Received: from [66.218.67.200] by n1.grp.scd.yahoo.com with NNFMP; 10 May 2004 03:55:06 -0000 X-Sender: campbratcher@psci.net X-Apparently-To: ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com Received: (qmail 12337 invoked from network); 10 May 2004 03:55:06 -0000 Received: from unknown (66.218.66.166) by m8.grp.scd.yahoo.com with QMQP; 10 May 2004 03:55:06 -0000 Received: from unknown (HELO mailstore.psci.net) (63.65.184.2) by mta5.grp.scd.yahoo.com with SMTP; 10 May 2004 03:55:05 -0000 Received: from max (as1-d25-rp-psci.psci.net [63.69.225.25]) by mailstore.psci.net (8.12.2/8.12.2) with SMTP id i4A3rsfP000541 for ; Sun, 9 May 2004 22:53:54 -0500 Message-ID: <005601c43642$792c3be0$87c5fea9@max> To: "ASCEM-S" Organization: ConGlomeration X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook Express 6.00.2800.1158 X-MIMEOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1165 X-eGroups-Remote-IP: 63.65.184.2 From: "Keith & Jessica Bratcher" X-Yahoo-Profile: sileya MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEM-S-owner@yahoogroups.com Delivered-To: mailing list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com Precedence: bulk List-Unsubscribe: Date: Sun, 9 May 2004 22:54:19 -0500 Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW DS9 "Nineteen Shades" 11/12 (G/B) [NC-17] Reply-To: "Keith & Jessica Bratcher" Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Please see part 1 for codes, disclaimers, and notes. ------------------------------------------- Nineteen Shades, by Penumbra (part 11/12) ------------------------------------------- For once in his life, Garak didn't quite know what to say. The source of his unusual bafflement, five feet of ambulatory ire in the shape of a Ferengi, stood in the middle of his shop like a devil scorned, teeth bared and ears flushed. There was anger in his eyes, which was unexpected result of some seemingly idle chitchat regarding the war and the resulting unavailability of Altarian viscose. How the conversation had turned to the perennial topic of latinum -- or in this case, lack thereof -- was beyond Garak's considerable mental grasp. "Well?" Quark prompted vehemently. "Er, I beg your pardon?" Garak asked, recovering. Quark draped his now-altered pants over his arm with a jerk. "You heard me, Garak. Two bars of gold-pressed latinum, that's what you've just cost me. Do you know how hard it'll be for me to win it back from Jadzia?" Maintaining a calm facade in the face of Quark's confusing yet somewhat amusing tirade, Garak clasped his hands behind his back and put on his most sincere smile. "My dear Quark, while do I appreciate your patronage," he intoned and nodded at the trousers he'd mended for the Ferengi, "I simply have no idea what you are talking about." Quark made a sound halfway between a snort and a hiss. "Ah, never mind," he huffed and turned to go, only to have to dodge Bashir who'd appeared at the doorway to Garak's shop. "And it's your fault, too!" Quark exclaimed, pointing a decidedly accusing finger at Bashir before storming out in an obvious state of agitation. "Hello, Elim," Bashir said distractedly, pausing at a sweater rack to stare towards the Promenade where Quark had vanished. "What on earth was that all about?" Garak could only shake his head and wonder the same. "Guls only know." "This has been a strange day, Garak. Very strange," Bashir said and caught his eye. "I only told Miles this morning, and now the news is all over the station," he added with sarcastic emphasis on the word 'news.' Garak nodded. "Rumours, much like trouble, move at warp speed. And yes, today has been rife with odd experiences. Around lunchtime Major Kira was positively livid with me," Garak said, tapping his cheek with a finger as he thought back to their accidental meeting in the replimat queue. "Her remarks, while undeniably inventive, made some completely ludicrous assumptions about my heritage and the configuration of my genitals." "Oh god," Bashir said and closed his eyes, obviously unable to decide whether he was supposed to laugh or commiserate. "I'm so sorry, Elim." Garak leaned forward, frowning at the touch of sadness in Bashir's voice. "Oh, don't worry, my dearest. I only mention this because I found it highly entertaining. It's not often I can manage to get the major so riled up by merely being in her general vicinity." Bashir opened his eyes and gave a grateful smile. "I'm glad you can see the humour in all this." "Of course," Garak assured him. "And how has your day been?" Bashir smile morphed into a grin that would've been downright fiendish if it hadn't been so troubled. "I went to visit Captain Sisko in Ops and Jadzia gave me this beaming smile and a wink. I blushed to the point where the captain deemed necessary to inquire about my health and on whether I was getting enough rest. Thankfully, he was distracted from further questions by the choking sounds Major Kira was making." The laughter bubbling inside lifted Garak's spirits immensely. Seeing as his reputation was dubious on a good day, he hadn't really cared about what other people thought of him, but Bashir was in a markedly different situation. Gratified that he also was taking things in stride, Garak let his amusement show in his smile and the tone of his voice. "I'm glad you're also seeing the rather amusing aspects of the situation." "Naturally so," Bashir said even as his expression wavered to something more serious. "I also had lunch with Thuli." "I see," Garak said with a slight grimace, the laughter inside dying a swift, painful death. "A most illuminating event, undoubtedly." Bashir took a deep breath and met Garak's gaze squarely. "It was something of a learning experience for me, yes." Garak nodded. He had no doubt that Delemek and his young *ha'kem* had had many a frank conversation about Elim Garak of the Obsidian Order. However, given that Bashir had actually sought him out, Garak could only conclude that either Bashir was made of sterner stuff than he'd previously assumed or Thuli understood the concept of discretion. Both, he conceded, were probably far more than he deserved. Stepping around his desk, Garak approached the young man and took his hand. Combing his fingers through the sparse, short hairs on the back of Bashir's hand -- the concept of body hair was still utterly fascinating to him -- he stood still, simply enjoying the proximity and the touch of Julian's cool skin on his. Pressing Bashir's hand against his chest where his heart lay, Garak looked him in the eye -- not to plead, but to convey the truth as he saw it. An apology would be a lie, and he couldn't stand adding that particular untruth to the obstacles standing between them. "You do realise I'm not about to apologise for the things I've done." "There's no need to, Elim. I understand," Bashir said. The distant look in his eyes melted to such warmth that it thawed Garak's heart as much as the press of his hand on his chest did. "I really do." "We'll speak of it no more, then." Bashir nodded and closed his eyes as if banishing away whatever still troubled him. When he opened his eyes again, the melancholy was gone. "C'mon. Let's go see their ship leave." "Certainly," Garak acquiesced against his better judgement. "Let me close up the shop first. I'll just be a minute." Having done just that, they made their way to the upper level of the Promenade, where upper pylon three was visible. As they watched, the Bolian freighter carrying Serka and Thuli and the rest of the dissidents detached from the umbilical in a brief shower of sparks. Its impulse engines glowing in an ever-brightening green, the freighter turned and accelerated past the station's superstructure until it suddenly winked into warp speed. It left behind no trace of itself, merely the empty void of space that gleamed black between the stars. Garak was not sad to see it go, for it represented a closed book in the story of his life -- a tale he no longer had any use for. Moving to stand on one of the crosswalks over the Promenade, Garak leaned his hands against the balustrade and looked down at the milling throng. Bajoran security officers mingled with workers heading home while the riff-raff heading towards Quark's pushing through the civilians emerging from the Temple, even as the gaggles of Starfleet personnel from USS Algiers conversing loudly with their dour Vulcan counterparts off the vessel K'taur. It was a cacophony of sounds and sights, a milieu rife with alien tongues and objectionable fashion. Bashir came to stand next to him. "Penny for your thoughts." Garak straightened and turned to face Bashir, his face schooled to neutral. "Would you be interested in my musings regarding the utter blandness of Vulcan fashion, or on the appropriateness of *elket'n adt* in response to a *maq taalb* attack in Kotra?" "One would hope you'd be thinking of us. Me," Bashir said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Garak tsked, gently chiding even as he secretly relished their return to a comfortable, bantering mood. "My dear, such thoughts are far too distracting to be entertained in public," he said, voice carefully neutral. "True." "Quite so." Garak leaned forward and cocked an eyeridge. "What are you in the mood for dinner, my dear?" "Well. I'm sort of feeling like Klingon today," Bashir said in reply, assuming a pondering face as he, too, leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, maybe a plate of gagh and some blood wine, that would hit the spot. For dessert, I was thinking of a cup of good coffee, a glass of Bajoran spring wine, and fellatio." Once again, Garak's training came to his aid: he barely flinched. The glint of something heated in his Julian's eyes, combined with the rather blatant invitation, made Garak momentarily forget his distaste for the human habit of making blunt, inelegant declarations. This particular declaration had gone straight to his groin, which was in itself rather unsurprising seeing as how he'd become acquainted with the doctor's oral fixation. "If I'm to suffer through gagh, I expect nothing less," he managed, his eyes glued to Bashir's mouth. His groin tightened at the thought of those delectable, cool lips around his cock. "In fact, I'm sure nothing short of spectacular on the dessert front will make me forget the thoroughly unappetising experience that Klingon cuisine is." "Oh, you insufferable curmudgeon. Come here," Bashir huffed through a smile and yanked Garak by his collar into a kiss. Garak was dimly aware of the fact that they were making a spectacle of themselves. He heard the conversations in their vicinity halt in mid-sentence and felt the shocked, disapproving, and curious gazes on his back, and he didn't blame them one bit -- a middle-aged Cardassian in a spectacular lip-lock with a dashing, young Starfleet officer, in full view of the rush hour Promenade no less, was not something one saw every day. Usually such overt attention would make him uncomfortable, but at that moment, all Garak wanted was for it to never end. The measured, almost reverential touch of Julian's lips and the cool, rough exploration of his tongue were both inflaming and relaxing. All of Garak's worries melted away at that feel and at the slide of Julian's hands on his back and sides as he mapped the patterns of his tunic and the hills and valleys of his muscles beneath. The kiss was not just an affectation; no, it was an unneeded absolution of his sins and a much-desired wordless declaration of all that they could have and share. When Garak had to finally pull back lest he faint from lack of oxygen, he eyed the smiling Bashir with a question in his gaze. "What was that for?" he asked and heard the rough, thick rasp of his voice. "For volunteering to eat gagh with me. For what you did for Serka and Thuli," Bashir said and leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of his neckridge. "Because once in a blue moon, you do have a heart of gold." "Mmm. Just don't tell anyone," Garak murmured and closed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He surely didn't deserve such naive faith from this human, but while it lasted, he'd enjoy it for all that it was: love. "So I was thinking here," Bashir muttered against Garak's chest, his breath warm even through the thick fabric, "that a change of plans might be in order." "Oh?" Garak said. He traced the soft shape of Julian's cheek and neck with his fingers, smiling as he felt the blossoming heat there. From it and the growing hardness he felt pressing against his hip at his touch, Garak could surmise his companion's plan had somewhat backfired. "Do tell," he prompted. "I'm willing to skip the gagh," Bashir said, sounding slightly breathless. Garak's fingers found the pressure strip of his uniform closure and tugged it down an inch. "And the blood wine?" "And the blood wine. Garak..." he whispered, a note of amusement and warning in his voice. "As it happens, I have a bottle of Bajoran spring wine in cold stasis in my quarters," Garak said, as nonchalant as he could under the circumstances, specifically with his trousers feeling two sizes two small about the groin. "An excellent vintage, I might add. Sweet, yet not cloyingly so." "Well now," Bashir breathed but made no move to break their intimate embrace. The heat pooling in his darkened eyes would've melted duranium. "That is a very enticing proposition, Mr. Garak. Lead on. Please." With all the self-restraint he could muster, Garak refrained from unzipping Julian's uniform completely and taking him then and there. Instead, he stepped back and nodded towards the nearest turbolift. "Of course," he said and grasped Bashir's hand into his. He brought the hand to his lips, never breaking their eye contact even as he felt Julian shiver at the touch. "Always, my love." In reply, Bashir smiled and Garak wondered how that smile always managed to heal parts of him he hadn't known were wounded. "Always, Elim." ------------------------------- End of part 11/12. [Non-text portions of this message have been removed] Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEM-S/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCEM-S-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? 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