Author's Note: This was originally posted on ao3 under the_last_dillards. My complete catalog of fics can be found there. Garak's anatomy here is based on Tinsnip's Speculative Cardassian Reproductive Xenobiology as seen on ao3.

Garak laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and feeling rather stunned. Doctor Bashir snored loudly next to him, flopped over, and wrapped an arm firmly around his waist before settling back in, holding Garak close to his alien warmth.

This wasn't what Garak had planned at all.

It had been only a few hours earlier when Garak had broken the lock to Bashir's quarters.

He needed to borrow a datarod that had arrived for Bashir earlier in the day. Officially, it only contained only a few innocent files on Cardassian research into Bajoran disease. Unofficially, there was information hidden on it, meant for Garak's eyes only. It was a convenient and effective method of smuggling sensitive intel over the border between him and his few remaining allies.

This wasn't Garak's first time breaking into Bashir's quarters in the middle of the night. He knew the doctor to be a deep sleeper and felt comfortable doing so whenever he needed something.

Tonight however, he had miscalculated.

It wasn't uncommon for Bashir to throw his uniform on the floor and leave it there while getting ready for bed. To strip down to his underwear—unless he was on call in which case he wore pajamas—and toss the used clothing wherever they fell. In the morning, he'd put them with the rest of his clothes to be washed.

And so when Garak had seen a rumpled uniform thrown over the back of a chair in Bashir's bedroom, he expected that was it. He didn't think to look carefully where he stepped in case unforeseen obstacles, such as yesterday's uniform, were in the way. Tailoring truly had dulled his wits.

And then there yesterday's uniform was. Still on floor and twisting around Garak's ankles so that he tripped and fell right onto Bashir's bed. Right onto Bashir.

Bashir jolted awake, eyes wide, but then seeing it was Garak, muttered a surprisingly fond, "Oh, hello there you," and kissed him. Right on the mouth.

Garak was pulled fully onto the bed and Bashir swept away the covers as he rolled them both over into the middle. Not expecting to receive such a positive reaction to his surprise entrance, Garak had gone with it. Accepted Bashir's caresses and open mouthed kisses and wandering hands, and gave them in turn.

He'd never been with an alien before. Members of the Obsidian Order had a certain reputation for being sexual deviants, ready and happy to bed anyone they could so long as the State's name was invoked. But Garak had always been slightly more repressed in that regard than most of his peers. He'd only ever given himself that way to two, both very dear to him.

Bashir wasn't that. At least, not yet. But there was something in the doctor's bright optimism and unwavering faith in the inherent goodness of all things that drew Garak in. He wasn't blind enough to his own emotions not to recognize that attachment, that dangerous thing, had already begun. The dominoes had begun their long and winding fall and he was powerless to stop the process that was already in place. It scared Garak to death.

After Bashir had started pulling a bit too forcefully on his clothes, Garak briefly left the bed to undress. He considered his options. Bashir clearly thought Garak had come here seeking sex. It would be too difficult to explain his presence away as anything else.

He could leave. Feign a last minute bout of nerves. Tell the truth even, in a way, by admitting that he'd never been with an alien before.

Bashir would probably accept that. Oh, he'd try to coax Garak back into bed first with reassurances and his 'worldly' confidence, but if Garak was adamant enough about a sudden change of mind, he didn't doubt Bashir would let him be.

But Garak couldn't deny a certain curiosity either. He'd heard all manner of stories from his Order compatriots about alien men and the pleasures they wrought.

There was danger in every association. But how much more was it really if he let Bashir take him to bed now when they'd already gotten here as compared to another few lunches in the public eye?

And so Garak returned, fully denuded.

Bashir had taken it upon himself to remove his undergarments in the meantime. He stroked leisurely along his alien organ, watching with hooded eyes. The thing was strange looking. Long and relatively thin with a bulbous tip, covered in more of that strange soft skin humans had, and underscored by two furry sacs. All in all, it was very intimidating.

But Garak troopered on. He crawled back into Bashir's arms and allowed them to wrap around him. Hands wandered along his ridges and flanks, drifting down until they reached his buttocks. There they spread him wide, fingers exploring in between, rubbing and seemingly searching for something. Garak thought it was a rather strange thing to do. But eventually Bashir moved on, hands sliding towards his front.

And there he touched him, intimately. Where no one else had dared for years now, Bashir went in full bravado. He pressed his fingers deep into Garak's slit, each touch sure and steady as if bedding Cardassians was an ordinary thing for him to do. Left him gasping and shuddering as he worked him open until Bashir was satisfied with how loose he was.

He rolled on top of Garak and pressed himself in, that long and dangerous looking length that felt oh so good as it penetrated deep. Bashir pressed forward until they were hip to hip and Garak was almost surprised to see that he had taken the entirety of it. They rocked and shifted together, a gentle grinding of hips that accelerated into a furious fucking, Bashir driving into him with full force.

Garak wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding on and taking it, crying out at the sensations that were forced from him. Bashir kissed and licked and bit along his ridges. Pounded into him relentlessly, with more stamina and force than he had known a human could possess.

When Garak came, it was harder than he could remember ever doing before. Bashir was close behind, fucking his alien seed so deep inside him that Garak wasn't sure it would ever come out.

(There were stories in the Order, ones that floated to the top of his mind now, of Cardassians who coupled with aliens and became host to strange parasitic larvae as a result.)

Finally, sated and exhausted, Bashir rolled off of him, letting his penis slide out with a slick sound. Garak stayed where he was as he heard Bashir get up and leave to use the fresher.

He felt strange. A tingle of excitement still fluttered at the ends of his limbs but now, there was a numbness creeping into them. Anxiety and dread leadened his stomach.

This was a foolish thing to do. Entanglements of this sort never ended well. And, what's more, he needed Bashir to help smooth out the circumstances of his exile. Who else would serve as a go between for him and Starfleet?

Who else would give Garak the time of day? The station was like a desert to his primal needs for social interaction and friendly touch. Garak hated admitting weakness, even to himself, but he was lonely.

And this could all go sour so very easily. Bashir would tire of him or feel entitled to Garak's life and go poking where he shouldn't or one of Garak's many enemies would find out. Who would quench that thirst for conversation, for casual touch if he made the wrong move and Doctor Bashir abandoned him?

No.

This couldn't happen again.

He would need to set up strict boundaries between them. Make sure Bashir understood this was a fluke, a mistake for them both, and nothing more, but that he still valued their friendship.

Just then, Bashir came back to bed, flopping back down and snuggling up to him.

He ought to leave soon.

Garak didn't much feel like getting up. He felt wet and used, Bashir's cum still inside him. If he were to leave the bed now, he knew it would all come out in a rush, sliding down his naked thighs and requiring a stop at the fresher before he could redress and escape out the door.

But the alternative was much worse. Stay here? Wake up naked in Bashir's quarters at his side? Take breakfast at his table?

No, that wasn't an option.

Garak waited until he was sure Bashir was asleep.

Then he reached down and slipped a few fingers inside of himself. Did his best to get what he could of the mess outside of him. Bashir would be left in the morning with concrete evidence that what had taken place was more than just a dream but so be it.

It was better than making a trip to the fresher and chancing confronting him now. Garak needed time to himself to think about this and besides, he still needed to copy those files over from that data rod.

He slipped away, Bashir grumbling and rolling over before stilling.

Garak arrived to lunch the next day as he always did. He ordered his meal and sat down at the usual table, napkin tucked neatly into his collar, and waited. This wasn't an encounter he looked forward to.

"Garak!"

And there it was. Bashir appeared with his own tray, hovering over Garak with an aura of nerves.

"Doctor Bashir. Please, take a seat."

Bashir plopped down on the other side of the table, brows furrowed. "I— You disappeared."

Right to it then.

Garak dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin before answering. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I've been where I always am."

Bashir's face crunched into an annoyed expression. "Really? You can't even be bothered to acknowledge—"

Garak interrupted. "I've noticed Lieutenants Tsheej and Tomah have taken to wearing a new style recently."

Bashir was thrown off of whatever tirade he'd been about to embark on. "What?"

He followed Garak's gaze to the couple a few tables down. They were leaning in close to each other, staring deeply into each other's eyes and holding hands across the table. Infatuation was written fresh and deep into their every gesture.

Garak continued, "It suits them. Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's right for everyone. It's a flashy look, currently trendy, but also rather gauche. A doctor, for instance, might appear unprofessional if he were seen wearing such a thing, especially around his patients. It wouldn't aspire confidence in his ability to care for them."

Bashir leaned back in his chair, resigned. "And a spy, I suppose, would stick out like a sore thumb. He probably wouldn't want the attention."

"Precisely."

"But what if it was something you deeply enjoyed anyways and so you still wore it, but only in the privacy of your quarters?"

Garak looked him sharply in the eye. "A dangerous proposition, doctor. Unexpected emergencies are known to pop up and what then when your true tastes are found out?"

"You can't live life around worst case scenarios. Even doctors, and spies, need things for themselves." Bashir rested a hand on Garak's. "No one needs to know."

"Doctor—"

"Just think about, okay? My doors are always open should you ever want to, erm, drop off a suit."

Their eyes met. Garak couldn't deny the temptation in that offer.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Bashir pulled back.

"So, um, that book you gave me, A Journey to the Northern Continent."

Perhaps a stronger man would've been able to hold out on his resolve. It took barely a week before Garak stopped by again, no datarod in mind this time, and dropped the first of many suits off at Bashir's quarters.

Author's Note: Julian Bashir logic: If a spy breaks into your room in the middle of the night, then he's definitely there for sex.