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“Is there something I should say to you if I wish you to stop?”
“You can say, ‘stop,’ Garak. We don’t need a special safeword for this—unless you’d be more comfortable with one.”
“I was merely assessing the parameters.”
“If you are truly not ready for this, we don’t have to do it.”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“Garak, I’m not going to insist on something that you aren’t actually consenting to do.” Julian Bashir and Elim Garak stared at each other across the small space between Garak’s Federation-issued couches, neither wishing to give way first. Julian softened, taking a deep breath.
“We always get stuck here, you know.”
Garak said nothing; the expressionless mask on his face shouted in its silence.
“Will you please trust me? I—I think this will be good for you.”
A grimace flitted over Garak’s features and Julian recognized the allowance of even that much.
“I know, trust isn’t your favorite.”
“It is not a matter of ‘favorites.’”
“Isn’t it?” Julian reached out to the stoic Cardassian. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Garak.”
This prompted a much more eloquent eyeroll, accentuated by the encircling ridges. It never ceased to amaze Julian that eyerolling wasn’t something Cardassians had developed on their own but had only picked up from their contact with humans; they had such wondrously made structures for it.
Garak clasped Julian’s hand briefly in assent and Julian grinned. “Let’s go, then,” Julian said, grabbing a bag by the end of the sofa. “We don’t want to miss the holosuite booking.”
The very thought of having to renegotiate this experiment of Julian’s with Quark put an extra spur in Garak’s step as he followed the doctor out of the room.
***
“I had thought your species was partial to bright spaces,” Garak observed as the holograms shimmered into place around them. The room was shadowed even by Cardassian standards—not dark, per se, but subdued. A window set into the ocherous walls showed a velvet blackness full of stars and Garak realized the constellations were familiar; Julian had programmed the sky to be that of Deep Space Nine rather than the pictures Garak had seen of Earth’s night firmament. A wave of homesickness washed over Garak as he wondered if Julian had any idea what Cardassia’s stars looked like. He pushed the feeling down, folding it into its usual corner in his heart.
“There are plenty of instances where we prefer a little mood lighting,” Julian answered as he set his bag on the single, narrow table in the center of the room.
“‘Mood lighting’?”
Julian laughed. “I don’t know about Cardassians, but we humans are emotionally suggestible.”
“You don’t say.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Julian admonished. “We’re suggestible to our surroundings—when there’s a certain kind of music on we often feel a certain way, or when the lighting changes our moods can change with it. Soft lighting, like this, is often soothing—or romantic, sometimes.”
“And you accept this changeability?” Garak was astounded at the idea that a person could be manipulated simply by dimming the lights.
“We prefer to control it ourselves, but in the sense of accepting that we can be affected like that, yes. And it’s not a one-to-one thing—I don’t have to get all nostalgic simply because you play me an Arabic lullaby, for instance, but I’m certainly capable of it.”
Garak filed away the idea of an Arabic lullaby for later use and contemplated the duality of the “soft” lighting. “So is this meant to be soothing—or romantic?”
Julian blushed and Garak felt his own temperature rise slightly. In the long catalogue of things that he appreciated in the man who had become so much more than a friend, Julian’s ability to blush was in the top ten. It was adorable, and often wildly unexpected. For a person with the sexual history Julian had and a career as a doctor on top of it, there were so many things that caused the light bloom over his cheekbones. It was almost an odd sort of prudery, and Garak never tired of it.
“I—well, I hadn’t meant it to be romantic. No happy ending here.”
Garak stared at him blankly.
Julian sighed. “I’m sorry; I’m being…well, I’m being very human tonight, I suppose.”
“Were you Bajoran, this would not have gotten this far.”
Julian smirked at Garak. “For a while in the Earth history of massage therapy, mostly in the western hemisphere of the planet, there was an idea that if a massage ended sexually, it was called a ‘happy ending.’ The customer—usually a male—was, well, satisfied by the person doing the massage—usually a female. Although some of it was a legitimate exchange of affection between consenting adults, a lot of it was…well, quite shady, and often illegal, so the phrase has some derisive overtones.” Julian paused, laying his hands flat on the raised table. “Garak, I also don’t want this to be about sex.”
Garak quirked an eyeridge.
“I’m serious!” Julian exclaimed. “While you know that I’m quite interested in winding up in bed with you—”
“Or in other places,” Garak interrupted.
“Or in other places,” Julian agreed, “this is not about that. This…a massage is an exercise in trust, and I know that’s hard, and I know this is a huge step, but I want this to be about you being in your body and letting me…I don’t know, discover it in a new way, I guess. I don’t want this to be sexual.”
“Yet it is intimate.”
“In its own way, yes.”
Garak said nothing and Julian finished unpacking his bag and set it on the floor. “Computer, play ‘Bashir Soft Tones 3,” Julian said. A spare melody of something like a Vulcan lute tumbled into the dim room. More emotional manipulation, Garak guessed.
“Right,” Julian said briskly, “the level of clothing you keep is yours to decide.”
“What is optimal?”
“Well, a lot of people go totally naked, but you can keep whatever you want.”
“Will clothing impede the process? As you described it to me, I thought bare skin was the expected setting.”
“Preferred, maybe, but again, this isn’t about sex. I mean, not that you were saying it was. And not that nakedness is automatically sexual. But I know that being without clothing entirely is its own kind of vulnerability, and. Well. I just want you to be comfortable.”
Garak looked at Julian.
“I mean, as comfortable as you can be. While you’re climbing way out of your comfort zone. Because I asked you to. Oh, Garak, I’m trying, okay?”
Garak sighed and crossed to his lover at the table. “I know,” he said softly, placing a hand against Julian’s cheek. “As am I.”
Julian closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, snaking a hand up to gently interlace with Garak’s fingers. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to pause, and I will. Tell me what hurts, and what feels good, and what is weird, and I’ll listen. I promise, okay?” He opened his eyes, searching Garak’s face.
Garak leaned his forehead to Julian’s. “Okay.”
He turned away from the doctor and began to undress, folding each article neatly and placing them on a chair in the corner of the room. At the last item he hesitated, breathing deeply, and then took that off and turned to the table, stark naked. Julian had put sheets on the table and was turned away, attaching a strange-looking device to one end that had a hole in the middle.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Julian said without turning around, “get under the sheets and lie on your back, please.”
Noticing that he wasn’t shivering and appreciating the warmth Julian must have programmed in for that, Garak climbed awkwardly onto the table and positioned himself facing up. The material snagged on his scales as it settled over his frame and he resisted the urge to fidget. Above him, Julian snapped the device into place and shifted down so he was standing over Garak. The first wave of panic rolled through Garak at the imbalance of power and he took a deep breath, in, out, trying to stay present to the fact that it was Julian, his Julian.
His Julian must have seen the change in Garak’s face; he smiled lovingly and ran a hand over Garak’s hair, smoothing it gently. “First hurdle jumped,” he said. “You’re doing so well, Elim.”
Although he would die before admitting it, Garak felt a current of delight shimmer down his spine at the praise.
“I’m going to start slow; again, let me know what’s going on for you, and if you want me to stop, tell me. If you want to talk about whatever else, too, that’s fine; this doesn’t require you to stay silent.” The hand on Garak’s hair shifted down to the ridge running along his neck and Julian moved to stand at the head of the table, his hands gently running down the muscles under the cartilage. The memory of those hands on those ridges for other, differently pleasurable purposes flitted through Garak’s mind and he wondered at the way the pressure could change how it felt. Julian’s hands were not those of a lover; they were…clinical, almost, though not unpleasantly so. The pressure began to increase after a few moments of silence.
“Is this a skill that many humans learn?” asked Garak, trying not to focus on the fact that he couldn’t see the man pushing down on his shoulder joints.
“Not really,” replied Julian. “There are people who train specifically for this as their career.”
“Was that something you wished to do?”
Julian laughed as he moved down one of Garak’s arms and raised it over the table’s edge, stretching the tightly-wound muscles. “Actually, no, I’d never thought about it. I always wanted to be a doctor, and I haven’t had much personal experience with massage—I’m not altogether comfortable with the idea of letting someone else manipulate my body, either.”
Garak digested this, glad Julian was back in his field of view and trying not to fight the sudden pressure of Julian pushing on his side. He had always thought Julian was perfectly comfortable in his own skin; he certainly seemed comfortable with others in his physical space, judging by the number of partners Garak had seen him take away from the crowded, public places on the station. To think that there were reservations Julian held made Garak feel less…alone, perhaps.
“So how have we gotten here?” Garak asked.
A smile quirked over Julian’s face as he leaned over Garak to shift his other shoulder. “Ah, honestly, that…that would be you.”
Garak looked at Julian, puzzled.
“I know you have trouble trusting people with, well, anything,” Julian explained, and Garak didn’t argue. “And I’m glad of and grateful for the way we’ve been able to learn each other via, well, in our sexual relationship.” The charming blush returned, bright enough to be seen even in the dimly lit room. “But I wanted to do something that was a totally different kind of intimate and that focused entirely on you. It’s not about not wanting to find pleasure for myself,” Julian added, stifling the protest forming on Garak’s lips, “and maybe…well, maybe someday we can switch roles, if it’s important to you.” Garak added the slight hitch in Julian’s voice and the brief tremor in his hands to the discomfort Julian had admitted. Further conversation would indeed be necessary. “It’s about showing you the way your body can feel when it’s not all knotted up and when someone takes the time and care to make it work more healthily. Plus, there’s the bonus of my getting to explore without rushing.”
Garak lifted his head to stare at the doctor now running light hands down one thigh. Julian chuckled and reached up to gently push Garak’s head back down to the table. “I’m serious, Garak. I delight in your body, and I want to learn and re-learn all your curves and all your edges, if you’ll let me. This is a gift to myself as much as to you, to help me know you better.”
Garak huffed. “It is a subpar Cardassian structure. Surely you can learn as much from the database.”
“Firstly, you know I can’t because you Cardassians are infuriatingly secretive. Secondly, diagrams are a poor substitute for being able to touch the real thing and feel which muscles give and which ones don’t bend quite the same way as some other species. I was actually quite pleased how handy what medical knowledge I did have was when I began to study how a massage for you might work—it’s helpful to have an idea already of which places to avoid and which ones to focus more intently on, given what’s underneath the skin.” Almost to prove his point, Julian kneaded the scales on the inside of Garak’s knees, gently enough not to injure his own hands but firmly enough that the touch was not in the least erotic. Garak, to his surprise, found that he was beginning to relax into the table beneath him and was not tracking Julian’s movements quite as closely anymore.
“And thirdly,” Julian said, pressing down on a spot on Garak’s lower leg, “it is not ‘subpar.’ I happen to like this Cardassian structure quite a lot, and I’ll thank you not to denigrate it with whatever impossible standards you have in mind.”
Garak opened his mouth to reply when Julian shifted his pressure. A yelp came out instead and Julian eased slowly.
“Causing pain as punishment?” said Garak, slightly out of breath.
“Not intentionally,” said Julian, pressing down again but with a bit less weight. “If it really, excruciatingly hurts, let me know, but if you can, breathe through it, Elim.” He demonstrated—inhale, exhale, and Garak followed his lead. It still hurt, but manageably so. “One of the things about a massage is that it will hurt because I’m loosening the fascia that have wound too tightly. Pressing on inflammation generally causes pain.”
“Then why--?” Garak’s question was cut off as Julian pushed again on the spot.
“Breathe,” Julian said quietly. He kneaded the space a moment longer, breathing in and out with Garak, and then gently brushed over the scales and smoothed the space with his hands. Garak realized that the area didn’t hurt anymore and that, in fact, he felt that he could move that leg with more range now than he had been able to for some time.
“Does that answer your question?” Julian asked as he bent Garak’s leg to test the range before moving down to Garak’s feet. Garak hummed in reply, unwilling to give full affirmation to this bizarre practice of pleasurable pain, and Julian smiled at his hands.
They lapsed into a quiet peace for a time, punctuated by occasional sharp inhales by Garak as Julian found other tight spots. When he worked back up to Garak’s torso, Garak found that the music and the lighting and the massage had indeed loosened his body; he felt rather more liquid than usual.
He wondered if this was what Odo was like when he was shifting.
Garak became aware that Julian was no longer kneading or stretching but simply running his hands along the ridges encircling his belly. Garak suddenly realized why and reached up instinctively, grabbing Julian’s wrist and holding it steady.
“There are some things that do not unwind, Doctor,” he said.
“How old are these scars, Garak?” Julian asked softly.
“Old enough to be healed.”
“They’re a mess of keloids.”
The word did not translate for Garak, but he ignored it. “They are healed,” he repeated.
“Garak—”
“Julian.” A thousand things warred in Garak’s voice and his grip on Julian’s wrist tightened in frustration. “They do not fall under your purview.”
“How have I not noticed them before?”
Because I have carefully redirected your skillful and eager hands, Garak thought to himself. “You have noticed them now. Are they too much of an edge for you to wish to know about?” He began to sit up but Julian gently held him in place with his free hand.
“Garak—Elim, I…” Julian sighed and closed his eyes a moment. “If you want me to stop, again, you only have to tell me. I’m sorry; I simply didn’t expect…my mind wants to know what happened and my heart hurts that you had to endure whatever it was that caused this. It had to be very painful, and I don’t like the thought of you being in pain like that. But you don’t owe me an explanation, and this massage wasn’t me trying to get you to tell me anything. It’s your story and yours alone; I was just caught off-guard. I’m sorry if that made you feel…less. It is not at all too much of an edge; I’m not afraid of you, or your scars.”
Garak bit his tongue to swallow his response that Julian should be, had he any sense.
“I still think you’re lovely, and fascinating, and I absolutely want to keep exploring both in this massage and as your lover—separately, of course. I just…” Julian laid the palm of the hand Garak held flat against Garak’s chest. “I’m a doctor, not a soldier, and the evidence of pain runs counter to everything I hold to be important. Especially in the ones I love.”
Garak’s eyes widened and he searched Julian’s now-open eyes, honest and sincere as ever. Could he…? Surely not. Even among the extreme casualness of the human culture, “love” was a word to be brought into relationships only with the utmost care.
“May I continue?” Julian asked as though he hadn’t just flipped Garak’s world over.
In answer, Garak let go of Julian’s wrist. Julian returned to smoothing the rebuilt tension out of Garak’s arms, carefully avoiding his stomach. The Vulcan lute music had shifted to an Earth instrument Garak didn’t recognize and the plaintive tones filled the space between the men. After some time, Garak realized he had begun to relax again, to feel that curious liquid feeling that was so unfamiliar.
“I have the feeling I know the answer,” Julian began, interrupting Garak’s reverie, “but I’m going to ask anyway. Would you be comfortable lying on your stomach so I can work on your back?”
Garak did Julian the courtesy of pondering, honestly assessing whether he could handle the vulnerability of lying face-down in this space. He could feel his body tighten at the thought and knew that it would be asking too much, far too much.
“What answer do you think you know?” he asked in return, not wanting to disappoint the doctor.
“I think ‘no.’”
Garak sighed in relief. “You think rightly,” he said.
“Thank you for being honest with me,” Julian responded immediately. “I don’t want you to push yourself into something that isn’t helpful because you think you have to.”
Garak pushed down his annoyance at Julian’s correct assessment. “Perhaps one day,” he added instead.
“But not today. And that’s fine. Thank you, Elim, for letting me do this much. You did incredibly well and I am so, so proud of you.”
The irksome glimmer of warmth slid down Garak’s spine again. “What happens now?” he asked, shutting out the feeling.
“Well, now you can lie there as long as you wish. Don’t rush yourself, but enjoy the feeling of relaxation—assuming we achieved relaxation, of course. Whenever you’re ready, you can get up and get dressed and then we’ll do whatever you like next. Or you can go off on your own, if you’d prefer. I would instruct that you drink a lot of fluids today, though, to flush out all the toxins I just released into your system.”
Garak shot Julian a look of shock.
“Oh, no! Natural; natural toxins. I’m sorry,” he laughed, “that was an incredibly poorly thought out sentence. No, those fibroids and such that I loosened; in most humanoid species, there are low levels of natural toxins that the body produces and locks into knots and such. When you loosen the knots in something like a massage, they get re-released into the system and can make you mildly nauseous if you don’t flush them out. I promise, I did not just poison you. That…that would not be a good way to end this experiment.”
“Indeed,” said Garak drily, sitting up and holding the sheet to his Chula.
“I’m sorry, Garak; you know I speak before I think, sometimes.”
Privately, Garak doubted that to be true in its most basic sense, but Julian did have a habit of losing himself in his medical language sometimes and forgetting how much of that did not go well in general parlance. “Well, let me get dressed, then.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“My dear doctor, I think I have pushed the limits of my being willing to lie naked under a sheet all I can stand today. Unless,” he said with a wicked grin as he slid to the edge of the table and let the sheet fall away, “you would prefer to join me?”
That beautiful blush spread over Julian’s face and the doctor’s hands reached for Garak in a decidedly non-medical way, the two of them falling onto the table for an entirely different kind of intimacy indeed.