This story is a work of colorful and slashy fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents have been long-standing slaves of Paramount Pictures. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is probably because the author has written too many of these already. Forgive her. STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark ® of Paramount Pictures. Copyright (c) 1996 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved. No infringement was meant. Well, not consciously anyway. TITLE: MEDITATIONS ON A CRIMSON SHADOW AUTHOR: BGM RATING: NC-17 (for some sexually-explicit contents) PAIRING: Garak/Bashir NOTE: Inspired by a weird conversation with Jennifer Shipp ;) --------------------------------------------------------- *Life is a fantasy, and I am but a dreamer riding an illusion down its imaginary path.* Julian Bashir sniffed at the words, shifting across his seat as he read the first chapter's last line of Prehok's Meditations on a Crimson Shadow. He'd forgotten that he still had the novel; a small amber rod which had been tucked away in a drawer he'd ignored for nearly three years. It'd been a gift from Garak following the not-so-pleasant ordeal which had struck his Cardassian friend. Despite Julian's misgivings concerning Cardassian literature, Garak had assured him he'd enjoy this one. And though the novel *did* recount a futuristic Cardassia at a time when relations with Klingons were not so steady, Julian was finding it more of a character study than anything else. Not that Julian minded. Of all the novels and epics the tailor had pulled out for him, none were comparable in style and beauty to Meditations. It brimmed with emotion, feeling, even love. Julian was finding it hard to associate these literary qualities with Cardassia's usual brand of writings. He cleared his throat and asked the computer for a warm glass of milk. He switched the novel to a compatible padd and moved to the sofa. Settling himself comfortably, he dimmed the lights and continued his lecture. *I never asked for a life of warfare. I never came up to my father and asked to be directed to a life dedicated to the suffering of others. Yet destiny has a mind of her own, and she oftentimes thrusts us mercilessly into these lives without our expressed consent. Thus I was musing as I tried to counter death at the hands of my tormentor; the Klingon who would be ruler of his Empire. The Klingon who would die at my hands when strength and passion would drive me to such terrible acts. In that instant, a terrified thought tickled my mind; when had my faith deserted me?* Taking a sip of his milk, Julian found himself totally engrossed in the tale. The narrator was recounting his pain, his suffering on every level, yet there was always a note of undying determination and preservation of the soul lining the words. Julian frowned. Something flickered in the back of his mind ... a nagging thought that somehow, somewhere, he had known this person. Shaking off his momentary distraction, Julian ducked his head and pursued his reading. --------------------------------------------------------- The hours sped by quickly as Julian immersed himself in the story. Soon enough he had finished the whole novel; all 564 pages of them. He took a deep breath, rubbed his tired eyes, and suddenly realized he had to find out who this Prehok really was; what kind of man he had been. "Computer," he called, climbing to his feet and stretching his long slender limbs. "Access Cardassian databases, all those you can gain entry under literary authors." "Working," it answered diligently, uttering a string of soft computer sounds as it performed. A few seconds followed before it again spoke. "Listed Cardassian authors available. Would you prefer an alphabetical or chronological record?" "Neither," yawned the Human. "Look for Prehok." "Accessing ..." a pause, then the faintly stern female voice replied, "There are no mention of "Prehok" among the listed authors." "What?" Julian was suddenly very awake. He scowled at the ceiling, knowing full well it would get him nowhere to get angry at a machine. Calmly he took a breath then said, "Access again *all* databases mentioned. Search for Prehok; P-r-e-h-o-k." Again, the computer sneered, "There are no mentions of "Prehok" among the listed authors." Well okay, it wasn't a sneer, but Julian took it that way and became very frustrated. "But surely this author exists ... oh of course; computer, search for Meditations on a Crimson Shadow in the Cardassian literary works." "There are no mentions of "Meditations on a--" "All right!" bawled the young man. Now energetic with curiosity and a good measure of irritation, Julian grasped the padd and scanned the text for a clue. Finally he frowned deeply. "Computer, copy contents of this padd into the main database. Do a complete workup on it. Age identification, ID signature, anything you can give me. From the information, correlate a location, or a place on Cardassia where this book might have been written. Anything ... a speculation is good enough." "Acknowledged. Analysis will take approximately 2 hours." "Fine. Just wake me up when it's done," he mumbled, letting himself fall across the sofa to drowse. He'd barely closed his eyes when the computer woke him. "Analysis complete." "Already?" he slurred, glancing sleepily at his chrono. "0410. I'll never get up tomorrow," he grumbled. "All right computer, hit me with it." --------------------------------------------------------- While Humans dreamt of sheep and Bajorans dreamt of Prophets, Elim Garak dreamt of gold. Or more precisely, the gold which comprised a certain young Human's skin. A smile of bliss was on his lips as he slept contentedly, unaware of the stirring at the foot of his bed. A few minutes later his natural instincts kicked in however, and he started violently out of his slumber. His fists already clenched in readiness, he sat up in a defensive position. Then he wondered if he was still sleeping; indeed, there was his dream at the foot of his bed. "Julian?" he mumbled, his eyes narrowing as he tried to confirm his suspicions. The darkness was no obstacle for his sensitive eyesight, and indeed there stood the good doctor, arms folded and a distinctly annoyed look on his face. His arms fell limply at his side and he waited warily for the young man to explain himself. All he did was utter a dry command. "Computer lights." Suddenly harsh and offensive light flooded his quarters, and Garak flinched all too obviously. "Julian! What in blazes is this about? I know you're one of few on this station to know the override to my quarters, but must you invade my privacy in such a blunt manner?" "Oh I don't know Garak," smiled the young man, rounding the bed with languid grace. "You did it once." "There was an emergency," huffed the tailor defensively. "And besides, it wasn't this late when I woke you. Perhaps you'd care to explain?" "Oh I most certainly will Garak." Julian leaned forward, sat himself on the edge of Garak's bed and offered the Cardassian his open palm. On it was the slender book rod the tailor had given him so long ago. Though through his haze of sleepiness and confusion, Garak didn't register its identity until Julian spoke again. "I don't unders--" "Prehok, Garak. Meditations on a Crimson Shadow? A wonderful novel indeed. Beautiful in fact." Garak smiled involuntarily, then quickly caught himself. "Well I'm pleased you found at least one piece of Cardassian literature to your liking. But couldn't you have waited until morning to tell me abo--" "Garak," cut the young man, slamming the rod on the hard Cardassian mattress. "Dammit, why didn't you tell me?" Genuine confusion - at least what the Cardassian hoped to be genuine - wreathed the tailor's features. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't you?" Julian chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm disappointed in you Garak. I thought you considered me more than a naive innocent with whom to have convenient lunch with. Didn't you think I would have eventually found out about this?" he asked, waving the rod suggestively. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were a writer?" Garak sniffed indignantly. "One novel hardly makes one a writer doctor. Besides, it was a long time ago; at a time when I though I *could* become a writer." "You wrote this while you were in the Order didn't you?" Julian's voice had become suddenly compassionate and warm, no trace of his insulted tone tainting his voice. "Yes," whispered Garak. Quickly he shook his head and moved to get up - to pace, to do anything. But he suddenly caught himself as he realized he was quite a naked Cardassian beneath the flimsy sheets. To cloak his embarrassment, he smiled sweetly. "But perhaps we can talk about this tomorrow. As you can see, I'm not quite ... in proper wear to be at your disposal for a lengthy discussion." Julian shook his head. "No Garak. We talk about this tonight," he said firmly. "I can't just go back to my quarters knowing you *wrote* this! Garak ... I never knew ..." He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with remorse. For what the Cardassian couldn't guess. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" "Well Julian," said the Cardassian reasonably. "You were never exactly enthusiastic about my people's literature in the first pla--" "I'm not talking about the damned book! What I want to know is why you never told me you had suffered so much in your life?" Garak's eyes changed, closing up the subject with one hard look. "Doctor, you have a little thing to learn concerning writing. What we write is not necessarily our own lives. This character," he said dismissevely, waving at the rod. "Is just that. A character." "I don't believe that," whispered the Human. "There's too much hurt and pain and love in this to be merely the figment of your imagination. You're good, but I doubt you're that good." "Insult me why don't you," sputtered Garak. He tugged the sheets to himself in a dry derisive gesture, looking specially piqued. "Look," Julian tried again. "I'm not insulting you, I'm simply trying to figure out why you'd keep this sort of thing a secret! You have a great talent - why don't you practice it anymore?" Garak shook his head. "I can't anymore. It's not that I've forgotten how," he said hesitently. "It's just ..." he took a deep breath and said, "While I was in the Order, writing was the only sort of ... therapy available to me. My only outlet for my feelings. I was never open about them; I'm sure you must see that. Writing helped to ease the pain." "Oh Garak," murmured the young man brokenly. "I'm sorry." The Cardassian's sharp blue eyes focused on Julian and frowned. "What for Doctor? That was a long time ago. And I've forgotten. And I'll thank you not to be the one to make me remember." "I won't" Julian whispered determinedly. "In fact, I'll work very hard to make you forget ... everything," he promised, sliding next to Garak on the bed and making certain every inch of his body was pressed against the Cardassian's. All his drifting solicitude dissipated as Garak felt the young man's lips moving along his neck, nipping lightly along the more pliant scales. Yet the feeling was suddenly overwhelmed by the soft slender hands moving over his thighs, feeling their way across his leathery skin and discovering what areas elicited the most intense responses. Garak rested his head back against the pillow, feeling Julian's hands trailing paths of fire around his inner thighs. When Garak reflexively parted his legs to allow easier access, Julian straddled his waist, pressing his body tightly against the Cardassian's hardened crotch as he elevated his kisses toward the serrated neck. "Julian, what are you doing ..." whispered the tailor between moans, twisting his head as Julian reached the hollow of his neck. "Giving ... therapy ..." he muttered incoherently, thrusting his hips lightly against the tailor's tense body. He nibbled at the scales covering his jaw line, finding his way to the oddly shaped ear where he whispered simply, "I want you ..." He kept his hands firmly latched onto Garak's shoulders, keeping him pinned down on the bed as he slid over him in languid movements, tenderly moving his hands over every expanse of body he could find. Pressed as he was under the young man's slender frame, Garak closed his eyes and rose his hands to clutch at his pillow, letting the young man work. "Julian," he moaned, his earlier heart aches flying out the window as Bashir rubbed his leg enticingly inside his thighs. Their motions were slow, erotic and passionate. And as Julian leaned in and nudged the tailor's lips apart with his questing tongue, Garak groaned and thrust his hips firmly against the young man's leg, seeking friction to relieve his aching erection. The pressure augmented in response, and Julian carefully squirmed his body over Garak's body to provide the needed stimulation. As their kiss flared up in intensity, Julian snaked a hand downward and cupped the tailor's sex, squeezing and rubbing with deliberate strokes the steely erection. That was it for the tailor. He cried out against the young man's lips and his eyes flew opened. He sat up abruptly, circling the slender body in his arms as he devoured the hot mouth with animal passion. Still linked to Julian by the animated kiss, Garak rolled him aside and shifted position. He braced himself on his hands over Julian's prone form, staring deeply into the mahogany depths of those large sinless eyes. Both were breathless, chest rising and falling hard against one another. Garak aptly unfastened the young man's uniform, his eyes glazed with lust as he remained visually connected with Julian's intense gaze. Julian lulled his head sideways when the tailor's nimble hands slipped inside the open seam, caressing his way over the lavender under shirt. "Garak, I want you now, please ..." he whispered. "Precious ..." Garak muttered breathlessly, tugging the whole uniform off the young man's thin frame. Next he attacked the shirt, pulling it over Julian's head and tousling the dark curls in the process. "Let me," he whimpered, his voice drifting to a helpless moan as Garak latched on to a chocolate brown nipple, biting down tenderly and flicking his tongue across the rock hard nub of flesh. Julian mustered his strewn wits and went on, "Elim, let me," he said more forcefully. Garak smiled against the smooth golden skin, switching his attention to the other nipple and giving it the same attention. Julian began writhing under him, his hands reaching out to caress the Cardassian's strong back as it bent and arched under the Human's touch. Having sufficiently distracted the tailor, Julian smiled and rolled them to the side. "I said let me," he said playfully, pulling back enough to admire the body under him. The sight which greeted him was breathtaking, never mind how many times he'd seen him naked in the infirmary before. That had been clinical. This was ... A strong, well defined body wreathed with sinuous ridges and delicate scales, reptilian skin now slick with a thin film of sweat. Chiseled muscles rippled beneath it as Garak moved helplessly in need, his face twisted with desire and lust. "Do what you want," he panted, his eyes shining brightly as Julian's hands clawed trails alongside his body. "Yes ..." whispered the young man, swallowing hard as the tailor's hands reached his ass. He traced feather-light lines across the silky skin until Julian was moaning and biting down his pleasure on his lower lip, his erection brushing insistently against Garak's. The Cardassian growled his appreciation and bucked his hips insistently. "Relax," hissed Julian, smiling teasingly. "Patience has its rewards." "I was never the patient one ..." muttered the Cardassian, his erection threatening to explode in blissful release if Julian continued fidgeting across his hard steely sex. Unfortunately, Julian didn't. Though what he had in mind looked vastly more promising. With his patented "innocent" smile, Julian swiftly turned around and offered him a perfectly round ass. Moaning his approval, Garak covered the slighter body with his own, sweeping hot breaths across the long slender neck as his hips twisted and bucked against Julian's smooth bronze backside, his erection getting insistently harder - if that were possible. At last, Garak slid his strong hands underneath Julian's flat stomach and pulled him upright against him. Julian rested his head on the Cardassian's broad shoulder and smiled. "Tell me . . . tell me what you want Garak ..." The tailor smiled back, his hands scouring the smooth golden chest as he slowly rocked with the young man. "I want to be inside you," he said simply. "I want to thrust into you and hear you cry out ..." he buried his face between the Human's shoulder blades and nibbled at the damp skin, "You have such a beautiful voice ..." he murmured. "I want to hear it cry out my name as I slide in and out of you, your body pressed against mine as we drown ourselves in ecstasy." "Oh Elim," Julian panted, twitching in pleasure as one of the tailor's hand found its way to his fiery erection. "Yes ..." Garak grunted his relish, reaching blindly for the tube of lubricant in the night drawer. When he had sufficiently coated his erection, he gently pushed two fingers inside the Human's tight cleft, spreading the cool gel inside and everywhere he could reach. By the time Julian was moaning and thrusting lightly against his hand, both were adequately lubricated. Yet before Julian got the idea to lean forward onto his stomach, strong hands lifted his slender waist up and slowly lowered him onto Garak's erect sex. As the steely member stretched and gradually filled him completely, Julian gasped loudly, his hands flailing sideways to grip unto something -- anything. When Julian was sitting flushed against the tailor's leathery thighs, both lay motionless as they enjoyed the mere sensation of being so completely joined. Garak's arms were tightly wound around the Human's waist, while his mouth administered tender bites along the exotic bend of Julian's neck. His tongue tasted the salty sweat as it moved along the long sinuous back, and would have gone on forever if more urgent needs weren't tugging at them to focus. At last Julian twisted his hips, stirring Garak into a sensual dance against the lover in front of him. Gently he pushed forward until Julian was finally laying on his stomach, Garak's hands holding him by the thighs as he began to slowly pull out of the tight opening. The sensation was shattering and Julian cried out in a loud gasp as he felt the enlarged sex moving inside him. When the head was the only thing left inside Julian, Garak smiled lewdly and thrust back hard, unexpectedly fast. Julian grunted, crying out, "Elim," in almost a sob. Again resting flush against the narrow hips, Garak leaned forward and brushed his lips against the Human's ear. "More?" he inquired playfully. "More," Julian agreed, his body stimulated to a point where one word sentencing was already a labor. Finally, Garak moved and began thrusting steadily in and out, pausing to let them both catch their breaths and prolong the pleasure at various intervals. Though after a while, Garak's plunges became more animated, wilder and harder as he dove into the heated depths of his dearest Julian. The young man was thrashing his head back, crying out and moaning for release, his hands clawing the bed sheets while the tailor's covered them with almost frantic desperation. When Garak sensed his climax not far ahead, he circled a hand beneath Julian waist and began stroking Julian's engorged sex with a firm hand, long rapid strokes moving in counterpoint to his thrusts. At last, with a loud outcry, Garak came powerfully inside Julian, his hands leaving Julian's sex for just a moment as he clenched his grip over the human's thighs. Then with one fluid movement he left Julian's haven and flipped the young man onto his back, leaning in and capturing the doctor's fiery erection in his mouth. Dizzy with arousal and ecstasy, Julian griped the sheets next to him and let Garak work his magic, feeling his climax building to an agonizing level. When he came, his mouth moved with no sound, his eyes shut tightly as sweat rolled over him. The tailor sucked at him fiercely, wringing him dry of his essence, swallowing the salty cream with delight. When he looked up, his look was still feral. Julian breathed hard, his chest the only thing to move. "Elim," he panted, his eyes closed in delicious lassitude. "I see words aren't the only thing you know how to manipulate ..." "That, my dear Julian, is something you might learn quite a lot about in the next few ... hundred years." Julian laughed. "If we keep it up at this level, we'll never reach one hundred, let alone a few." Garak lifted himself up and cradled the young man in his arms, his smile turning sweet and loving. "Your love is my fountain of youth, my dearest. With you in my arms, I believe I shall outlive even the Grand Nagus." Again Julian laughed, throwing him a pleasantly befuddled look. "Oh that should at least keep you going for ... what? A millennium?" Garak chuckled kindly. "Let's hope." After a moment of companionable silence, Julian stirred and smiled sleepily against Garak's chest. "Garak ..." "Yes?" "Tell me a story," he mumbled, his eyes drooping at the soft sound of Garak's enticing voice as he began a tale. A tale of a young Cardassian boy who saw beauty in the strangest of places; a boy who always went against the criterion of a too- strict society. THE END