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The Story Of Love
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By Robin Lawrie
robinl@s054.aone.net.au
Dec, 1997
DS9, G/B, Fetish, [R]

This story comes from the thread "An Interesting Question, re 
Slash vs. Gay Fiction" in ASCEM.  Ariana gave me the idea 
for it, and Cam encouraged me (in his own outrageous 
manner).  Plus the fact I haven't written a DS9 story for 
December. 


Disclaimer:  Star Trek, Star Trek Deep Space Nine and the 
characters in this story are the property of Paramount.
=======================================

"You gotta give a little,
Take a little,
And let the old heart break a little.
That's the glory of,
That's the story of love."

========================================

He was *so* excited. Tonight, he was sure, would be a trip to 
the stars and back. He wanted it to be special. To be the 
*best* of everything. "Yes" he'd said when the question was 
asked. "Anything to oblige" was the qualifier. And so tonight, a 
very special, wonderful, exciting, marvellous, and drop dead 
sexy visitor would grace Julian's quarters with his presence.

So tonight, he'd wear "the Boots".

He showered carefully, and scrubbed his nails. He trimmed 
and plucked, waxed and shaved. His teeth gleamed. His 
breath was like no humans breath. With the same dedication 
and attention he'd give to performing surgery, he carefully 
tinted every eyelash, to make each one just that little bit 
longer and darker. It took forever. Not one blemish marked his 
skin. Taping a dermal regenerator to the wall with gaffer tape, 
he backed up to it, and finally fixed that annoyingly persistent 
zit between his shoulder blades. At last he stood naked and 
unadorned in the centre of his room, making a quick inventory 
of his body. His eyes ran critically over each and every 
extremity with all the acuity and concern of a leper checking 
for the least little scratch. Nothing. Perfect. He'd do.

He checked the time. Less than an hour. Surely he wouldn't be 
late. But what if he was early? Panic flowed over him for a 
second, before the rational half set in. Don't worry, you'll be 
fine. Think! Plan! Do!

Still naked, he set the table with a selection of bite sized 
nibbles, a bottle of Cointreau, two small glasses and a large 
bucket of crushed ice. He placed the glasses next to each 
other facing the lounge. They'd have to sit together. The 
glasses were there. He smiled at his little trick. He lit a few 
candles and turned the room lights down. He sprayed a small 
squirt from a tiny faceted bottle into the air, bringing the scent 
of spices and musk overlaid with the sweet but heady scent of 
jasmine. Good. Atmosphere. Done. Now to dress.

This was the easy bit. He glanced at the time. Not long now. 
From a chest under his bed, opened with a key, he peeled 
back the red satin layers covering the dark supple leatherwork. 
The smell was fresh with oil and warmth, reminding him of the 
hours he put into working the leather, stroking and rubbing, 
oiling and waxing, each seam getting attention, each sole 
being cleaned and polished, until the black leather felt like his 
own golden skin. He pulled out each long boot and laid them 
on his bed, just looking at them. Without thinking, his hand 
strayed to his already half erect penis and as he drew a finger 
down the smooth matt black finish, his thumb rubbed absently 
down the shaft of his erection.

'Perfect.' he murmured.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted one boot to his face, 
pressing the coolness against his full lips, but being careful not 
to let the least bit of saliva stain their perfect finish. He finally 
bent down and inserted a bare leg into their wide, supple top. 
His foot snaked it's way down the black satin lined interior. He 
pulled it up and over his knee, the high, folded top reaching 
midway up his thigh. Then the other leg was sheathed in the 
satin and leather. Julian stood, balancing easily with the skill 
of much practise on the deadly black steel of the pointed 
stiletto heels.

Looking in his bedroom mirror he saw a tall, slim, dark haired, 
naked man with a large erection wearing a splendid pair of 
thigh high come-fuck-me boots. He checked the time. The 
doorbell rang.

Perfect,' he murmured again. 

He cut the lights in his bedroom, and hid behind the door. He'd 
thought about his entrance and the effect he wanted to create. 
This way seemed to be the most appropriate. Subtle, but 
surprising, and definitely sexy. That's what he wanted to be. 
That's what the boots would make him. 

'Come,' he called.

The door swished open. From his hiding spot he could see the 
smallish figure pause as if uncertain, peering suspiciously 
through the dim candle light. 'Julian?'

'Come in.' he whispered from his bedroom. 

The figure stepped into the room and the door closed behind. 
'Are the lights not working here? If you're not ready, I can 
come back in a minute. '

'Oh, but I'm ready. The question is, are you?'

Before his guest could answer Julian stepped out of the 
shadows and paused next to a group of strategically placed 
candles, their shimmering glow reflecting off his oiled and 
perfumed skin, and shining new depths into the inky blackness 
of the boots. He waited a few heartbeats for his guest to drink 
in his visual splendour.

'Hello Garak. Nice to see you. Thanks for coming. Have a 
seat. Here. Let me take your coat.'

'I...I...I'm not wearing one. Julian, I think there's been..'

Julian crossed the floor with a cat like grace and held a well 
manicured finger tip against Garak's lips. 'Shhhhhh, my love,' 
he whispered. 'Let me help you out of that shirt. It seems so 
confining.' He ran a hand between the buttonholes, letting it 
rest on Garak's bare chest. 

'But Julian, I didn't come here to be...'

'.. loved? Caressed? Adored? Let me, Garak. Let me soothe 
you, stroke you, I want to feel you under my hands, your warm 
and textured flesh pressed against me.' Julian stood closer 
and moved his hand lower until it pressed against the 
Cardassian's pants. 'I want you Garak. I want you.'

Garak stared down at Julian's probing hand, then at Julian's 
complete lack of clothing, (apart from a remarkable pair of 
boots),  and then at the half lowered lids of Julian's large, dark 
eyes. He cleared his throat.

'Julian?'

'Yes, my love?'

'Here's your book back.' 

Julian felt a hard, square, edge poking into his bare belly. It 
took a second to realise that it was a small, plastic covered 
paper back, with a lurid scene of palm trees, sandy beach, and 
an outrageously endowed woman embracing a square jawed, 
bare chested, blond maned hero. 

'My book?' he finally managed in a small, weak voice.

'Yes. Um, you see, I didn't have it on me when you asked for it 
today, so I had to search my quarters, then I remembered I'd 
loaned it to Rom, and he loaned it to Leeta, and so I had to 
find her and then she went down...Julian? Are you listening?'

'Yes. Sorry. Do go on.' Julian whispered.

'Well to cut a long story short, I *did* end up having it in my 
quarters after all. It was hiding down the back of the couch. 
Who knows *how* it got there, but it's alright now, you've got 
your book back and so everythings fine.' Garak beamed, and 
slapped Julian on the arm, pressing the paperback into his 
unresponsive fingers. 'OK?'

'Yes. Fine. Thanks.'

'Splendid. Well I better be going. Thanks for the loan. Not 
much plot but the sex was wonderfully graphic.' Garak headed 
for the door, leaving a stunned, but well shod Doctor standing 
in the middle of the darkened room, staring at his hand  
clutching the book. At the door Garak paused and looked 
back. Julian managed to lift his head, an iota of hope kick-
starting his heart.

'Oh. And Julian?'

'Yes Garak?'

'Nice boots.'

******************

How long did he stand there? The candles had burned out, 
and the ice had melted. And the shiny black toes of the 
wonderful boots were marred by the wet splash marks left by 
the salty tears of disappointment, shame, and a broken heart. 

******************
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