Title: Molten Silver
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date: January 2010
Category: Slash G/B
Rating: R for adult and sexual content
Disclaimer: The beautiful boys aren't products of my imagination. They just play there when they feel like it. Nobody profited from this fanfic.
Author's Note: This story was written for the incomparable Lady Drace for the challenge she issued here. http://lady-drace.livejournal.com/304817.html It's not necessarily in continuity with the series I've been working on, although it could easily fit somewhere in there between the action. I hope it fits the bill!
Julian was fed up. For almost a week now, Garak had been doing his best to avoid him. He knew that something was wrong. The few times he had managed to catch him off guard in the shop, he had seen that the tailor looked dreadful, paler than usual, exhausted. If he was sick, he couldn't understand why he wouldn't just come to see him in the infirmary. There was no reason for him to needlessly suffer just because they were now lovers. If he was worried about something, well, he should've been able to tell Julian. What good was being in a relationship if there was no trust, no sharing?
He determined that he would get to the bottom of it that very night, begging off of his racquetball game with Miles and marching with determination straight to Garak's quarters after he got off work. He chimed the door and waited, then chimed again when he got no response. “Go away!” Garak's voice came, querulous and annoyed through the comm.
“I will not,” Julian said. “You've been avoiding me for a week. I know something is wrong with you, so I'm not going anywhere until you let me in and we talk about this.” The door hissed open, and the doctor stepped inside. Garak was nowhere to be seen. “Garak,” he called to him, “you can't expect to hide from me in here. I know you're either in the back or the bathroom. You may as well come out.”
The Cardassian stepped into his bedroom doorway, wrapped in a thick robe that covered him from beneath the ears all the way down to his feet. He had both hands tucked beneath his folded arms and glared at Julian crossly. “I'm fine,” he said, “as you can see. I just want some time alone. What's so wrong with that?”
Julian shook his head and stepped closer. Garak retreated backward into the bedroom. Undeterred, he followed him. “You're clearly not fine. You're so pale you're almost white. Your skin is dull, your eyes bleary. I know that you hate almost more than anyone having to take a trip to the infirmary, but it's ridiculous to sit here and suffer when I could probably quite easily help you.” He couldn't help but to notice something odd about the bedroom. It looked as though Garak had a recent party with some confetti still scattered on the floor.
“I'm not sick,” Garak snapped, “but I am losing my patience, being interrogated in my own quarters for no good reason.”
The doctor frowned. “No, obviously,” he said, feeling suddenly hurt. “You're well enough to have a party without even telling me about it.”
“A party?” Garak stared at him as though he just grew another head. “What in the world would possess you to think such a thing?”
“You might want to clean up a little more thoroughly afterward if you don't want me to know about it,” Julian said, frowning deeper and gesturing at the floor.
He suddenly found himself being shoved back into the sitting room, several abrupt shoves against his chest that weren't exactly violent, but it was clear he was being herded. “Out!” Garak said with each shove. “Out, out, out!”
“Stop it!” he demanded, grasping one of the man's wrists. It shifted strangely in his hand as though coated with talc and several tiny, silvery particles drifted downward. Suddenly, it was clear to him what was going on. He looked from his hand to Garak and exclaimed, “You're molting!”
Garak made a small noise, dismay or disgust, it was hard to say, and abruptly turned on his heel, retreating first into the bedroom and then the bathroom. The door hissed shut behind him. Baffled by the reaction, Julian cautiously returned to the bedroom and bent to pick up one of the scales he had mistaken for confetti. It was thin and clear, and it flexed between his fingers when he pressed the edges of it. He wondered why Garak seemed to think this was such a big deal, if perhaps it was a cultural thing. Maybe barging in on him hadn't been the best course of action.
He stood and walked to the closed door. “Garak?” he called to him. “Would you please come out of there? I'd very much like to talk to you about this.”
“I don't want to talk,” Garak's voice came from the other side of the door, sounding distressed. “It's revolting. You don't have to try to pretend it isn't.”
He blinked in surprise. He certainly didn't find it revolting. If anything, to him it was fascinating. “I'm not pretending anything,” he said. “I'm not disgusted in any way. Please, come out of there.”
The door hissed open and Garak stood in the center of the bathroom, his arms still folded. He eyed Julian skeptically. “I know how you Terrans feel about scaly things,” he said. “When your kind call us snake-heads, it's not a compliment.”
“My kind?” he asked, one corner of his mouth curving upward gently. He stepped into the bathroom. Garak retreated all the way to the wall. He continued to advance until he was quite close but not crowding him unduly. “Well, I wouldn't presume to speak for all human kind, but for myself I can say I happen to like...scaly things.” He reached out and gently tugged a loosely hanging ridge scale from the tailor's jaw. “Does it itch?” he asked.
Garak relaxed slightly, his eyes widening. “Like you can't imagine,” he confessed. “Normally...we only lose a few at a time, much the same way you humans shed hair, but occasionally we go into a full molt cycle. Any number of things can bring it on, environment, stress, age, diet. It's something every Cardassian just has to deal with from time to time. It's very messy, and it's embarrassing, though.”
That made sense to Julian. Cardassians did seem to be a very fastidious lot on the whole. Garak must have been shedding scales so quickly that he couldn't quite keep up with them all, thus explaining the bedroom floor. “Well,” he said gently, “messy though it may be, I don't find it disgusting. I'm a doctor for one, and for another thing, I'm your lover. You would have a very hard time disgusting me. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
The tailor looked at him for a very long time, and he did his best to remain neutral under the scrutiny. He knew that the situation was difficult for Garak. All he wanted was to make it better. “There are a couple of things,” he said slowly. “Mated Cardassians are considered fairly lucky during a molt, because they can have a spouse work them over with a soft bristle brush, and there's also a cream that can be rubbed on afterward to combat the itching and soften the remaining scales.”
“Does it have to be a spouse?” Julian asked.
Garak smiled slightly. “You may not find it revolting, Julian, but I can assure you any other Cardassian would. No one but a spouse or a parent of a young child would feel any sort of obligation or desire to help or touch another Cardassian in this state, and no Cardassian would ask this of another who wasn't close family.”
He felt touched that Garak would be willing to allow this now that he knew. “I suppose it's a good thing for both of us that I'm not a Cardassian,” he said with a smile.
“In more ways than one,” Garak said a bit cryptically. He headed into the sitting room, and Julian followed, watching him replicate the brush he had mentioned, a very large towel, and a tub of cream. He spread the towel on the floor and stood in the center of it, stripping off his robe. As he did so, more scales rained down. He was naked beneath it.
The doctor stepped closer, trying to remind himself that he wasn't there to molest the poor man, but to help him. The sight of him naked like that in full light wrecked havoc with his anatomy, though. He was glad that Garak had his back to him. “How do I do this?” he asked as he took the brush from Garak's hand. It had a short handle and a broad, oval head.
“The best way is in circles,” the tailor responded, “but take care when going against the growth pattern. If you catch a scale wrong and push it up that way, it can really sting.”
“I'll be careful,” he promised. He was tentative at first, but when he got a feel for it, he brushed more briskly. Scales of different sizes rained down onto the towel in a soft patter. Now he understood why Garak's complexion had looked so dull and pale. As fresh scale was exposed, he looked almost shiny and with a faint, opalescent sheen. Up close the fresh scales were really quite beautiful. The Cardassian spread his arms and widened his stance to give him full access.
He kept brushing at his back, sides, and the backs of his legs, neck, and arms until very few stragglers hit the towel, and most of the skin looked subtly burnished. More in control of his own reaction to Garak naked, he stepped to the front of him and saw that the man had his eyes closed. He wondered if the brushing felt good and imagined that it must, if Garak truly were as itchy as he indicated.
He stroked broad circles over the barrel chest, occasionally stopping to manually pull free some of the larger, more stubborn ridge scales that didn't respond nearly as well to the brush. He noticed with a bit of disappointment that Garak didn't seem to be aroused. What do you expect? he asked himself. He was mortified about this. It's probably all he can do just to stand still and take what you're doing for him.
He did his best to be thorough, very lightly brushing over his face and taking care not to run the bristles over his eyelids. That just left the side neck scales. He hesitated. “Garak,” he said, “about your neck. I know it's sensitive. Would you prefer I didn't brush there, or would you like for me to try just using my hands?”
Garak opened his eyes. “You can use the brush,” he said. “I'll be OK. You won't hurt me.”
Nodding, he bit his lower lip and lifted the brush to the ridge to his right. He braced Garak by the other shoulder and carefully began to run it over the scales. Garak's eyes slid shut again, his lips parting. Several of the deeply scalloped scales lifted away and fell to the floor. Julian pulled the brush back and ran his hand over the ridge to feel for rough spots. The tailor swayed, taking a soft intake of air through his teeth. Glancing down, the doctor noticed that the ridged slit that was usually tightly closed when Garak wasn't aroused had changed. A thin sheen of wetness had appeared at the edges, and there was an outward bulge to the flexible skin.
Smiling to himself, he switched the brush to his other hand and gave similar treatment to the neck ridge to his left, moving more slowly and with more deliberation. He never tired of seeing the dark, slick cock suddenly erupt from its hiding place, almost like magic. One minute nothing, the next a gorgeous hard-on that practically begged to be sucked. Keep your mind on what you're doing, he told himself sternly. He can't help that being touched on the neck arouses him. That doesn't mean he wants you to jump him right now!
“I think I'm done with the brush,” he said. “You look pretty smooth. What do I need to do with the cream?”
Garak opened his eyes again, his pupils wider than before. “You just need to rub it in thoroughly. All it takes is a thin coating. It should absorb fairly well. If I start to feel greasy, you're using too much.”
Julian nodded and moved to the tub. The cream was thick and white, and it had an unfamiliar but not unpleasant herbal smell. He dabbed two fingers into it and then rubbed his palms together briskly until they had a thin coating and were warm. Of course, Garak's arousal had him back where he started with all of this, if not worse than before. He started from the back at his heels and ankles. He didn't want to say anything about it to Garak, but this had been a fantasy of his for a while now, not necessarily helping Garak with a physical problem, but having him naked in front of him while he remained clothed and having unrestricted access to touch him wherever and however he wanted.
He allowed his fingertips to follow the curves of bone and tendon in Garak's sturdy ankles, finding all of the secret, tender hollows. When he had used all of the cream on his hands, he dabbed out more, again warming it before touching the gray skin. He adored his calves, how they flared thickly and without an ounce of fat. He leaned his upper chest and cheek against the firm curves of Garak's buttocks, bracing himself for better leverage in rubbing in the cream. With fingertips pointed downward, he ran both hands down the backs of the calves, starting in the hollow behind the knees.
“My dear boy,” Garak said, his voice sounding thick, “if I didn't know any better, I'd say you may be enjoying this a little too much.”
“Well,” Julian said, unable to resist giving a light bite to his cheek, “it's a good thing you do know better, isn't it?”
Garak reached back, swatting him playfully on the side of the head. “Behave. I'm very itchy right now.”
“I'm working on it,” he said with a laugh. He treated the backs of the thighs next, sweeping his hands over inner and outer and getting a secret thrill when he felt them tremor as he got close to the juncture of both between the man's legs. He felt that he could spend the whole night on those hips and discreet buttocks, but he knew that Garak would get impatient with him if he were that blatant.
He worked his back in sections, his favorite part the bony dorsal ridge with its many different textures and small nooks and crannies between the thick scales. He discovered that digging his nail lightly between them made the tailor moan involuntarily the first time, and even after that breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. Although he was thorough with the back of his neck, he saved the ridges for later. He wanted to see Garak's face when he did that. “Tease,” Garak purred at him, once again spreading his arms for him.
“I'm behaving like you told me to,” he said primly.
“Mmhmm,” he murmured. “Sure you are.”
The Cardassian's arms were powerful, and he held them steady and still for the duration of his treatment. Julian was impressed, knowing that was a difficult position for most to maintain for any length of time. It gave him some very naughty thoughts for things to try at another time. Tonight, he was playing it as straight as he could when aroused half out of his mind. It was getting more difficult.
He circled around to the front of the tailor, knelt, and set the tub next to his right knee in easy reach. Garak's expression as he looked down at him was wicked. “You're aware that there are any number of truly lurid things I could say to you right now,” he said.
“Could,” Julian teased him, “but won't. You and I both know that talking dirty isn't your style.”
“One of these nights, I just may surprise you, Doctor,” he said smoothly.
“I'll await it with bated breath,” he replied, “accidentally” breathing over the almost irresistible cock so close to his face.
Garak inhaled sharply and tensed. Ducking his head down so that the tailor wouldn't see his smile, he got to work on what he was actually supposed to be doing. In the name of being thorough, he had to test the man's knees for sensitivities, rewarded with a few discreet reactions that bore more exploration at a later date. Why haven't you asked him to let you do this before? he wondered. Explore him like this. He supposed it was because so far, Garak usually managed to work him up so quickly that he simply didn't have the patience for such deliberation. The only reason he did now was because he knew that Garak's physical discomfort had been severe enough for him to agree to something that at least at first clearly made him mentally uncomfortable. He doubted he felt any such discomfort now.
As he worked his way upwards and massaged deep circles at Garak's hips, he asked, “About the ridges here...will the cream burn you?”
Garak smirked. “No,” he said, “but I'll understand if you don't think you can control yourself.”
“You're not funny,” he told him, completely ruining the effect by laughing. Just for that, he made absolutely certain that all he touched was scale. Of course, it was as much torture for him as he could tell that it was for Garak, so it was a less satisfying victory than he would have liked.
Oh, how he adored the smooth belly! Garak was always griping about being too fat, but he rather liked the convex curve and how soft it felt beneath his hands. He had told the man over a dozen times and would probably tell him dozens more that he loved him just the way he was before any of it sank in. That was fine with him. He'd do it as long as he had to. It was such a contrast to the ridged rib cage and the sharply defined chest. He payed special attention to the navel, not because it seemed dryer or more prone to itching than the rest of the man but because he knew that it was almost as sensitive as the neck ridges.
Garak's eyes were closed again, not serenely as before, but squeezed shut. His breath came more quickly and shallowly, with each exhale through his nose sharp. Smiling faintly, Julian showed him a little mercy, moving out over his collar bones and then up the front of his throat in gentle sweeps. He bent for more cream, smoothed it between his palms, and started on his face. This was something else he had longed to do and not quite worked up the courage for before now, to caress his face all over, lovingly and tenderly. Garak had as much trouble receiving that sort of intimacy as Julian did, though he was positive that each of them had very different reasons for it. Doing it this way felt safer, with an external reason and purpose. However, he suddenly couldn't help himself. He leaned in and kissed the indentation of the spoon, letting his lips linger in a warm press.
Garak gasped aloud. “Julian?” he asked, opening his eyes. Before he could mask it, the doctor read vulnerability beneath the surprise.
“Couldn't help myself,” he said a little breathlessly. He felt as exposed as Garak seemed to. “I've...wanted to do that for a long time.” He tried to drop his gaze, but Garak's hand beneath his chin prevented him.
“It's a very intimate gesture,” he murmured. Quite suddenly, he lifted his head and planted a kiss in the corresponding spot on Julian's forehead. He cupped the back of his head with his hand, holding there a few moments before withdrawing.
“I...want to make love to you,” Julian said.
Garak tipped his head, looking confused. “We do that all the time,” he said. “Why did you say it so hesitantly?”
The doctor shook his head. “No,” he said, “no, we don't do that all the time. We have sex. We ravage each other to within an inch of our lives. We get so worked up and crazy that we can't seem to take our time even when we intend to. Making love...well, it's different.”
“I don't think we have a corresponding concept on Cardassia,” he said after a bit more thought. “I'm afraid you'll have to teach me.”
“I'm not afraid,” Julian said with a warm smile. He took him by the hand. “How do you feel? Did I get all the itches?”
Garak gave a coy smile. “Not quite all of them,” he said.
Tugging him toward the bedroom, Julian said, “I promise you that I intend to rectify that oversight before morning.”
“How novel!” Garak exclaimed.
“What's that?” he asked, glancing back at him.
As they passed into the bedroom, the tailor gave him an uncomplicated smile. “I believe that I'm starting to see the value in a man of his word.”
The End
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