Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Fear not, I have received much, much weirder asks AND I’ve answered them. (Also like. I feel like every time I enter a fandom I eventually get known for being the married lesbian who’s very into BDSM and other things we’re not going to get into here.) But anyway, not too weird at all.
So like my Julian Bashir hot take is that up until Garak he likes to take charge during sex, likes to be on top all the time, wants to be in control and give his partner pleasure because it’s how his brain conceives of getting a good grade in sex, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve.
Like I absolutely believe that he overcomes his complete dorkiness and inability to be smooth even one time with like, intense pussy eating game and top notch fellatio skills and never has any problems in finding the clit/comparable bundle of nerve endings no matter what race or gender his partner is, he’s gonna do it, he’s gonna make them cum and feel so proud and accomplished.
And then he invites the professional mind fucker that is Elim Garak into his bed and finally has sex with someone who is his match in literally every way and can overpower him in a few of them, both mentally and physically, which to super secret augment Julian Bashir is the equivalent of doing a line of sex pollen off a mirror in some party girl’s living room and then going to play seven minutes in heaven. Garak is someone he respects deeply, and someone he knows can get the jump on him and let’s be real, ever since simulation!Garak threw him up against the wall and asked him to do espionage with him, Julian’s wanted to replicate that moment. So they go back to Garak’s quarters and probably not the first time, or the second, or the third, but Julian finds a way to get himself thrown against the wall. And he likes it. He really likes it. And Garak listens to him moan, watches his pupils dilate and his breath change, smells the pheromones his body pumps out and scents blood in the water. He knows what he’s going to give Julian – but first, he’s going to make him beg for it.
Because for a man like Garak, that’s the ultimate indulgence, to reduce a man like Julian to begging. It’s caretaking authored by brutality. To make him a shivering, trembling mess with one hand on his cock and the other pinkening up his ass and thighs. To tell him to keep his hands on the headboard if he knows what’s good for him, and slide two fingers in until he’s massaging his prostate. To bring him to the edge again and again and again until he’s begging to be fucked, begging to cum, begging to keep feeling the sensation he’s filling him up with to the top over and over and over. Garak’s never made anyone beg like this, and it’s addictive. Not in the way the wire was, or kanar, but it’s a feedback loop of pleasure and denial and Julian pulls him in with him, rolls over and brings Garak into the cradle of his thighs and his arms. It’s overstimulation writ large, the kind of spectacular high that can only be followed by the most content kind of delirium, by peace, by silence.
For Julian, it’s the first time his mind has ever been quiet during sex. Really, and truly quiet, every thought subsumed by want that is quickly eclipsed by filthy, debauched, sloppy need. And once he’s in it, he doesn’t want it to stop. He’s not sure it can stop, not without things proceeding to their natural conclusion. And god only knows if it’s a testament to how naïve or maybe how hubristic he is, but he trusts Garak not to drop him. He trusts Garak to take care of him. Garak does take care of him and his body floods with more endorphins than he’s felt in his entire life.
Nostalgia is like hey remember that time in your life when you were unbearably sad and angry all the time? What if you weren’t? What if you actually miss it? What if magnolia trees never smell like that again?
Julian
tried to pull free, but his hands were tied tight at the wrist, and pinned as
they were between his lower back and Garak’s stomach, his ankles fastened tight
to the magnetic loops Garak had sewn into knees in lieu of a spreader bar, he didn’t
have much luck.
“An
inspired design, isn’t it, my dear?” asked Garak, his breath purring hot and
wonderful against Julian’s ear, and Julian shivered.
“I’m not
about to stroke your ego over your tailoring abilities when you’re using them
to torture me, Garak.”
“Torture
is such a strong word,” said Garak softly. “Stroke, though, that sounds about
right…”
His thumb
traced so delicately over the shaft of Julian’s clit, down toward its head,
that Julian moaned breathily, his head tipping back against Garak’s chest, and
Garak laughed at the way his clit jumped with the clench of Julian’s cunt,
which was so wet it was dripping.
“Mmm, so
responsive,” said Garak approvingly, spreading his knees a little wider and making
Julian’s ankles spread wider too, his position more precarious as he tried to
stay balanced in Garak’s lap.
Garak’s
fingers dipped into the opening of Julian’s cunt, gathered the wetness
on his fingers like he was sopping up oil on his bread, and then he traced
either side of Julian’s cunt so carefully, the touch so feather light, that
Julian actually groaned through gritted teeth, struggling for all the good it
did him.
When he
finally stopped, breathing heavily and with sweat glistening on his skin, Garak
slid the flat of his tongue over the back of his neck, tasting the salt there,
before nibbling in a way that did incredible things to Julian’s sense of pleasure,
his hips tipping up against the air.
“Tease,”
he grunted.
“I am, I
am,” Garak agreed. “But you never savour your food, dear, and you never savour
my touch, either. I’m teaching you patience.”
“You’re not
teaching me anything, just incentivising me to murder,” Julian retorted, and
then groaned when Garak flicked his thumb over Julian’s clit, an electric throb
radiating outward from it and tingling in Julian’s thighs, coiling in his
stomach, making his whole body twitch.
“Such a
lovely young man,” Garak purred, and with his soaking wet finger and middle
finger, he touched against the very tip of Julian’s clit, pressed down, and
began to rub it in slow circles, each time strumming it against the bone
underneath. It was painfully, agonisingly slow, each drag and release of his
clit over the pubic bone making his body clench and writhe, but the pleasure
that came from it was intense, and although he tried to hold back his
actual moans, he was breathing heavily and kept dragging in sharp intakes of
breath.
“Please,”
he moaned after a few minutes of this. “Please, Garak, please—”
Garak’s
fingers moved only slightly faster, but it was enough to drag a reedy noise out
of his throat, thrusting his hips up and into Garak’s hand for all the good it
did him.
He was close.
He was so close he could taste it, so close that his shoulders were drawn in
tight to his body, his hips aching with the awkward way he was trying to press
them up into Garak’s hand, and he was clenching so tightly on nothing he
thought he might break, but it was worth it, worth it for the heat of Garak’s
infuriatingly slow-moving fingers, the electric thrill that came with every
strum of sensitive nerve bundling against the bone, the waves of pleasure cresting
higher and higher, so that—
Garak
took his hand off of Julian’s cunt, and Julian howled his loss.
“Now,
now, dear,” said Garak reasonably, beginning to delicately stroke his lips in
the teasing way he’d done before, the touch so gentle Julian wanted to cry. “We’ll
teach you some patience yet.”
The
torture went on.
Julian
wondered if he would take it as far as he had last time, when the orgasm had
hit him with such brutal force that he’d almost fainted.
The idea
made his body shudder, and he closed his eyes as he pressed further into Garak’s
hand.
