Note: This might be the longest chapter yet, I'm not sure but it's probably the chapter that everyone's been waiting for. Really the only thing to say is just long drawn out banging with no plot advancement except if you've read my other works you'd know this is actually pretty short for me haha. Anyway, thank you everyone for coming along with me this far! C&C is always welcome.


Jealousy is truly a powerful emotion and quite an effective weapon if wielded properly. That was a lesson he'd learned early enough and he finds it working out quite to his favor here. Garak has always been careful not to culture any particular behavior, any instinct that could prove to be a liability. He might find himself in that case in a fight for dominance, some alpha male growling scratching wrestling match, and while that certainly has its place it would be quite a vexing gut reaction to try and fight. Instead Garak considers, as he allows Julian's tongue to push past his lips, a few moves ahead, calculating exactly how much passivity can be cultivated without seeming put on or undesirable. He has no dossier on any of Julian's previous partners, Jadzia certainly not from anything he can read, and likely not Leeta for the sole reason that she's still alive in stark contrast to Julian's declaration that those he's loved- Ah, but loved or lusted over, Elim, that's a very important distinction. Was Julian speaking in Federation Standard when he said that or not? Garak decides it isn't worth such a diversion of attention and decides therefore to just "go with the flow" as the saying follows.

He brings a hand up to Julian's shoulder, as if some warning that things are going to fast, as if he might push, and he feels a slow to Julian's tongue in return, feels a pause to breathe, likely to give Garak a chance to decline to take this further. Garak is quite pleased with Julian's level of control though it's still quite an early stage of the endeavor to be a foolproof predictor, it's a good sign of his receptiveness to queues, to body language. Garak doesn't push him back, but rather squeezes, as he takes a small short step turn so that his back is to the bed and he feels Julian eagerly step into that space, one foot neatly between his. He feels a hand on his hip, keeping him in place, not yet urging him back, again commendable restraint in his estimation.

"Garak..." he hears or more feels pressed sloppily to the side of is mouth, his cheek, a wet trailed murmured his name a few more times and upon the third or forth he suppresses the urge to answer with a smart "yes?" He wonders if in this instance he ought to be returning the favor with some moan of Julian's name but when Julian's mouth meets that ridge running from his ear down his neck, he loses that thought- actually he loses more than just that one- and instead finds his fingers still caught on the fabric, jerk sharply with his arm. There's a rip of that shoulder seam, shoddy work if the stitches tear so readily and his eye flutters to that spot seeing far more skin that he really wants to taste.

"It seems..." his speech catches, Julian's teeth sharp but not too sharp along those sensitive ridges, sucking, drawn between those teeth and he nearly loses coherent speech entirely. "I... I owe you a shirt..." He swallows, letting that one eye close tightly, hearing Julian laugh, feeling a wiggle of an arm working the garment off that side of his body entirely just as fingers start to play at his own collar.

"A shirt, glasses, what else are you going to owe me Garak?"

Garak opens his mouth to answer, Julian's head turning, Garak's head tipping back eye still closed, that vertigo growing to a dizzying swirl of color behind his eyelid feeling fingers deftly working the buttons of his shirt. He nearly swallows a breath when Julian's mouth attacks his throat, tongue trilling, skin pulled again, bitten, surely bruised, and that attempted "anything" is morphed hastily to some "ah haa haa..." It sounds odd to his ears, an unusually accented cry from so many hours of Federation Standard speech. If asked he would have guessed the natural hisses, the tongue sibilance to be so deeply ingrained that no matter the circumstances, lost in that need he would pass those before any other. But there it is, a sound alien to his own ears, but clearly not to Julian's.

"Yess... oh yes yes," Julian gasps and it would seem that oddly articulated cry is what Julian needs to take that next step. He doesn't gently urge, that control likely slipping then, but there's a much more insistent push of his hips, that displaced equilibrium sending Garak backwards on the soft, noticeably bouncy, mattress. He lets that hold remain to Julian's shoulder sure that it shouldn't be strong enough to pull him down should he choose not to go but he's quite game, following that tug eagerly.

Garak debates some line from his disgustingly long repertoire of memorized entreaties from all those Guls damned books but he decides against it. Deciding against conversation, my the things you put yourself through for the cause, Elim. He doesn't dwell on that overly much. After all, there will be plenty of time should he survive to- To what? remain on world for the sake of unbridled fornicating with an augment you're far better off leaving alone? Yes, let Tain know you'll be on extended leave so you and he can rut like animals instead of tending to your duties. No, he's not going to allow that now. He'll have time later for self recrimination and at the very least you'll have an equally lengthy voyage back to "do the deed" properly. Yes, the thought of them on this bed rolling, clutching, clawing, comes to him quite nicely just as Julian pushes against him seeking more intimate contact. He feels the shirt pushed back, parting inelegantly like some offensive gift wrapping, and he shrugs out of it, sealing his mouth back to Julian's in the process.

Garak supposes he'll grow accustomed to this... unique way of kissing, of overly amorous fluid exchange; he finds he enjoys the way Julian tastes. He's spicy, earthy, and the scratch of the dark beard is a novelty he rather enjoys. It emphasizes that maleness just like that hard body, like that obscene human prick pressing to his hip beneath the fabric of those pants. He feels Julian shift, feels the soft, sweaty human skin slick against his own, bare of ridges but certainly not of sensation as his nails scrape the expanse of Julian's back making him groan into Garak's mouth. More salivating, he notes, a swallow, a gasp, some hasty murmur that Garak doesn't expend any energy deciphering. He lets his tongue twine back, letting the kiss become just a touch more Cardassian even as Julian swipes broad strokes over his lips, half smeared across his mouth before ducking down more to his neck, to the ridges over bone, right to that-

"Oh..." drawn in breath nearly makes him hiccup as Julian almost daintily tongues that sensitive indent testing its sensitivity. Garak feels his toes curl in his shoes in response, and he kicks them off one foot, two, wondering if there's any way he might divest the socks in some similar simian manner.

Cardassians do not usually enjoy the same penchant for digital manipulation as humans and other races where the feet are concerned, but he supposes in this case that the State has shown him some otherworldly favor as he actually manages to make it work. He smiles, quite proud of himself; well, an awkward panting open mouth thing that in his mind is at least a smile. Julian looks, moving back with little regard for the nails that scrape down his back failing to hold fast, a toothy grin in return, as his hands fall to the buckle of his belt.

"I was going to see... which of us could undress faster... but I seem to be at a disadvantage." Julian stands between his spread legs, Garak only half on the bed. Garak can see Julian's eyes moving hungrily up and down his body, almost hyper focused as if somehow that augmented gaze could in fact peer through his clothing. He indulges in his own study, imagining the temperature of the room must be quite warm for a human, Julian's skin wearing that sheen of sweat already brilliantly. It's hard- no pun intended- not to notice that hardness, that large proof of human male arousal, tenting the front of those pants and Garak debates just how far to indulge Julian.

It's not without risk of course, but then again in his long and rather storied career, what hasn't been? By the State, Elim, you better hope he at least has the sense not to- Garak slams that thought down, mind made up, knowing that even without the implant whatever discomfort, whatever pain might arise from meeting Julian on much more human terms might be worth the game.

"It would hardly be fair without a little handicap, dear Julian," Garak answers, not having to stretch too much to be sure that his own expression mirrors that same level of lust. There is of course that part of him as Julian almost childishly says "go", that cringes as he allows that needy eversion, that draws back from that gasping breath, the head of his cock just starting to brush the fabric of his undergarments. He swallows a hiss, swallows that Cardassian sound down for a soft moan, the delicate fabric still like a feline's rough tongue over that sensitive slick flesh, his hips wiggling, lifting as his pants slide off.

Such an obscenity, he thinks as he glances the entire length everted, hard, thick, straight up in the air like the peg in a game of quoits that Jadzia insisted on showing him. Well that's a damn fine analogy to be having now of all times. He moves up on the bed, careful to hide any traces of unease as Julian, quickly nude- Guls, how did he get those knotted shoelaces undone already?- is already on the bed, on hands and knees, practically stalking up the length of his prone body like a wild jungle cat. Garak makes sure that any tension in his body, coiled in his belly is redirected, is focused towards that goal towards Julian against him, on him, in him pounding, biting, and he finds himself suddenly breathless at just how vividly his imagination conjures that picture, letting himself be guided by that lusty thought as Julian parts his thighs. Garak sits up, a hand already coming up, almost carried away with the desire to yank his head by that wild man of hair until it draws a growl from him. But he keeps careful, steady, Julian's chest pressed to his as Garak initiates that human kissing with a slow tilt of his head, deliberate eye contact, a light touch to the nape of Julian's neck that causes a delicious shiver to reverberate through the both of them.

Julian gasps, Garak meeting his tongue eagerly, meeting his mouth, accustomed now to the wild spit swap, to the heavy panting, moaning, almost devouring back and forth lip smacking. Julian's body moves closer, thankfully carefully. Garak keeps himself upright, other hand on the bed when he feels Julian take his wrist and hold it tightly. Garak again doesn't react beyond a slow deliberate flex of his hand to test that blood flow, head turning from one tilt to the other axis, finding that slight flip nice, tongue tasting Julian's teeth, his palette, feeling Julian's tongue thick in his mouth battling back hard, hot, and just as hard he finally feels the slide of Julian's length along his own. The reaction is immediate and it is only from years of training, pain, pleasure, both at the same time, that he is able to keep himself calm. The sensation is intense, even without the rough human grind he's read about, and his knee raises slowly, but he doesn't allow that shift of weight which would flip them over. No, he lets that sensation flow out with a squeeze of his thigh to Julian's hip and he feels more than hears the growl against his mouth.

Julian breaks the kiss panting, chest heaving, "godgodgod" passing across Garak's cheek to his ear with delightful humid breath. Garak feels the rough of Julian's bearded cheek against his face, more panting, their bodies closer together, a hand Garak forgot that Julian even had around his waist lifting him up easily. He allows that movement, feeling the swelling flush of his scales, feeling the throb of his cock as the two are forced closer, Julian's rubbing his more insistently, the slick wet easing that friction to a bearable level. He gasps, he decides that he might reward Julian with a soft whimper for that feat of strength, the sound almost alien to his ears, soft, pitiful, but exactly what he seeks to convey as Julian shifts his own legs until Garak is seated neatly straddling them. Well this is certainly novel. He faces Julian, his hips rocking fast short spurts his everted cock terribly desperate to continue that contact as heavenly as it is torturous. And it that second soft hitching high pitched noise that makes Julian move his head, look him in the eyes, and of all things smirk at him as if there's some secret he's yet to be let in on. He is aware that Julian has moved his arm behind his back and he only thinks now to test that grip finding it oddly loose.

"You're too loose," Julian says, voice as thick with sex as it is amusement. Ah, but of course he's calling your bluff, Elim. You should have known better. You should have known there would be more tension from an unexpected movement. You should have known it's the natural instinct to fight, to test, to be cautious. Ah you poor fool, you might as well... Might as well what? You're certainly not going to stop. You can still absolutely turn this to your advantage if you play this right. Play this right? He's not sure he's even thinking clearly, Julian giving a soft bounce that makes his eye flutter and nearly gives him another attack of vertigo. Garak also has some intrusive offended secondary thought as he considers that statement in Federation Standard out of context and he almost has half a mind to inform Julian that it was he who was the one one his knees first murder plot or no, and if either of them is loose it is- But there's another rock, another groan, and he decides that he's had enough of the silly charade.

"Why don't you find out, Julian?" he teases back, and there's another grind, harder, almost too hard that does draw a prolonged hiss.

"Tell me if it's too much," Julian urges, practically begs and Garak nods, not content to merely be used like a doll.

He has no intention of such a thing even if it does in fact kill him because it is one thing to feign weakness but another entirely to show real vulnerability. Garak squeezes his thighs again, rocking his hips back, losing that awkward bend when he realizes Julian easily has enough strength to keep him from falling backwards. He gives in then at last to that urge, to that hard pull Julian's hair, tongues twining, Julian a splendidly fast learner. Garak laps at his tongue, lets the two meet in that beautiful dance as he grinds harder, more slick sticky spilled between them, likely his, but that moan from Julian speaks to such equal ardor he's not sure. What he is sure of is that he can feel the wet pooling between them, he can feel Julian's hands move down, down the small of his back, tracing the ridges along his spine. That tease makes him arch into Julian, makes him gasp, those guttural throat noises forced out, rubbing aching, more, until he feels Julian's hands on his ass. He feels a suck on his tongue, Julian, swiping a sweet plea, of "please... Garak... I want..."

He knows what Julian wants and Guls he wants it too, badly. Garak awkwardly wedges a hand between them stroking, feeling both cocks, feeling the fascinating skin of Julian's slide up and down, Julian's hips twitching, jerking up as he strokes, squeezes, checks just to make sure-

"God help me if you keep doing that..." That plea is delightful, Julian's head bowed, forehead nearly touching Garak's shoulder and he almost continues that tease, his thumb circling the slit, feeling more fluid pearling, sticky, stickier than his own. But that isn't what he needs. Julian's hands squeeze hard, kneading, fingers moving much closer to the cleft of his ass as he massages, as he begs again if Garak would pleaseplease let him... Yes... yes now... it's wet enough... He twists light, rotates his palm, making sure that the slick of his own cock transfers to what little of that large thick shaft may have been missed in their heavy rubbing; there isn't much and he recalls almost irritated some Romulan boor remarking decades ago that Cardassian women must be veritable sandpits if the males come equipped with so much natural lubrication.

Garak pushes that thought almost violently aside, never happier that a man was dead by his design. It's quirk of biology that he's quite happy for now and as Julian seems to belatedly think to ask if he needs- Garak shakes his head, bringing that hand back up, taking great pleasure in licking it clean, not caring that his face is a sure study in debauchery. It's one Julian studies well as Garak lets that hand drop back to guide the large swollen head of Julian's lovely prick right where he needs it most. He stops, Julian's tongue bathing his face like a mother cat, but it feels good, those soft lips sucking noisily, crudely, damn beautifully, just as Garak has enough presence of mind to recall the task -ahem- at hand. Julian moves him before he moves his own hips, lifting him, spreading him like some great offering, and he could definitely get used to these useful feats of augment strength. He feels oddly exposed and he doesn't deign to count the years that it's been since he's been taken that way. The reminder of his age isn't the cold water that he needs right now, especially when Julian is again tonguing that dip of his collar making him tense in a way that's hardly conducive to their current situation when he feels that tip pressing pushing, and it's only by sheer will that he exhales and relaxes just enough to-

"Tsss..." that hiss is loud, pained bliss, and Garak wishes the damn implant were working just so he could tweak everything to the perfect level of euphoria to make him come right then. But it's broken and there are no drugs, no fabricated neural chemicals flooding his brain. No, it's nothing but Julian entering him slowly, deliberately, seeming to move faster, easier, and he can feel the tremble of Julian's arms, not from strain but restraint, from that urge that Garak knows all to well to move, to thrust, to bury balls deep and just fuck. He knows he ought to be thankful for that consideration, for the control that has likely come from a lifetime of Julian watching his strength, careful so terribly careful. It makes him almost irrationally angry that Julian finds this necessary after any pretenses of his vulnerability have been dropped. He grips Julian's hair harder, tighter, until he knows that it hurts and he speaks in CardĒŽsda knowing that Julian will understand him just the same, whatever he may claim later.

"Do it," he rasps, another pull, hearing Julian swear at him a blistering epithet back fluently that makes him smile. But he doesn't need to be told twice and the moment Garak lets go, so too does Julian, those hands turning more rough, opening him up wider, practically driving him down just as his hips push up.

Garak has a moment of debate as to whether or not he should make some exaggerated cry, but finds the breath rush out with nothing but a gasping swallow like a fish that finds itself unable to breathe the poisonous oxygen above water. He doesn't think it a flattering sound, but Julian doesn't seem to object, taking that command as carte blanche to release some of that control. Garak feels him shift, feels himself driven into hard, Julian in complete control of that motion, and Garak nearly lets his head fall back until the vertigo strikes again with a vengeance. He settles for keeping his head bowed, watching the blurry bounce from his view of Julian's mouth on his chest, lickbitesuck until it seems that all he can do is take hold of Julian's shoulders and just go along for the ride. He feels his body rocked, fucked, Julian's stomach rubbing against his cock, that grind making him pant, some other low rasp as Julian is absolutely deep inside him, in the midst of that large cock pushing him open, a finger teasing, daring, is if it might to slip inside and open him up even wider. Garak's thighs start to shake as tightly as they've been gripping Julian's hips, toes curling, heel unconsciously kicking the small of Julian's back, not bringing him to heel but instead spurring him to go harder, deeper as if such a thing were possible.

There was a point to this, he thinks for just a fleeting second that is completely forgotten, his body clenching around Julian tighter, that tension in his stomach starting to blossom out and coil tighter. And Garak has the experience of numerous encounters over the years to warn him against whispering a lover's name knowing that any words could spill out in such a moment, but that, like the rest of this encounter finds caution thrown to the wind as he whispers "Julian..." It is just once in some brief pause, and he feels a much greater halt, another litany of "god god yes" that almost makes him think that is the end of Julian's stamina. Except of course it isn't, and even as that slow, that prolonged pull out gives him a chance to move on his own, to press more slickly insistently against Julian towards his own completion. It's perhaps a selfish thought and not one befitting a generous lover, but Garak's never claimed to be fair and this is all Julian's fault anyway and he's just so Guls damned close...

"Ssss... Hsss..." he lets go of Julian just long enough to move his hand again, not playing not teasing, not needing to do anything beyond press, squeeze, draw that pressure to the breaking point. And it's right then that he does feel those fingers slip inside him, tease his sensitive hole, as they massage one, two, scissoring him almost impossibly wide until he finds that his mouth has fastening to Julian's shoulder to bite back a cry that would surely rouse the entire ship to bust the door in even with the noise coming from the engine room. He can't stop. He wouldn't want to anyway, feeling that heat spiraling out of control until he feels the spasm of his cock in hand, every muscle in his body locked as he swallows, pants a strangled repeat of Julian's name, another finger entering him in response, a forth? He doesn't even know what his body is allowing as he allows the spill to pool until he things he's nothing left to give.

"Garak..." he hears half swallowed to his throat as his head moves back, leaving large red skin nearly broken indent.

"That... is my name..." he answers automatically, expecting there to be more to that conversation along the lines of witty banter.

He should have expected that where humans are concerned the conversation seems to die off in these more heated encounters, but he supposes there's no harm in dreaming and he's not in any mood to protest. Even so, he's not entirely prepared for that second slow withdraw, the release of hands, and he almost asks Julian what he thinks he's doing stopping now of all times, but instead he finds himself almost inexplicably in his back, that bouncy mattress quite soft and rather nice but not exactly what he- Oh...

"Oh..." That wasn't the sound he was expecting to make but he supposes it's as good as any as he catches sight of Julian on his knees, back between his spread legs looking almost evil in his intention. He feigns a shudder as Julian spreads that thick dribbling fluid down, coating his cock anew. "Oh tell me you'll have mercy on a poor old tailor, Julian." Really, he's almost certain that any moment his body is going to go practically catatonic, penis retracting, that lazy haze taking over, except that by some sorcery- or maybe just that long of a dry spell where being on the receiving end is concerned- he finds himself still keyed up, blood still pumping wildly, and thinks irrationally that Julian might have even slipped him something.

"Not a chance," Julian informs him another slow sensual stroke of that thick uncut cock. Garak looks up at him, meeting that expression with a challenge.

"Good."