Chapter Text
Having missed their last lunch over a medical emergency, Julian already knows he’s in trouble. While Elim can be a wonderfully understanding boyfriend in some areas, he’s hardly one to miss an opportunity, and Julian’s absolutely certain that he’ll be facing premium punishment. He hopes, of course, to have it administered later, preferably in the privacy of their quarters, in the form of Elim’s hand on his ass, or even a paddle or whip. ...But knowing his unpredictable tease of a lover, it could just as easily be a horrendously boring piece of Cardassian literature he’ll be expected to read from start to finish.
Nonetheless, he shows up at Quark’s with a winning smile, one that Elim so falsely returns. But then, if Julian wanted just truth out of Elim, they wouldn’t have made it nearly this long. He pulls his chair back and slips into it, at the tiny table near the back that Elim’s chosen, nearly bumped right up against the wall. Facing that wall, Julian picks up the cup of tea already waiting for him and wonders vaguely if there’s anything untoward in it. He take a sip anyway, eyes on Elim’s face, making it clear that he’ll accept whatever punishment he’s given, drugs or otherwise, with grace. He doesn’t trust Elim for a second, but he isn’t afraid either.
But the tea tastes fine, and he sets the cup back down on its plate while Elim shuffles his chair around the round table, tray of food utterly ignored. Julian wordlessly lets Elim settle beside him, facing the wall too; this is a new one. When Julian glances at Elim with a raised eyebrow, the same saccharine smile is all he gets.
Then Elim’s hand falls on his thigh, and he knows he’s in trouble.
He starts to say, “Garak,” about to insists not here, but something in Elim’s blue eyes holds his tongue. Elim’s slender, grey fingers slide around Julian’s thigh, and all Julian can do is suck in a breath. He’s listened to fantasies of his lover fucking him in public before, and, of course, he’s entertained the same ideas. But those were just ideas, never meant to see the light of day, and now Elim’s hand is getting perilously close to his crotch. The backs of their chairs are snug against each other, hiding them from view. But Julian still feels hideously exposed, and he’s careful to keep his back straight while Elim palms him through his pants, deftly reaching for his fly.
Elim undoes Julian’s pants with the practiced skill of a tailor, and Julian’s elbows dig into the table, breath sucked in. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth, just in case any more sounds should escape, and he tries to look solely at the flower arrangement on their table, lest he be seized with the urge to wrap his tongue and teeth around the ridges along Elim’s face. All he wants to do is lap away at the spoon in Elim’s forehead and duck below the table, swallow Elim whole, apologize with his lips and beg for forgiveness in such a way that they’d both be squirming. But the bar’s full and boisterous and loud around them, and all he can do is try not to whimper as Elim’s fingers slip back out of his pants.
He glances sideways, surprised, but Elim merely asks, “So I finally had a chance to read that book of yours, my dear doctor.” Julian’s eyebrows knit together, and it takes him a moment to remember which story he last lent out, but it doesn’t matter. A second later, Elim’s hand’s returned, slipping back inside his underwear, something thin, cool, and hard like metal now held between his fingertips. Knowing better than to ask, Julian fights to keep his eyelids up. “A rather interesting read with some truly enjoyable characters, though I must admit, the time theorems seemed rather implausible.”
“It’s fiction,” Julian manages to hiss lightly through his teeth, his thighs shifting apart to provide better access. But then, he should know better than to give Elim fiction. He expected to have his balls tortured or his cock tied, but instead, both are bypassed, and Elim’s fingers slide between his cheeks, easily finding his asshole and rubbing into it. Julian clenches on instinct and wishes he’d licked Elim’s hand before this started. Instead, he gets smooth, dry skin teasing and chafing against him, drawing slow circles around his puckered entrance. He wouldn’t have been surprised to have one of Elim’s fingers simply shove up inside him, but instead, he’s gently coaxed open, bit by little bit. A part of him just wants Elim to finger him now, whether it would hurt or not.
“There should be truth in any fiction,” Elim has the nerve to purr, as though he has any business speaking the word ‘truth.’ Even his expression is a lie, the way he so innocently grins at Julian’s discomfort, while his hand repositions, the tiny metal instrument running coldly against Julian’s skin. He’s not particularly surprised when it presses up into his hole, breaching suddenly, sticking in, barely a millimeter thin as it is. A larger base remains out of him like a tack, and Julian can only hope it isn’t sharp. He practically whines when Elim’s hand slips away. As Elim does Julian’s pants back up like nothing’s ever happened, he sighs, “But then, I suppose I should know to expect a little... whimsical air... to your favourite stories.”
Julian’s not in a position to argue that his favoured stories are hardly whimsical. Maybe they are to a Cardassian. He doesn’t care. He’s busy squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth together while the little toy inside him starts to ooze a thick, gooey substance that fills his chamber, easing the way of the growing instrument itself. He can feel it expanding inside him, almost imperceptibly at first, then faster and faster, thickening and lengthening, and he glances under his lashes at Elim, wondering where in the universe Elim even got such a perverse device, but he’s not about to ask. Part of their games is to never ask. Just take, and repay in kind. Elim mentions another aspect of the book that Julian doesn’t hear; he’s being stretched and rubbed and filled, and the toy eventually reaches the point where Julian might as well be sitting on someone’s wet cock. Then it grows that extra little bit: a Cardassian cock. He can tell from the way it molds around him that it’s not that different: that it’s chiseled to share some of the cuts, some of the ridges, and it makes him swallow a languid moan and yearn for the real thing. No one’s ever completed him like Elim has. He’s never had a cock so satisfying, so perfect. This toy isn’t the same, but it’s making him desperate to be fucked, and he looks at Elim with pleading eyes, while Elim smiles that disgusting smile and tells him quietly, “Clearly, we’ll have to do something about your taste in literature.”
Julian covers his mouth with his hand again and lets a muffled scream out into it. The toy’s stopped growing, but it’s still driving him wild. He wants to writhe so badly. But he can’t, not here. He should’ve known better than to miss a lunch, no matter the excuse. Or he should’ve gone to Elim’s shop after and begged forgiveness. Instead, he finds himself squirming in his chair, superior genes no help at all in resisting his lover’s prowess. He squints his eyes back shut and tells himself he can do this; he just has to make it through one lunch. One little lunch. Then Elim will take it out of him, he’s sure, and maybe Elim’s handsome cock will take its place, and they can fuck like Terran rabbits in one of Elim’s changing rooms...
Elim’s chair scraping back just barely cuts through Julian’s reverie. When Elim takes his tray and stands, Julian drops his hand long enough to hiss, “Garak—” but he doesn’t get any farther than last time. The toy inside him suddenly jerks to life, spasming against his walls, and Julian just barely manages to stop his moan in time, stiffening against the back of the chair. He looks up at Elim in horror; it’s not a dildo inside of him; it’s a vibrator. A cold, Cardassian vibrator, jamming against his prostate and already making him dizzy, but he’d still rather have the real thing, and he almost says he’s sorry.
Elim talks over him with a simple, “See you at the shop, doctor.” It’s a thinly veiled order, and Julian nods while Elim pats his shoulder. In the interest of not looking like the needy wreck he is in front of a bar full of patrons, he waits for his infuriating boyfriend to leave before he nearly chokes on another sip of tea.
Then he jerks to his feet and fights not to race for the exit, reminded on ever step of exactly what he’s in for.