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: HOT NIGHTS AUTHOR: BGM RATING: NC-17 (for some sexually-explicit contents) PAIRING: Garak/Bashir --------------------------------------------------------- Another day, another lat strip, another dreary, boring, vapid night. The quarters are chilly, as usual. The lights too bright, even when I order them to lower. I'm never satisfied until they're completely off. It's not the brightness really. It's the artificiality that irritates me. Those damn synthetic lights. And of course the temperature is never high enough. At least I can compensate my discomfort by lowering the lights. Damn temperature is uniform. If I raise it here, it raises everywhere. So the authority is not mine to alter it. Pitiful life. Even the quarters themselves are closing in. Trapping me, confining me. It's a prison really, not a house. A beautiful house, with foliage embracing it, natels singing their lovely waking tunes in the morning ... Gul I miss my home. Chilly. Frigid. Specially today. Chief O'Brien has assured everyone that the heat will be adjusted soon. Not soon enough. I need to be warm. Now. It's frighteningly too cold. I turn to my bed and ponder. It's 0907. Still early. I could go Quark's and drain a few kanars to warm me up. But what's the use? I have had enough of kanar. And none of the other liquors affects me. Where else could I go? Perhaps engage in a sport. Sweat a little. No. I don't want to sweat, I just want to be comfortable. So Ziyal's sauna program is out of the question as well. Besides. Little whore has probably triggered an alert on it. Stimulate a fortuitous encounter. Bah! Think tailor. Not enough sheets to cover me either. Even as I search the tiny closet. I suppose I could replicate some. No. I won't spend the little spending credits I do have on a luxury. It's cold. So live with it. 0913. Ah well. Nothing on my social agenda for tonight. Might as well go to bed. That's all I can do now to relieve the solitude. Sleep. Be unconscious. At least the time passes a little faster that way. I usually don't wear anything to sleep. Such a foolish waste of clothing anyway. Damn arrogant as well. Why drape yourself in silk and cotton when your only purpose is to sleep? Of course, I am not in a position to talk. Most of those who -do- adorn themselves for sleep have someone else at their side. But tonight is different. Not because I have someone to impress. Because I am cold. I search for something, anything, and finally come across a pair of shalhan spidersilk trousers and shirt. A gift. From who? Too long ago to remember. A loved one perhaps. Too many memories cluttering my mind to know who it was. As I slip into them, my outlook is somewhat changed. I never realised how silk could feel so ... good against my skin. So this is what they mean by simple pleasures. Unknowing, I smile as I pad across the small room. Toward the narrow bed pushed against the wall. It seems so much more smaller this way. Aah. At least the bed itself is comfortable. Sturdy. Reassuring. I pull the two covers over me, tucking them under my chin. But sleep refuses to cuddle me tonight. I try my best. Breathe slowly, close my eyes, think of nothing. That was my mother's recommendation when I was little. And it never failed. Until tonight. It's the damn cold. Frustrated I turn on my back, staring in belated irritation at the ceiling. That bloody ceiling. I know each scratch, each hole by heart. What do you expect? What else can I do with my time awake than stare up at the ceiling? That flat unadorned slab of metal lined with spot lights at the sides. I can see them well, even though no light brightens them. The stars are my only luminosity, and they serve me well enough. I wonder ... I wonder suddenly what my friend is doing. At 09-- - I glance sideways - at 0939 hours. What is he doing? Probably out on a date. I am long forgotten after our lunches together after all. Pushed aside to make way for other interests. Pushed aside until the next lunch. Have I become just that? A convenient companion to pass the lonely breaks? Ignored when night comes for more important entertainment? Too painful. Too painful to think about. I need to block it out. Surpress it. Kill it. The covers are suddenly a burden. I throw them aside in my frustration and lay there, eyes narrowed in sudden anger. It's as though he makes every effort to get me incensed. Even last week, when I interrupted his precious holosuite program. He gets under my skin. No wonder he was adamant in keeping me out. Playing the spy. Did he seriously think he could outwit me? In a profession I spent years honing and sharpening? Foolish human. Beautiful human. Was that a moan that escaped my lips? My eyes are closed, but I feel a touch at my hips. My own hand. Who else's? The touch is needed though. Desperate. It's getting warm. Did the Chief fix the damn heating system yet? Oh yes ... Damn trousers are suddenly in the way. Why did I ever decide to put these anyway? Oh yes, I was cold. Bah! They are confining. Too tight. Suffocating me. Quickly I pull them off, stripping off my shirt and throwing them both on the floor. Aah. Much better. Yes it's definitely warmer in here. Or is it me? Perhaps it is me. Do I not feel this way every time I think of him? Think of his sweet smiling face? That golden face which I long to kiss, lick, make mine. Oooh yes. Damn, it's hot. Oh but I don't care. I want to be hot. I want us to be hot together, pressing against one another, kissing, sucking. Great Gul I'd give anything to have him bend to my wishes. Yes. Tied, delicate wrists tied together as I pleasure his body. Oooh yes. His quivering sex mine as I plunder it. His dark inviting lips mine to kiss and lick. His body mine. His soul free, his passion for me. Hot! Too hot ... I can't bear it, I need air. Oh yes, no longer tied. I'm the one bonded. His fingers in my hair, pulling me back to kiss my throat, stroke my neckridges, his mouth sliding over to mine. His hips thrusting against mine, shouting his ecstasy and I mine. Ice, I need ice ... I'm sweating. Oh sweet Gul yes, his slender body shivering with want as I enter his tight, eager ass. His back against me, his head on my shoulder. His beautiful throat arched in delight as I kiss him. His beautiful voice speaking his desire. For me. All for me. yes ...Yes ... YES! Oh Gul yes. That felt good. Oh my sweet Julian ... what are you doing tonight? Why are you not in my bed, warming me? --------------------------------------------------------- "Oh God, YES!" Julian cried, his free hand curling into the bedsheets as he writhed in ecstasy. "Yes Garak ... " he whispered as his body slackened. "Elim," he panted. "Where are you tonight?" he asked breathlessly, staring sadly at the dark, familiar ceiling. THE END