The K-Squad for this story:
Anita
Cassie
Charlene
Carillon
DarkS9
Lagniappe
Tanaquil
Varoneeka
He couldn't believe it.
He would say it to himself, over and over, and yet it didn't sink in. No matter how many Tarkalean teas he drank, no matter how many times he stared into Quark's morose expression, no matter how quiet the station had become. He couldn't believe she was gone.
Jadzia Dax had died, and now someone else was walking around with her memories.
Julian signaled the Ferengi waiter, who came over with a tray already holding a double of the scotch he'd been downing since his shift had ended.
He couldn't believe it.
He would never be able to believe it.
He would never be able to say good-bye.
Julian slowly sipped his scotch. The bite of real alcohol leaving a slightly burning sensation as it went down. He just wanted to drown his disappointments and sorrow in this liquid. He was only mildly aware of another individual watching him at the bar. His table was isolated in the corner but the view it provided allowed him to look around the bar. Life was going on as usual and he felt it shouldn't.
The data padd in front of him had Jadzia's file and an ancient Earth literary work running in the background. He tried concentrating on what the display read and the verses but his fingers kept punching up Jadzia's files. Just as he was about to turn off the padd a shadow was visible on the table.
He looked up to find a set of eyes on him. The expression was unreadable to him. It took a moment for him to remember. He'd met this man before, years ago, when the Enterprise -- the Enterprise-D, that is -- had docked at the station. They'd talked only briefly, and it had only been about Data's experience with the Delta Quadrant equipment he'd wanted to tamper with.
He'd thought at the time that Captain Picard was somewhat stuff, and a little brusque. Right now, he could imagine no one in the galaxy he'd less like to share his current heartache with, and wondered crossly what the man wanted.
"Can I help you with something, Captain Picard?" he asked, aware that his speech was slightly slurred.
"Don't you think you've had enough already?"
The younger man shook his head angrily. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Picard nodded; Bashir continued, "What I have had enough of is people telling me how to feel and what I should be doing. A young woman -- I, my--" but he dissolved into tears.
Picard sat across from the crying doctor, placing his hand sympathetically on Bashir's forearm. "My apologies. I didn't realize."
Bashir shook his head. "No, sir, I -- I shouldn't have said anything. It's just that," and he took a sip of his drink, "nobody here understands what it's like for me. They're all sympathetic to Worf, of course, and I don't mind that; but it's almost as if my feelings don't exist."
Picard nodded.
"Losing a friend can be as difficult as losing family," Picard murmured, a shadow in his own stern features. "But you'll have to forgive my concern," the captain went on. "Two Nausicans by the Dabbo tables have been eyeing you for fifteen minutes. I believe they're getting ready to make a great deal of trouble for you."
Bashir frowned at him, well aware that part of him was happy to face a fight with someone who would give him a real challenge. On the other hand, however, he didn't feel like patching himself up in the infirmary later while Sisko fumed.
But wait...Sisko wasn't here either...nothing about the station was right anymore. Even Garak wasn't here. He'd gone with Worf and Kira to help on a surveillance mission.
God, he was all alone.
"Can I help you back to your quarters?" Picard asked silently.
Bashir almost snarled at him, but kept it to a hiss: "I'm not a child, *sir.*
"No you're not, but I would suggest a discreet retreat before those Nausicans cause you trouble. Trust me on this. I've had my share of dealings with them when I was younger."
Julian took a glance over at the Dabo tables and saw the odd looks he was being given. Hell, he felt like shit. He didn't have to look like it as well. His quarters were starting to sound better. Maybe he could also get rid of Picard too.
He got up from this seat to find the world slightly spinning. A firm grasp on his forearm grounded his attention and, for a moment, his view of the room seemed to settle. The grip on his arm wasn't demanding, only reassuring. A part of his medical knowledge told he would need assistance or he might fall flat on his face.
"Would you mind showing me some of the station? It's been awhile since I visited DS9".
Bashir scrutinized the expression on Picard and decided the Captain was trying to be considerate of his current condition.
"Okay." Julian kept some distance from Picard, but the Captain remained at close proximity in case he were to lose his balance again. They made their exit without trouble and headed towards an available turbolift.
The promenade seemed very busy to Bashir, and somehow threatening. The place had stopped feeling like home the second Jadzia had died on his table. And there it was, Julian thought as his feet dragged over the scarred metal of the deck. Jadzia had died on his table. Jadzia had died because he hadn't been able to save her.
In the end, he'd been good for nothing.
He thought then of the temple, of Jadzia's wish to have a child, of the hours he'd spent over her in the operating room. And she hadn't even been the target. Her death had been completely pointless.
"I couldn't save her," he whispered to himself, completely forgetting the captain holding his arm, forgetting that he was exposed here, alone. Only Odo and Quark were here...and Morn...
He started laughing, imagining himself crying on Morn's shoulder. And then he realized that they'd made it inside the lift, and that Picard was staring at him in some horror.
"Dr. Bashir?" he asked, and then Julian realized it wasn't horror. It was concern.
He hadn't seen that look in so long, he thought, filled with self-pity that flared up and threatened to burn out, taking him with it. It was nice to see it now.
The lift doors opened onto the habitat ring. Bashir stumbled out, still half-laughing, half-crying, ending up shivering on his side on the floor. Picard knelt beside him, feeling Bashir's shoulders shake with pent-up frustration and grief.
He bent over and put his arms around the young man's shoulders, soothing him, calming him. And hoping to hell that nobody chose this moment to exit the turbolift.
Slowly, Bashir's hysteria waned. He sat up, freed himself from Picard's grip, wiped his eyes, and took a deep, cleansing breath.
As they stood, Picard made to speak, but Bashir shook his head and gave a weak, ineffectual smile. "I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry I made a fool of myself."
"Grief makes us foolish in many ways," Picard said softly, "but not in crying for lost friends."
Bashir thought hazily it was the sort of comment that would usually sound arrogant or like a cliché, but Picard managed to make it seem right, somehow. He actually felt comforted, though primarily he felt exhausted, and drunk. He realized he also felt a little dizzy.
His face must have reflected his new dilemma, for Picard was suddenly propelling him through his door, through his quarters, and then on into his bathroom.
Bashir had only a second to contemplate the heat rushing through him, the disorientation of his head bending over the toilet -- and then he was simply losing the contents of his stomach, and there was something basic about it, as simple as crying.
And to his gratitude, he felt Picard's strong hands helping to hold him in place. In a moment, he would be embarrassed about this, but for right now, he only felt better.
Once his stomach settled, Julian sat back and rested against whatever was behind him. The "whatever" turned out to be Picard's chest.
His head was still spinning and he felt movement behind him as a towel was yanked from its rack and dampened in the nearby sink. The cool cloth was offered to him and he gratefully accepted it.
His thoughts were still foggy but a part of his mind welcomed the comforting contact of someone, even this high-ranking Captain. It was then his back stiffened when he realized a superior officer had been holding him while he was puking his guts out.
A warm blush was working its way across his face. Picard noticed the doctor's discomfort and backed away.
The rosy hue of the blush brought back some of the younger man's color. While watching as the younger man was trying to get his jumbled thoughts under better control, Picard noticed Bashir's extraordinary eyes. They were dark brown, and very deep, and they reminded him of a certain other pair of dark brown eyes, eyes that made his body ache, and he had to shake himself, make himself stop thinking those kinds of worthless thoughts.
"Are you all right, Dr. Bashir?" he asked gruffly.
Julian wiped his face with the damp towel and slowly stood up. "I need some de-tox, but I'll be fine." He reached for the small bottle on the counter and poured a few drops on his tongue, retching slightly at his body's reaction.
Picard turned away slightly, giving him some privacy without deserting him.
Bashir steadied as the alcohol was counteracted by the de-tox, then wished abruptly he were drunk again. In truth, he wanted to crawl inside someplace very dark and warm and never come out again, not until everything around him stopped reminding him of his failure to save Jadzia.
He found he was leaning his hands on the counter now, his head bowed, and the tears were falling again. Picard made a motion, obviously wanting to help.
But Julian stood straight, at attention, and said solemnly, "I need a shower, and some tea, I think. Then I'll get to bed."
"That's probably for the best," Picard replied as he turned to go.
But something made him stop at the doorway.
He turned back to the younger man. The mask was gone.
"You're angry, aren't you? It's not grief, or love; it's anger. You blame yourself."
Bashir nodded as he came out of the bathroom and flopped down to sit on the bed, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.
Picard crossed to the replicator. "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." He paused. "Two cups."
He turned to Bashir, holding out one cup of the steaming tea. "It's not Tarkalian, but it is soothing." And he sat beside Julian on the bed. "Do you need soothing, Doctor?"
As he drank the tea, Julian realized that he was comforted by another person's being there. Captain, forgive me if I sound presumptuous, but has this ever happened to you before?"
"Yes."
"Sir, it's just that..." he drifted off
"Go on" said Picard, soothingly.
"I was so close to her, and now she's gone! I loved her."
Bashir was expecting Picard to make the same expression he'd gotten from others, like Vic or O'Brien, when he said that. His affection for Jadzia was a joke on the station. He knew that.
But Picard's eyes showed only compassion, and for the first time he noticed their color: hazel, reflecting the gray of the room's walls and Cardassian trappings, but also warm with the man's soul. Warm and dark.
"I loved her," Julian repeated. "I loved her and I wanted her for myself, but when she loved Worf, I was happy for her. I wanted them to be..." He gulped, like a child, but still Picard didn't scorn him. "I wanted them to be happy."
"I know what it's like to feel that way for someone," Picard spoke gently, as his own experiences with another doctor were brought to the surface. He started rubbing the younger man's back in a comforting motion. The slim figure sighed but didn't move away.
Julian realized a strong hand was also resting on his shoulder. He lifted one of his own hands to rest on top of it.
This moment of mutual understanding made him want to extend it. Even simple contact with this man did wonders for his mood. He could almost feel the strength coming off and flowing into him. He looked up and met eyes which were curious as to what he would say next, but also there was something else lurking in those hazel depths.
"What is it?" Bashir asked, not thinking about Picard's reputation for being a closed-off and distant man. He sensed a chance here to make some sort of connection, any sort. And he needed that connection, needed it more than he'd needed anything in a long time.
"Just...memories," Picard said with something of a rueful sigh. "I'm afraid I'm all too familiar with wanting someone I shouldn't... but it was long ago, as if it happened to another person."
"I'm a doctor," Julian said in the same quiet tone. "I know that time heals, but right now, I can't feel it. I can't believe I'll be able to go on. Whatever we were to each other, I relied on it. I don't know what I'll do without it."
"Your duty," Picard said. "You will do your duty."
Bashir's eyes grew wide, almost desperate. "And if I can't?"
Picard shook his head slowly. "You will. But...that's in the morning. You need to rest now."
And Julian felt his hand tighten on the strong, warm hand beneath his own, an invitation, a request he couldn't make aloud.
Picard started, and pulled back, but his eyes didn't show horror, and Julian pushed his luck.
"No one will know," he whispered.
Picard gently raised his other hand to Julian's face, his fingers tracing a line across his cheekbone.
"I'm not a substitute for her, Julian."
"I know," Bashir replied. "I'm not asking you to be. Any more than you're asking me to be a substitute for the person you lost."
Picard smiled once, sadly, and murmured, "I know," as his fingers caressed the back of Julian's neck.
Their lips met, not in the flush of hot passion but in the warmth of comfort, in the darkness of grief.
Neither controlling, neither dominating, they lay side by side, each drawing strength from the other. Hands moved over flushed skin, lips moved over skin mottled with bitter sweat, but still smooth and warm.
Bashir hesitantly started to undo Picard's jacket. Picard noticed that the young man's hand was shaking slightly and gently wrapped his own fingers around it, guiding it all the way down.
Julian's breath caught in his throat as Picard's jacket opened under their joined hands. Bashir found himself leaning back as the material pealed away from Picard's chest, and though much of him was still covered in the tank underneath, there was still a great deal exposed to his appreciation.
Picard had stayed in shape, no question of that, and his pale skin made a lovely contrast to his own dark hand as his moved it across the muscled expanse in a gentle caress. He met those extraordinary hazel eyes again, and saw in them the warmth and comfort he craved, and then he wasn't seeing anything behind his closed eyes but the burn of his own red blood as he pressed a kiss to the captain's mouth.
Deft hands were taking off Julian's jacket now, and he shrugged awkwardly out of his uniform, not wanting to let go.
Once his jumpsuit was pooled around his waist, he carelessly lifted the turtleneck off, tousling his hair in the process. Picard watched as the wayward strands temporarily fell into the wide, dark eyes. He lifted a hand to brush aside the brown hair.
His eyes traveled downward and he saw Bashir also kept himself in shape. His lean lines suited the man. Smooth honey-colored skin felt exquisite under his fingers.
Bashir closed his eyes momentarily before opening them and leaning down to kiss him on the lips. It was a kiss of longing and slow exploration. He felt kisses being trailed down his chin, his jaw, and further down his neck.
Picard felt himself responding to the kiss more than he'd planned. He had wanted only to comfort this young man in his too-familiar sorrow, but now...now he wanted more. With a growl he hadn't planned on either, he rolled them both so that Bashir was beneath him, and sat up to remove the rest of his uniform.
"Julian," the man gasped.
"I'm sorry?" Picard asked, not stopping.
"My name...it's Julian. I wanted to be sure you knew that."
"I know that. I'm Jean-Luc."
Bashir smiled, almost dreamily. "I know that too."
Leaving on only Julian's briefs, Jean-Luc leaned over him again, placing rows and circles of gentle kisses over his sweet-tasting skin, along his chest, over his ribs, up and down his neck, while his hands caressed every part of him.
Eventually, he made it to Julian's right ear, nipping and drawing his tongue around the sensitive swirls. When Julian began to writhe slightly beneath him, he slipped one hand down to the man's hips, then caressed gently towards his center, until the bulge he was looking for was coaxed into fullness by the tender motions of his hand.
Only then did draw the man's groans inside himself with another deep, searching kiss.
Urgency replaced hesitation; need replaced comfort. Julian had to be possessed, *had* to be filled. Had to be marked by this man.
Picard's grip tightened around his erection amd used his thumb to manipulate the sensitive opening.
"Please," Julian cried. "Oh yes, please", but the pressure suddenly stopped. His hips thrust up, and Picard took the opportunity to remove his briefs.
His breathing returning to a semblance of normal, he slid Picard's tank top over the captain's head, then pushed him down onto the bed. Straddling the older man, he tugged Picard's pants to his hips, freeing his erection.
Julian starting gently stroking Picard's sex with an agile hand. He was mapping out the pleasure points on a stranger, he realized with a start, and momentarily faltered. He didn't want to remember the familiar curves of another, not now. This man underneath him needed comforting just as much as himself.
His grip became more confident and touches became bolder. Picard's eyes had closed earlier and Julian watched as each motion brought a different expression of pleasure.
He wondered whether Picard were still thinking of him or someone else. But he found himself asking, Does it really metter?" He knew his own mind wandered to a fond memory of blue eyes. Julian lowered his mouth gently to lick Jean-Luc's warm sac, taking his time in this area as strong hands gripped his shoulders.
Julian had always been grateful for the soothing quality of his own voice. As a doctor, he'd had cause to use it many times to calm a patient, or a room full of medical staff. But his voice, he realized, was unmusical and flat compared to Picard's. When the deep rumble came from the older man's mouth, the sound caressed Julian's nerves with warmth and spurred him to take a more serious approach towards getting the man's penis in his mouth. It was something of a task, and it took quite some time to run his tongue from the root to the tip, then back again, though the reward in further luscious groans was more than ample reward for his efforts.
But then Picard was pulling on his shoulders, murmuring something about needing to kiss him, and Julian found himself held in strong, yet gentle arms as his mouth was plundered with skill and passion.
Picard's hand found Julian's penis and stroked it lightly. Their tongues were now in a serious battle for dominance. Picard released Bashir's mouth only to bring the hand that had been at his penis and offer his fingers for wetting.
Bashir eagerly took the digits into his mouth and swirled his tongue around them.
The sensation was so intense that Jean-Luc abruptly pulled his fingers from Bashir's mouth. He had a better use for them in mind. He eased the younger man back and moved into position between his legs. Picard then used the wet fingers to tease at the opening to Bashir's center. Julian hissed at the feeling of those teasing fingers. "More, please," he begged.
But Picard's fingers left the sensitive area, trailing up Julian's back to his waist. A tiny movement, only slight pressure, encouraged Julian to roll over onto his stomach.
"This might be more comfortable--" Picard began, but stopped when Julian pointed to the bedside table. Picard leaned over, opened the drawer, and retrieved the only item he saw; a small, unused tube of lubricant.
A faint wisp of pity at the young man's loneliness dissipated as he ran his hands over the taut golden buttocks. How beautiful; yet how innocent.
And how terribly vulnerable.
As gently as he could, Jean-Luc reached down to kiss the long, narrow back which shivered under his touch. He was suddenly filled with the need to make this as good as possible for the young man, to see him scream in bliss, to forget all his troubles, to feel cherished and desired. Even more tenderly, he touched Bashir's body until the man realized he wanted him on his back, and then, smiling and kissing a small pattern over his chest, up his neck, over his chin, to his lips, he raised the spare hips and settled the back of Julian's thighs over his over bent legs.
Now he could nibble at the dark brown nipples, trail his fingertips over the surprisingly muscular legs, even reach up to run his tongue around one softly whorled ear. He touched his thighs as he started teasing the man underneath him with his penis just barely touching Julian's opening. After applying the lubricant, and spending the needed time stretching the man inside, he moved forward and slowly worked his way inside.
"Ohhh," Julian breathed. "It's been so long..."
Picard smiled to himself, pleased at the young man's obvious joy. He moved forward without allowing any of his own urgency to rush him, not wanting to mar in any way an experience which he wanted to bring only pleasure. His hands were busy, caressing his back and hips and arms and flanks. His rhythm was slow and absolutely even. He took into account every bit of natural resistance from Bashir's body, never thrusting too hard or too far.
"Yesss," the doctor hissed, and yet even as his skin flushed and his eyes became somewhat glassy, he began to move back, trying to rush those strokes, trying to get more.
"More, harder," Julian pleaded and Picard complied. Soon he was pistoning in and out of the tight body beneath him. Picard was half-afraid he was hurting him, but Bashir never faltered. He met every stroke with a movement upwards of his hips. Even as he maneuvered them so that they were lying on their sides, his careful rhythm never faltered.
Picard reached for Julian's weeping cock only to have his hand knocked away.
"No!" Bashir hissed. "I'm saving that for later."
Picard noticed the twinge of hysteria in Bashir's voice. He stopped. He knew very well what was going through the younger man's mind; the fear that his orgasm would be a form of infidelity, perhaps even a fear of inadequacy.
Caressing Bashir's cheek with one hand while softly touching his sex with the other, Picard murmured, "Let go, Julian. Let it all out. You don't have to prove anything to me." And he began to move once again. "Julian, don't be afraid. Whatever happens will be fine. Let go, Julian."
But the voice which spoke to him was troubled.
"Why are you here?" Julian asked. "Was I so pathetic?"
Jean-Luc blinked at him in shock. His cock was buried in this man's body and he wanted to know if he were "pathetic?"
"I'm here because I wanted you," he growled. "I still want you. My whole body...can't you tell how much I want this?"
"Frankly, no. I feel like a science project, or a charity case. If you're going to fuck me then *fuck me!*"
The captain felt almost angry as he thrust down and deep inside, and yet the pleasure was blocking out all rage, all contrition, all but the feeling of that tight heat around his cock. It was incredible, sexual, hot, and not enough. His hands clamped around the sheet as he drove harder inside, his eyes fixed on the expressive face below him, his ears hearing nothing but the encouraging moans they were both making. He felt his control beginning to slip away, and would have felt frightened, except for the strong fingers which gripped his backside, urging him on.
Each hard movement inside Julian made Jean-Luc feel as if a part of his troubles could be transferred over from Bashir. He wanted the pain gone and this felt so good, so incredibly good...And then he was falling. It felt wonderful. This euphoric nothingness enveloping him and leaving only pleasure. There was no room for pain...but there wasn't only pleasure here. There was comfort, and warmth, and some of the joy he had tried to give Julian.
And as he felt Bashir coming, splaying out across his stomach and the bed, he knew he could relax into that comfort, and rest, if only for these few moments. His head lay on that warm skin and his form seemed to pool into nothingness.
They both rested for a time, after Picard repositioned them and gathered Julian into his arms.
But Julian awoke frowning.
The strong body which had been pressed again him was gone, and when he turned his head to look, Picard was halfway back into his uniform, and seemed reluctant to meet his eyes.
"What are you doing?" Bashir asked.
"I'm sorry," Picard said slowly, astonishing the doctor. "I think...I may have allowed myself to...I should have been more careful..."
Bashir growled and sat up, using his strength -- so much more than people though it would be from looking at him -- to pull the captain back down on the bed.
He rubbed his hands up either side to Picard's hips, grabbing the edge of the black material's waistline with his fingers and the center with his mouth. Bashir started to draw them down, hooking his fingers under the elastic of the captain's underwear, his nose nuzzling into the almost painful hardness there. Picard's arm's flailed out suddenly, trying to clutch the edges of the bed, raising his hips. Reaching the inner right thigh, Julian's mouth released the material and the doctor ended up crawling completely off the end of the bed and flinging the clothing away.
"Computer, half lights."
Picard reveled in the sight of the lithe, golden body standing before him. All of his senses screamed to feel the return of the young man's touch. A growl resonated deep in his chest as he started to sit up. Before his beckoning arms were spread fully, Julian had leapt back on him. Crushing their chests together, Bashir pitched his voice low: "Do you want me inside you as well?"
Eyes flashing with desire, accent husky, Jean-Luc started to ask, "Where did we put that lubri-"
Julian cut him off with a nip at his lower lip, and abruptly seemed mischievious. "I have just the thing."
Picard allowed him to lean sideways, and with one arm he pulled open a drawer, withdrawing a rumpled, ivory packet. Opening it, fingers fumbling, Picard saw a pile of cubes jumbled together like dice in a variety of colors, and, he supposed, flavors.
After only a moment of thought, Julian selected a dull, red one and slipped it into his mouth and at once tasted a warm, powerful cinnamon. With all the energy of youth, he scrambled back to the end of the bed between Picard's feet. The captain felt surprise at the sudden at the loss of silky skin against his chest and a pang of regret, but his curiosity was piqued. "What did you put in your mouth?"
The doctor grinned impishly and said, "It's Bajoran." He stuck two fingers in his mouth to retrieve the red shape. Picard could tell Bashir was going to draw out this encounter as long as possible and tried to suppress his frustration as Julian winked. He managed to say, "Interesting, but how is a hard cube going to help smooth things along?"
Julian leaned over, his breath hot against Picard's thigh, letting a single glistening pink drop fall from his tongue. It started to drip off, but Julian caught it and rubbed it in. Picard's eyebrow's rose when a warmth rushed through the spot. Julian swiped a finger across; the residue was quite slippery. At Picard's intrigued glance, Bashir drifted closer to his erection and purred, "Diluted, this has certain pleasure-enhancing capabilities."
Picard writhed as Bashir lapped at the head and the liquid went to work. Bashir ran his lips down along the shaft teasingly, eliciting a pleading groan. "Ooh, don't stop!" When he enveloped the top half in his mouth, Picard jerked spasmodically, barely managing to hold himself in check. Julian ardently sucked at the rest a piece of a time, feeling the slickness left in his wake, working his jaw hard, the remains of the cube pressing and rolling into the tender skin. Julian now enjoyed the extended moans coming from his partner so much that he had to control the urge to come himself.
The nimble surgeon's hands massaged the glossy fluid over every inch of the captain's pelvic region with long, strong strokes. Bashir then let his hands roam up the firm stomach, twin trails of fire that only paused to knead Picard's nipples and the muscles around them.
The cinnamony substance had an incredible effect on the sensitive linings of Bashir's mouth and he let his eyes close in rapture. The cube had almost finished dissolving. Julian felt his desperation grow. He raised his head, and, ignoring a shout of protest, slowly crawled up Picard's body until he found himself caught up in a fierce embrace. For a long moment, their erections ground together. Their faces were so close that Julian's long dark lashes brushed Picard's cheek. The captain's breath was coming in ragged heaves as he touched his fingertips to the younger man's brow then ran them down to his jaw line, caressing its length.
Dr. Bashir stretched his tongue out to pass teasingly over the surface of Picard's lips before thrusting it inside and pushing the last bit of softening cube into the other's mouth.
Julian picked up the hand now at his ear and entwined their fingers. He breathed out airily with a slight daring smirk. "Your turn."
Bashir quickly stripped the last of the inconvenient uniform back off Jean-Luc's body as the captain lay there unprotestingly. Bashir smiled down at him for just a moment before diving again for his lips. The sweetness almost overwhelmed him.
As he kissed the man beneath him, Bashir was also moving his body lightly up and down, back and forth. Teasing his skin with the Picard's body hair. Bashir didn't have much hair on his chest, and the sensation was exquisite.
Jean-Luc kept trying not to think. He knew Julian was trying to offer him comfort. The only question was, what wound would he select for treatment? He had so much he needed to grieve over, and so little time with which to grieve; he wanted to feel nothing but this man's touches on his skin. He wanted to lose himself in comfort, in taking what was offered from someone who so clearly understood what it was like, to be strong, to be relied upon, to be so *good* at what he did others took him for granted. He wanted to be...pampered and adored. He wanted this to mean something special he could carry with him forever.
But he couldn't get his muscles to unclench. He could only lie there and wish for pleasure.
Julian was trying every maneuver to draw this man out of his shell. His caresses were slow and careful. Julian had noted how jumpy Jean-Luc had gotten once he wasn't in control. But under his ministrations, Picard was relaxing once more.
Their lips met once more and his kiss was returned with a growing passion. Strong arms pulled him closer. His body began to rub firmly against Picard. If it were for only this moment in time he would forget, then Julian was willing to offer everything he could to Jean-Luc.
Bashir buried his face in the curve of Picard's neck as his legs tightened around his eager hips. His kisses were long and wet, but he kept them gentle. He stroked his palm up the side of the captain's head, caressing the light fuzz there. Then he sat almost upright, grabbing both of Picard's shoulder's, kneading the tension out, increasing the rocking of his hips.
"I want to make you feel good," Julian said quietly, and Jean-Luc was amazed at the tenderness there, and yet, the doctor was so straightforward, seeking his understanding. The captain knew this man *needed* to give comfort, as he had himself.
"So many lives," Picard found himself saying. "So much suffering, and for what? Diplomatic posturing, a squabble over territory. I watched the Maquis form, I witnessed the Borg assimilating Earth, I've seen so much misery and violence. I'm not sure...I don't know that what you want from me is still *there* to give."
Julian nodded and continued to rub at those tense shoulders. Escape was often beyond the reach of those who most needed it.
"Do you trust me?" Bashir asked.
Jean-Luc had no reason to trust this man, this boy half his age...with eyes older than time itself. He found himself nodding.
"I'm glad," Bashir replied, a smile in his voice. "Otherwise I'd have to kill you."
Picard couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Bashir smiled. Sometimes humour, even lame humour, had the power to relax when even the most tender caress could not.
"I would very much like...." Picard started, but Julian touched a finger to his lips.
They kissed, gently at first, then passionately, as Picard rolled onto his stomach and Bashir rose to his knees. A questioning moan, an answering grunt. Bashir grasped the tube of lubricant. Bashir squeezed a generous portion of the gel onto the fingers of one hand while using the other to part Jean-Luc's buttocks. Julian applied the slick substance around the opening he found there before slipping one finger in cautiously. He held it there for a moment so the captain could get used to the feeling. When the muscle relaxed he slipped another finger in, and slowly started to work them. He knew if he could reach far enough he would caress Picard's prostate. Julian felt the small bump under his fingers and knew he had found it when Picard bucked his hips.
Picard moaned as he moved to get the fingers inside him more.
"Are you all right?" Bashir asked as he stilled movement.
"Yes," Picard growled, "get on with it."
Bashir smiled. He moved in behind the captain and pressed his cock to the loosened opening. Julian moved carefully, but with intent. He wanted to bring comfort, but he would settle for the madness of this joining, if that were, in the end, all there was here.
He missed Jadzia. He missed her smile, her eyes, the way she knew what to do. He wanted her *here,* and hated life that it took her from him. He even missed pining after her. She had helped make his life what he wanted it to be. It's wasn't fair that she was gone. But this man, this hero of the Federation, was with him now, and he would make of that what he could, what he was allowed to make of it.
Slowly, feeling as though he were under a spell, he pressed inside, enjoying the warmth of it, reveling in the power of it. But mostly, enjoying the way the man below him moaned and closed his eyes, the way he shuddered and moved back against him.
Yes, at last, at the end, there was something here he could give, and as Jean-Luc shouted encouragement and matched his every stroke, he gave what he could. Each thrust was a promise, an offering of himself, and each thrust back was acceptance, on every level. When they came, it was all heat, and something better than sex.
And when, afterwards, they held each other close, there were only two people in the bed. Dax was gone. The nightmares that had driven Picard into his bed were gone.
And all was quiet, and warmth.
THE END