One hard thrust and Bashir gasped, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. This was more than he could have hoped for; he could feel himself being driven to the edge, faster now, that big stiff Cardassian cock touching him deep inside where he needed it, where he wanted it, more than anything.

"Yes! Harder! Harder!" Bashir cried, in time with Garak's powerful strokes, and then his orgasm overtook him as Garak continued to pound away. Garak's thrusts were getting faster and faster, still deep and hard enough to force a cry from Bashir with each stroke, until suddenly Garak came, with a long throaty groan.


Later, they lay side by side in the darkness. Bashir felt like he was in some nameless, timeless place, apart from the reality of the station. He wished he could stay there forever.

"Julian. You said earlier that you trusted me. Do you mean that, or were you just making pleasant conversation?" Garak's silky voice was close to his ear.

Bashir thought about that for a moment. If there was anyone on this station who knew what he was about, it was Garak. He had more common sense than most of Starfleet put together. And somehow he'd managed to survive, in spite of what he'd done, in spite of Cardassia, in spite of the Federation and Bajor and everything else.

"Yes, Garak, I do trust you. You're possibly the only person worth trusting these days."

"Thank you, my dear. I'm so glad to hear it."

The next moment Bashir felt a small pressure against his neck and the inky darkness took over his other senses as well.


When he woke up he saw stars. Real ones, coming at him fast. He felt pleasantly lethargic from whatever Garak had given him and so, even though it registered that his view of the stars meant he was on an outward bound ship, he felt no fear or alarm. He looked over and saw Garak seated comfortably at the controls of the small craft, Vulcan, by the looks of it, elegant and simple. Garak noticed he was awake and smiled.

"Good morning, Doctor. I trust you had a restful sleep?"

"I think so, thanks to the drug you injected me with. What was it? I don't think I've had experience with it before."

Garak shook his finger at Bashir. "Ah, now Doctor, that would be telling. We're only just embarking on this relationship - we can't reveal all our secrets at once, can we? That would take the mystery out of romance."

Bashir turned his attention back to the stars rushing past. "You kidnapped me."

"That's such a pejorative word. Let's say I liberated you from a stale and sterile existence." Bashir looked skeptical. "Really, Doctor, would you have come if I had asked you?"

Bashir sighed. "No, I suppose not. Where are we now, and where are we going?" He could feel the drug wearing off: his head was clearer, and he could sit up properly in the seat he was belted in to. Still he felt no fear, only curiosity and a strange elation. Stale and sterile. Maybe Garak was right about that.

"We've gone through the wormhole and we're deep into the Gamma Quadrant now. And we are headed into our future."
"Those are rather vague coordinates. Is that how you set course?"

"Julian, there are many places in the galaxy where a man of your talents - and mine - is desperately needed. You're highly intelligent, extremely skilled, and you're a mutant, a wanted man on your own planet. I, on the other hand, am highly intelligent, extremely skilled, with so much knowledge in my head that I am a wanted man on my own planet. Alone we are pariahs. Together we are a team."

"Professionally?" Bashir thought back to the intense lovemaking of the night before. Stale and sterile. The mystery of romance.

"My dear Julian, did you think last night was just a game? When I said I wanted more, I meant it." It was the first time Bashir had seen Garak so serious.

"They'll come after us."

"They won't be able to find us."

"Garak, how do you know I won't scream bloody murder and turn this ship around?"

"Because if I were in your place, I wouldn't." He turned back to the controls and made some adjustments.

Garak was right, of course. DS9 had, in its own exotic way, become a trap. Every time he saw a ship leave the docking ring and hurtle out into space, a little bit of his heart went after it, longing to see what else was out there. All that playing around in the holodeck was just a poor substitute for the real thing, adventure and intrigue and, most importantly, romance. Garak knew; Garak understood; Garak loved him. The realization lit him up from head to toe. Could it be that easy, to leave without a backward glance or a single good-bye?

"Garak." The Cardassian looked up from his monitor. "Can't you make this thing go any faster?"

~end of Lene T. part~

The End

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