Julian of Ours 
DS9 - G/B/O'B - NC-17
Kathryn Ramage
September 1998

*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Summary: O'Brien and Garak meet regularly to discuss
their mutual obsession, when Bashir drops by one night
in the middle of a conversation.

Rating: Mild NC-17 for multiple-partner sex and a 
lesson on the importance of learning to share.

*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*
Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters.
This story was written for personal entertainment 
and should not be taken as intended copyright 
infringement.

~~~~~
i

"Did you ever think about him during your racquetball 
games?"

"Hell, yes! Why d'you think I had to stop?  It got to be 
too much for me--him in that silver jumpsuit so tight it 
hugged every curve.  I couldn't take it.  Darts seemed 
safer."

"Tell me one."

"One what?"

"Of your fantasies.  Surely, Chief, when you were 
watching him in that tight jumpsuit, leaping around 
the racquetball court, you had a thought or two about 
what you wanted to do with him?"

"Well- er- a thought or two."

"Tell me."

~~~

Julian Bashir crossed into the habitat ring and turned 
sharply down the outer corridor, heading for Chief 
O'Brien's residence.

He still couldn't quite believe it.

~~~

"...and then I press `m up against the wall and yank 
down on the zip--all the way down to the small of his 
back.  I put my hands inside--his back is all damp."

"Human perspiration?" Garak asked with a slight 
note of distaste.

"*You* wouldn't understand."

"Hmn... No, I suppose not.  Cardassians don't perspire.  
It's not a biological function I ever considered 
potentially appealing."

"It's the pheremones.  The smell's not too great, but 
there's something in it that's incredibly sexy to 
another human."

"If you say so." Garak emptied his glass of kanar.  
"I would rather he showered first--in fact, quite a 
few of my fantasies involve showering."

"Did you want to hear this or not?"

"Yes.  Yes, I do.  My apologies, Chief."

"You'll have your turn in a minute."

"You're quite right.  I was precipice-"  He had some
trouble getting the word out.  "Precipitous.  Please, 
do go on."

"All right then. Now, I've got my hands in his jumpsuit, 
pulling it open off his back `n' tugging it off his 
shoulders.  I kiss down his spine, starting from the 
nape of his neck..."

~~~

When Odo mentioned that Garak and O'Brien had been
meeting one night each week at 2430 since Keiko had 
taken the children and gone back to Earth indefinitely, 
Julian's first response was disbelief.  Surely there 
must be a mistake.  His closest friends could barely 
stand each other. They'd never deliberately seek each 
other's company; it was almost impossible to imagine 
what could bring them together every week.

Then he began to be curious.  What *could* they be 
doing?

~~~

"Shower.  You were going to tell me how you fancied 
him in the shower."

"It's the warmth," Garak said after refilling his glass.  
"The steam.  We Cardassians are very fond of warm, 
steamy places.  Saunas.  Baths.  I can form a quite 
attractive mental picture of him fresh from a hot-water 
shower--his hair curled, his skin bright with the heat,
drops of water running off his body..."

"Plus you've got `m buck naked."

"Yes, there is that too."

~~~

It was 2510.  A quick query to the computer had placed 
O'Brien in his quarters, and Garak not in his. Curiosity 
could bear no more. 

~~~

"D'ye think he even goes for it?"

"He flirts," said Garak.

"Oh, he flirts.  You *know* how he flirts. But it doesn't 
mean a thing.  If you could hear some of the things he's 
said to me, but he doesn't follow up.  Wouldn't want to 
be a homewrecker.  Or else, he could only be playin' and  
isn't interested at all.  I've never seen `m with another 
man, `cept for you. *You* say you've never had `m, and 
*I* certainly didn't."

"It's possible he finds anonymous diversions-" another 
difficult phrase to pronounce tonight; Garak took great
care to enunciate his esses, "with visitors to the 
station."

"Possible," O'Brien answered.  "But if he was picking 
up strangers at Quark's, don't you think we'd've heard 
*somethin'* about it?  That kind of gossip gets around."

~~~

He wouldn't intrude. It wasn't that late; it wouldn't be 
so unusual if he were to drop casually by.  He'd just pop 
his head in, see what his friends were up to, and then 
he'd be on his way.

~~~

"We *could* ask."

Miles laughed.  "How much have you had to drink?"

"No more than you."

"Oh, no--I haven't had *that* much.  That kanar of yours 
must be powerful stuff.  *Ask* him?"

"It was your idea to begin with, Chief.  Just last week, 
you thought it was the only reasonable solution.  You 
said that, 'For all we know, our Julian loves to be 
fooked and he's just dying to be asked.'" Garak imitated 
O'Brien's accent.

"And last week, *you* said, 'Unlikely, my dear Chief.'" 
Miles could mimic too. "You said 's far more likely he 
hadn't had much `sperience with men and it'd just scare
`m off for good if we brought it up.  I agreed with 
you, didn't I?" 

"I admit, it is unlikely, but I think it's worth the 
question.  The worst he can do is say 'No.'"

"The *least* he can do is say 'No.'  You can bet he'll say 
a whole lot more.  'Are you out of your fookin' minds?'--  
That's what he'll say.  He'll want to drag us down to the 
Infirmary and scan us for some alien virus or telepathic 
influence or Christ knows what."

~~~

Bashir, now at the door to O'Brien's quarters, pushed the 
chime.  "Miles, it's Julian," he called out, and chimed 
again. "Miles, are you in?  I-"

The door slid open.

"Julian!" Chief O'Brien greeted him with alacrity and a 
blast of whiskey-tainted breath.  "We were just talkin' 
about you!"

As he stepped into the room, Bashir glanced to the sofa, 
where Garak sat cradling a glass of bright-blue kanar 
between his hands.  Depleted whiskey and kanar decanters 
sat on the coffee table along with O'Brien's half-empty 
glass.  The doctor's eyes flickered from table to tailor 
to chief in confusion.  Garak's gaze, fixed intently 
upon him, was especially unnerving.

Without moving his eyes from Bashir, Garak spoke to O'Brien: 
"Ask him."

~~~~~
ii

O'Brien looked horrified.  "I can't ask him!"

"Ask me what?" Bashir wondered. Still glancing from one 
to the other, he considered the strange situation.  Was 
*this* what they did on their evenings together?  Drank, 
and talked...about him? 

"Oh- er- nothing." 

"If you don't, Chief, then I will." 

"You'll frighten him!" 

"I most certainly will not," Garak retorted, then he
smiled. "Doctor, come here, please." 

With diffidence, Bashir stepped closer; Garak took 
his arm, and Julian found himself pulled abruptly 
down to sit on the tailor's knees. 

"Chief, a drink for your guest."

O'Brien hastened to pour out a glass of whiskey. 

"Doctor," Garak began gently, "there has been a 
topic of discussion between Chief O'Brien and myself
lately."

"You see, it's like this," Miles added as he offered 
the drink.  "We go `round and `round about it, and
the thing we can't settle on- that is, about you- we 
were wonderin'-"

"To be completely frank, we have a proposition for you."

Bashir sipped his drink.  "What did you have in mind?"  
But he knew.  So that's what this was all about!  

He'd been aware of certain undercurrents in his friend-
ships with both men for some time; he might be naive in 
some respects, but he wasn't blind.  He had wondered 
if either would ever have the courage to talk to him--
although he'd never anticipated *this*.

He hid a smile behind the rim of his glass.  The 
combination of drunken boldness, eager hopefulness,
and the exaggerated care they were taking to broach 
the subject without alarming him was really rather 
funny, as well as endearing.

Garak got to the point: "We wondered if you'd be 
interested in joining us in bed."

"I didn't realize the two of you were- ah-"

"We're not," O'Brien answered abruptly.

"Not in the least," Garak added, just as anxious to 
dispel this mistaken assumption.  "We simply have an 
object of mutual interest, and we've agreed that the 
only way to avoid the unpleasant ramifications of 
jealousy is to share."

"If you don't mind," said O'Brien.

"No," Julian answered, "I don't mind." 

Miles's mouth dropped open.  "You mean you'll do it?"

"Yes.  Why not?  I've got no other plans for tonight,
and I admit I'm- well- intrigued at the idea of being
shared.  It might be fun.  So, who wants to go first?"

"Don't you want to choose?" Garak asked.  He was doing 
a slightly better job of concealing his amazement.

"I'm not going to play favorites.  I'm sure you've 
given this a lot of thought--you've worked out the
best way to proceed."  

After a moment's befuddled thought, Miles replicated 
a coin.  "We'll do it this way.  `S only fair."

"What is that?"  Garak deposited Bashir on the sofa,
and stood up to see.

Julian sat back and swirled his drink, and waited 
while O'Brien explained the concept of heads and 
tails as a generator of random selection.  He was 
beginning to realize that he'd caught them unprepared.
Whatever joint fantasies they might have had about 
him, they had not taken the idea far enough to make 
practical plans.  For all their talk, they hadn't 
really expected to get him--Miles, at least, hadn't 
expected him to consent so easily.  If he hadn't come 
by on this particular evening, would they ever have 
spoken a word about it?

O'Brien tossed the little metal disk into the air.  
"You call it."

"Heads."

The coin landed on the carpet.  "It's tails."

Garak bowed in acquiescence.

Julian set down his drink and got up.  "Come on, 
then." He began to strip off his uniform as he 
entered the bedroom.  Still dazed, Miles followed 
him. 

"Miles?" Bashir asked.  "Do you have some sort 
of body lotion, oil, we can use?"

"Use?"

"Lubricant."

"Uh- yeah.  Let me look." O'Brien went to Keiko's
dressing-table to rummage through the vials and 
jars she had left behind in her abrupt departure.

Garak stood at the doorway, listening to this
exchange with undisguised curiosity.  "Humans- ah- 
don't produce their own lubrication?" he asked 
delicately.

Miles turned to stare at him. "Cardassians *do*?"

"Cardassians males secrete a natural, oily 
substance during the first phase of arousal,"
Julian, who had done a little research into the 
subject, informed him.  "And no, humans don't."
Shedding the last of his clothes, he sat down on 
the bed.  Miles tossed him a small, green glass 
jar.

"Will that do?"

Julian unscrewed the lid to examine the contents:
a clear gel, oily to the touch, faintly scented
lilac.  "It'll do."  And he patted the mattress
beside him.

Miles began to undress, then paused half-way when he 
realized that Garak was still in the room.  "Uh-"

"You don't mind if I stay, do you?" the tailor 
requested politely.  

"I thought you were getting in with us," said Julian.

"Oh, no.  I'm afraid I'd only be in the way." He
took a seat in the wicker chair in the corner.  "If
you've no objection, I'd prefer to watch.  I confess, 
I'm sadly ignorant about human sexuality and I could 
certainly learn a thing or two before I presume to 
join you."

Julian shrugged.  "If that's what you want."  He
offered the open jar to Miles and explained what he 
wanted him to do with it.

Miles seemed reluctant.  "Can't you do this?" 

"I want you to.  It's more intimate if we prepare
each other."  Julian shifted position, tucked his 
feet beneath himself, and rose on his knees.

With some gentle urging from Bashir, one of the 
Chief's brawny arms braced the younger man's waist; 
the fingers of his other hand dabbled in the lotion.  
Two fingers coated with the oily substance, he 
reached around Julian to apply it, his expression 
declaring his disbelief that he was doing this, 
that Julian had asked him to.

"Yes." Bashir reached up to slide his arms around
O'Brien shoulders, eyes dark and smouldering, voice 
growing husky.  "Yes, like that."  And he kissed 
him hungrily.

They knelt for awhile, pressed against each other,
kissing, Bashir surging in playful little thrusts
and making deep, throaty sounds of encouragement
while O'Brien's hands ran up and down his backside.
Then he sank back out of the embrace and reached
for the green jar sitting against Miles's knee to
prepare him in turn.  O'Brien writhed at these 
ministrations until it became too much for him; 
he grabbed Julian and they tumbled back onto the 
mattress. 

"I don't want to hurt you," he said between kisses.

"It's all right--you won't," Bashir assured him.  
"I'll show you how."

~~~

From his chair in the corner, Garak watched as the 
other human took his Julian.  Thankfully, Julian was 
mostly obscured from his view; that might be anyone, 
an anonymous body with its arms and legs emerging to
entwine around the broad back and pale, thrusting 
flanks.  

They had initially agreed to share Bashir in the spirit
of good fellowship; if they spent all their time bickering
over that which neither of them was ever likely to 
possess, then they would not be able to continue having 
these pleasant evening conversations.  And Garak had
found that it *was* pleasant to have a regular drinking 
partner with whom he could exchange thoughts on the 
unattainable doctor.  They'd begun to talk in order to
assess the competition, but once they'd gotten past the 
awkwardness of acknowledging their mutual obsession, he 
and O'Brien understood each other perfectly.  For the 
opportunity to have someone to talk to, they had put by 
their rivalry.  Share; that was the only reasonable 
solution--though Garak was certain that O'Brien had had 
no more real hope of luring Bashir into bed than he did.  
Probably less. 

And yet, now that they were actually here, he would 
abide by that theoretical agreement.  He'd felt a few
stabbing pangs of jealousy, to be sure, after O'Brien 
had fairly won the right to have Julian first, but he 
had not protested, nor resorted to trickery.  

He took comfort in the way Julian was handling this.  
Bashir had immediately taken charge of the situation, 
given explicit instructions about how he expected to be
treated, and even now coaxed O'Brien along.  This type 
of experience was evidently not unfamiliar to him. 

Garak would have been outraged at the prospect of 
allowing O'Brien to be Bashir's first; O'Brien merely 
being the one just before him in a number much higher 
than either of them had estimated--he could bear that 
with composure.

From Bashir's continued efforts to guide his partner, 
Garak was pleased to infer that the performance was 
not all it should be.  O'Brien had never made love to 
another man before--*that* was obvious.  Face-to-face 
coupling was not unheard-of between males, but not 
usually done, and yet Garak noted that Bashir didn't 
seem to find it strange.  The doctor also appeared to 
enjoy O'Brien's hands and mouth on that portion of 
his chest where a female's breasts would be--not an 
erogenous zone on Cardassian males. In light of these
revelations, Garak admitted his knowledge of human 
sexual techniques was lacking; nevertheless, he felt 
certain that they were not so different a species that
Bashir wouldn't have liked to have his genitals fondled, 
and he could see that O'Brien was simply not touching 
the doctor in that way.  

Garak was also relieved to observe a satisfactory 
amount of drunken fumbling.  And, of course, he knew 
that his presence in the room was making O'Brien self-
conscious and inhibited.

He could let O'Brien go first, but he did not intend 
to be a poor second.

~~~

Miles rolled off him; they lay side by side for a 
few minutes, panting, then moved close again.  Miles
planted a moist kiss on his cheek and murmured into 
his ear, "Y're sweet t'do this, Julian. Really 
wonderful."  

Julian lay with his head tucked against Miles's 
shoulder; he shut his eyes and, as the other man's 
rapid breath grow more slow and measured, tried to 
match his own breathing to it as a means of making
himself relax as well.  His half-roused erection 
eventually subsided, but even as he withdrew from
Miles's arms to lie flat on his back, he still felt 
restless, nervous, and unsatisfied.  If he weren't 
anticipating a second round with Garak soon, he would 
take care of the problem himself, and curl up to 
sleep.

But this evening was not over yet.

He heard the Cardassian leave his chair and go out 
to the living room, then return again after a moment.
Footsteps approached the bedside--and then Julian 
was startled by the cold, wet sensation of glass 
trailing up his belly and chest.

His eyes flew open, and he sat up.  Garak had 
brought in the unfinished drink he'd left on the 
coffee table.  "Thank you," he said as he took
the glass.

"I have no wish to rush you," the tailor said.

"No, it's all right. Just give me a minute."  He 
sipped, and then scooted over so Garak could sit at 
the edge of the mattress.  He gave him a quick,
preliminary kiss, and then ventured, "Elim? Can I 
ask how much you've had to drink tonight?" Garak kept 
his balance and coordination better than O'Brien had, 
but he was taking pains not to slur his words, and 
his movements were too careful and deliberate, as if
he had to think before every action--and the level 
in the kanar decanter had been lower than the whiskey.

Garak smiled at the question.  "Enough that this 
seems like a good idea. *I* won't pass out on you, if 
that's what is troubling you." He nodded to indicate 
O'Brien.

Julian glanced over his shoulder, to where Miles
lay with his arm thrown over his eyes, oblivious to 
them; he was beginning to snore.

"Poor Miles," Bashir gave the Chief's bare shoulder 
an affectionate pat.  "I don't think he was ready for
this, for me, tonight."

"You did take us by surprise."

"You weren't expecting me to say `Yes' either, were 
you?"

"No," Garak admitted.  "In spite of our numerous
speculations on your experience, or lack of it, I 
never guessed..."

"You never asked."

"Was it always that easy?"  

"M-hm," Julian answered.  "I've been curious too. 
Although this..." He was still stroking the sleeping 
man's arm.  "What happens in the morning? Are you 
going to remember any of this? Miles will be so 
embarrassed when he wakes up if he doesn't know 
what we're all doing here."  

"I will not deny you tomorrow," Garak said, and took 
Julian by the arm.  "Are you ready?"

Bashir let himself be drawn him away.  He set his
drink on the nightstand and cuddled closer to Garak. 
The tailor began to nibble at his shoulder, moved 
slowly up to his throat and under his chin; hands 
explored him, tentatively at first, then more boldly 
as he made soft sounds of approval.

"You have the smell of Chief O'Brien all over you," 
Garak growled possessively.  "*Him*, and Irish 
whiskey, and that floral scent."

"Lilac," said Julian, fingers toying with Garak's
collar, working out the puzzle of the hidden clasp;
a gentle tug unfastened it and split the tunic open.  
He bent his head to test the exposed scales.  "Do 
you want me to shower?"

"No," Garak replied after contemplating this tempting
offer.  "I would prefer to take you just as you are--
to steal you fresh from another man's bed-" His arms
tightened about the doctor's waist, catching Julian 
up and making him gasp with surprised excitement and 
a little alarm; they had nearly toppled off the bed.
"I want to make you forget all about him."

Julian hung on and kissed him with all the urgency 
of that restless, unspent energy still waiting to be 
tapped.  "So," he teased, "you did pick up a thing or 
two about humans?" 

"Oh, I have a better idea of how to make love to you
than I did half an hour ago, and I believe I can 
improve upon Chief O'Brien's clumsy attentions." He
placed one palm flat over Bashir's pectoral.

"He's not that clumsy," Bashir answered.  "He's never 
had a boy before, but that doesn't mean he doesn't 
know what he's doing. Give him a little practice, and 
no audience." He glanced up at Garak through lowered
lashes with a hint of a smile. "You did that on purpose, 
didn't you?"  

No answer. 

Julian laughed.  "Elim, you're awful!  You're going to
have to make it up to me, you know."

Garak grabbed the quilt from the bed and tossed it on 
the floor.  "To start, I suggest we not disturb Mr. 
O'Brien further."

~~~

A sound very much like sobbing slowly drew O'Brien 
back toward consciousness. Someone was crying? Julian? 
He had shut his eyes for just a minute, left his Julian 
to the hands of that damned twisty-minded Cardassian. 
Had Garak dared..? Still half-asleep, O'Brien reached 
across the rumpled bedsheets and found the space beside 
him empty.

He sat up.

"You're hurting him!"

"I am not," Garak answered from the floor. "That is a 
perfectly normal sound to make- Julian, will you tell 
him you're not hurt?"

"Miles, I'm fine," Bashir told him, somewhat muffled 
against the quilt.  

But the interruption had been enough.  In spite of all 
his bravado about outdoing his rival, Garak had been as 
nervous about having him as O'Brien had been, and the 
kanar was also having its effect.  That vast Cardassian 
ego would never allow him to admit it; Garak insisted 
he was fine, but his concentration was uncertain--and 
then Miles had shouted and distracted him completely.  
There was no hope of their continuing, not for awhile, 
anyway.  

Intentionally or not, Miles had had his revenge.

Garak got up and stalked into the bathroom.  O'Brien 
slid off the bed to sit on the floor beside Bashir, 
frowning in concern.

"Julian, you *are* all right?  He hasn't made you- 
ah- do anything strange?"

"No, of course not."  In spite of his increasing 
frustration, Bashir couldn't help being amused: Miles 
imagined Elim must be a brutal lover, just as Elim had 
assumed Miles must be inept.  What odd ideas they 
had about each other!  "Garak was as worried about 
hurting me as you are."  He sat up to show Miles that 
there were no bites or bruises on his arms, chest, 
or throat.
  
O'Brien ran a hand over the unmarked skin, reassured,
but he admitted, "I don't like thinking of you with 
him."

"He doesn't like my being with you either.  I'm 
rather surprised that the two of you ever thought 
you could manage this."

"It seemed the easiest way to go on without getting into 
quarrels half the time. We never thought this'd actually 
happen.  We said a lot of things about you, but it was 
all just talk--you know how it is when you've had a 
drop too much.  I didn't think I'd have to be acting 
out my wildest dreams tonight."  The Chief's brow 
furrowed again.  "Did you talk about *me* with him this 
way?"

"Oh, yes."

The running water in the bathroom shut off, and the 
door opened.  Garak stepped out.

Julian looked from one to the other.  "Miles, Elim,
I'm sorry--this isn't working out."  This was not the
way he'd imagined spending the evening; rather than
being shared, he was being squabbled over. While he was 
still able to laugh about their tug-o-war, *he* was the 
one who suffered the most by being caught in the middle.  
"I think it's best if I go."  

"I'm afraid you caught us on a bad night," Garak said,
trying not to sound anxious as Bashir began to gather 
up his clothes. "Your arrival was unexpected- as well 
as your acceptance."  

"I don't mind that." Julian shook out his underpants 
with a brisk snap and sat down on the floor to pull 
them on.  "It's the jealousy.  You told me you wanted
to do it this way to avoid `the unpleasant ramifications'
of that, but no matter which of you I'm with, the other 
can't stand it.  It's not what I was hoping for when I 
agreed to come to bed with you."  

"But you shouldn't leave like this," Miles was almost 
maudlin.  "Not angry."

"I'm not angry.  But I've had enough for now." He 
located his socks next.  "Perhaps we can try this 
again some other night, or I'll come to each of you 
separately if that's what you really want.  We'll 
talk about it later."

As Bashir continued dressing, Garak and O'Brien met 
each other's eyes in common desperation.  In spite 
of the doctor's words about "some other night," they 
both knew that they were about to lose him.

"If you're willing to try again sometime," Garak
suggested quickly, "why not stay a little longer 
tonight? Surely we can be...more civilized?" 

"Yes," Miles grabbed this idea up.  "You don't have 
to leave just yet, Julian.  Can't you give it another 
chance?"

Julian, trying to untangle his uniform which had 
somehow gotten mixed up with O'Brien's, sat back on
his heels and considered them.  "Well..." he said
thoughtfully. "One more chance."

~~~~~
iii

Early the next morning, Bashir awoke wedged between his 
two closest friends, and he extracted himself without 
disturbing either.  He found Miles' robe and pulled it 
on, then got himself a cup of tea from the replicator, 
but he didn't shower yet.  He wanted to be right here 
when they woke up.

He dragged the wicker chair to the foot of the bed 
so that he could watch them sleeping, Miles and Elim, 
nearly nose to nose since he'd gotten out from between
them.

Once he'd gotten them to cooperate, it had been 
screamingly, shudderingly, toe-curlingly fabulous. 
He'd been taken him from behind by one man while the
other rubbed against him from the front, both of them 
moving in a coordinated rhythm, careful not to crush 
him between their bodies.  He'd lain with his head 
pillowed on Miles's abdomen, the Chief's fingers 
playing drowsily in his hair while Elim gathered more 
information on the sensitivity of human nipples; for 
once, that Cardassian ego did not get in the way of 
Garak following instructions.  Then they had changed 
positions, Elim slipping around behind him and Miles 
crawling down from the head of the bed to learn how 
Julian wanted to be touched and, with a little coaxing, 
eventually going down on him. Whatever request he made 
was granted: By the time they collapsed together in an 
exhausted stupor, he'd been thoroughly sucked, fondled, 
stroked and kissed, penetrated one last time, and 
smeared slick with lilac oil and a variety of bodily 
fluids. 
 
It was true that, once or twice when Miles touched him, 
he'd caught a glitter of jealousy in Elim's eyes, and 
Miles was always wary of the Cardassian.  They would 
draw away if they accidentally came into contact; when 
Garak had taken O'Brien by the wrist to show him where 
to place his hand, Miles had jerked away as if the touch 
burned.  Julian knew he couldn't make them like each 
other, but their mutual attraction for him had formed 
a bond between them without his deliberate influence--
without his even being aware of it--and it had made 
them work together last night despite their rivalry. 
They understood that if this opportunity were spoiled,
there would be no further chances.  If Julian left 
them this time, he wouldn't come back.
 
They'd more than made up for his earlier disappointment. 
He'd never had an experience like it before, and he 
wondered if he could coax them into getting together 
again when they weren't drunk off their heads.  

He also wondered what he was going to do when they 
woke up.  

For him, sex was normally, simply fun without any 
strings attached--which was no doubt the reason why 
no one ever took him seriously as a lover.  Most of 
his affairs were brief, ending as casually as they 
had begun.   With these men, he was on much more 
emotionally sensitive ground. They cared so much for 
him, far more than he had realized before last night. 

Not so many years ago, he had tagged after Miles like
an eager puppy.  He'd stayed up nights reading those
tedious, boring Cardassian novels so that he could
discuss them over lunch with Garak.  Their approval,
that was all he'd wanted.  Their friendship.  He'd
wanted to be liked--and Miles had barely put up with 
him.  Garak had been more tolerant, but always 
condescending.

Somewhere along the way, the balance had turned. If 
they had spent many nights discussing their fantasies, 
and who-knew how long before that alone with their 
respective imaginations, then they had had plenty of 
time to work themselves up into a serious obsession 
over him.  *They* needed him.  The greatest thrill of 
the evening had not been in the sex, but in that one 
anxious glance between them when he'd been about to 
leave; they would do anything to have him stay.

In that moment, he'd found new power.  He wanted to 
use it wisely. This encounter had been no casual thing
for them, and he couldn't treat it as a mere bedroom 
romp.  He had a special chance here too, to be adored; 
he could spoil it if he didn't take care with his 
next steps.  

Garak shifted slightly, sleepily, enough to wake 
O'Brien.  They found themselves staring into each 
other's eyes and started upright and apart.

The jolt to his head forced a cry from O'Brien. "Wh- 
What-?" he stammered in shock at waking up in bed 
with the Cardassian.  "How the bloody hell-"

Garak held up a hand to stop him.  "Wait.  Where's 
Julian?"

Peripheral vision brought them to him.

"Good morning!" Julian smiled and crawled forward 
onto the bed.  "How are you feeling?"  He played 
doctor, nearly climbing into O'Brien's lap as he 
checked his bloodshot eyes and took his pulse.  
"I'll have to give you something for your head."  
Then, one arm still around Miles, he reached out 
to touch Garak's temple and examine his eyes; 
the tailor's pupils were contracted, but there was 
no sign of red.  "Don't Cardassians get hangovers?"

"Not as such," Garak answered.  "My head is fine,
if whirling in amazement."  

"How much do you remember about last night?"

"There are a few spots which are somewhat hazy, 
though I have formed some...remarkable conjectures 
to fill them in." His eyes were fastened on Bashir's 
bare chest, revealed by the partly opened robe.

Julian laughed and climbed off the bed.  He went to 
the replicator, aware that they were staring after 
him, and ordered a standard hangover remedy and a 
glass of water; he brought them back to Miles and 
offered the cup of sickly pink liquid first. 

"Here, drink this down in one gulp."   

O'Brien drank, gasped, spluttered, and choked out
one word- "Water!"

Bashir had the glass of water ready.  "Better?"

Miles nodded, then began hesitantly. "Er- Julian, I 
don't remember very clearly everything that happened 
last night either.  We- uh-"  Aware that he was still 
sitting close to Garak, he inched away, careful to keep 
the quilt up at waist-level.  "I guess we got pretty 
wild.  After a a couple of liters of real alcohol, 
anything seems like a good idea."

"We must have been very drunk," Garak added 
apologetically. 

"I wasn't drunk." Julian lifted his chin to indicate
the half-finished glass of whiskey left on the night-
stand.  "I've been completely sober the whole time, 
and I remember everything."  He was on the brink of 
warbling cheerfully--he knew how they hated that--
and he tried to tone it down.  "You made love to me, 
both of you," he spoke as solemnly as he could.  "I'd 
like to have it happen again sometime."

"You would like to do this...again?" Garak asked
slowly, to be certain he hadn't misunderstood.

"I'm not suggesting we meet once a week or anything
but, yes. Yes, I would.  I had a wonderful time after 
we sorted out a few problems."  He sat down at their 
feet and got down to business. "This is my proposition: 
You can go back to your usual round of heavy drinking 
and unfulfilled fantasies, or we can all find some 
better way to spend our lonely nights. As a physician, 
I can't recommend this excessive level of alcohol 
intake on a regular basis.  And as for the fantasies
--that's all very well when you've no other option, 
but I *am* here.  You only have to say that you want 
me." He was serious now. "You mustn't let yourselves be 
so afraid of me that you'd rather hide away and never 
dare to speak until I stumble onto your little secret."

"My dear Julian, I have never been more terrified of
you than I am at this moment," Garak answered.  "I
am entirely at your mercy."

O'Brien looked as if he agreed with this wholeheartedly.
Julian asked him, "Can I count on you too?"

"Well- er- what did you have in mind?"

Bashir burst into a full, beaming smile. "Next time, I 
think we should go to *my* quarters..."

~end~


Kathryn Ramage        kramage@erols.com
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The following tale of alien encounters is true.
By true, I mean false. It's all lies, but
they're entertaining lies--and, in the end,
isn't that the real truth?  The answer is no.

Leonard Nimoy, hosting The Simpsons
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