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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[fic] The Power of Three 2/?(Garak/Bashir Parmak)

Thank Britney for this update haha though apologies because it ran long before any real porn starts so next chapter it's on like Donkey Kong...

Trash AU porn still dedicated to @borg-apologist and @eilupt

Part 1 is HERE

Summary: 23 year old virgin Julian Bashir, desperate to get laid, decides to use his mother’s old book of magic to make himself an elixir for virility. What he gets instead are two summoned Cardassians he’s convinced are sex demons. Julian is clueless, Garak is horny, and Parmak is in awe of that “monster cock”. Let the games begin :)

Modern AU but as explained in the fic, aliens are still aliens. Also note the pronouns used for Parmak were sort of made up for the story. The “j” has a hard “h” sound. (Like Jarritos which I have decided Cardassians are weirdly fond of)

Warnings: language, kind of crack, and Parmak is intersex (both prUt and fully penetrable ajan and nipples where Garak has none) barely sexy stuff happening, and made up magic with no relation to real magick

Onward!

One of the things that Garak loves the most about Parmak is how easy it is for jem to switch direction in jes thinking. Je’s always been fantastically adaptable and it isn’t more than a beat after Garak whispers that tempting little tease to jem that a discreet scenting of the air reveals that arousal starting to come to the forefront. It’s clear the human doesn’t see it, looking at the both of them unsure of how it should be proceeding although Garak is pleased to see that it appears quite eager, its hands hovering around the waistband of its undergarments.

“So... should I... um...?” Garak almost tells it to go ahead, the way that Parmak’s hands have shifted to his arm excited, those neatly trimmed claws started to dig into his scales. Not that it particularly matters but Garak supposes a name is in order and will make things easier in the long run.

“I don’t think there’s any need to get ahead of ourselves. I imagine that we’ll be spending some time together and it would only be polite to exchange names-” Garak sucks in a hiss between his teeth, Parmak’s claws digging harder with impatience, a soft whining chirrup reaching Garak’s ear. That eager for it are you, my dear? It’s a purely rhetorical little speculation. Garak already knows the answer quite clearly. Parmak commits to lovely acts of debauchery such as these with a frightening intensity that sometimes makes Garak worry for jes wellbeing. Today though, it seems infectious, Garak allowing for a moment the flash of an imagined waking dream behind his own eyes. He blanks out visually as the human says that its name is “Julian”, picturing that Julian creature on its knees behind Parmak riding him hard. Garak feels a flutter in his chest and a slight throb from his slit as he does.

“Are you thinking it too, Elim?” Parmak asks him starting to press jes face against the ridges of Garak’s neck.

Absolutely, he is. But Garak also has plans and ideas far beyond that delectable end game. He smiles at the human.

“Julian,” Garak repeats, Parmak repeating it as well committing the name to memory. “My name is Elim Garak, though you may call me Garak- just Garak. This is my dear friend Kelas Parmak.”

“Kelas is fine,” je says though jes accent is heavier. Garak debates briefly whether he should stroke that fire hotter or allow Parmak a moment to collect jemself. “You’re very attractive, Julian. Ah... I think we should get on well...” Garak is amused at how obviously Parmak’s attention is drawn to Julian’s groin. “You are male?” je asks. Julian looks bemused for a moment as if he’s never been asked before.

“Yes, sorry and you and Garak are?...”

“Male,” Garak answers thinking that he might have done well to commit some of the more sordid human encounters to memory that occasionally hit the late night feeds buried amidst other lurid tales because this part is just a bit out of his depth.

“X210 split sterile live breeder,” Parmak answers in Kardasi at first, obviously trying to think of how to even begin translating such a thing in human terms. “Mmm... you would say... Ah... hematite?” Je pauses at Julian’s expression. “No... like... both but more towards male? I’m not quite sure how such a thing translates. Linguistics aren’t my specialty but if I were to attempt a rough translation you’d say “je” or “jem”... like Jarritos if you’ve ever had the pineapple…. Well really it would probably be best just to show you. I hardly trust that I’ve conveyed it properly.”

“Oh yes please,” Julian says without giving it another thought. Guls, are all humans this eager for sexual relations? Though, Garak notices that Parmak is equally ready to go. He only hopes that the human can keep up with his dear doctor’s appetites…

Garak puts his hands over Parmak’s as je lets go of Garak’s arm, jes hands already on the hem of jes shift. It occurs to Garak momentarily that Julian’s dwelling is far more comfortable of a temperature than the other human habitats they’ve had chance to be summoned to. That’s certainly an auspicious sign that this human has similar preferences of warmth.

“Perhaps it would be best,” Garak says taking another assessing look to Julian’s thin frame, “that our host provides us with an idea of what it is that we... demons are going to be servicing. We are your loyal servants in your sexual endeavors, after all,” Garak says laying it on especially thick. Julian’s eyes are bright as they dart between Garak and Parmak.

“Of course! I do usually wear more than this,” Julian explains as he hooks fingers in his waistband and slowly tugs his undergarments down. “Heater’s been on the blink,” Garak half hears him say as he ducks his head self-consciously stepping out of the garment, turning his head and clearing his throat. That leaves the two Cardassians a nice moment to muse about small little hole in his abdomen that doesn’t appear to be a wound. Garak wonders what purpose it serves as he lets his eyes fall down the trail of dark hair leading to a thick patch of it around the human’s prominent piece. He can’t help but marvel at the impracticality of such a long low hanging ch’och. Not that Garak is complaining, after all, he’s perfectly free to enjoy it without having to deal with the encumbrance of having it attached to his own frame.

“Guls,” he hears Parmak breathe next to him, seeing jes hands steal up to adjust jes glasses. “Do you think all of it will even fit?” Garak feels a wide grin spread over his face as he lets his hand slip back to Parmak’s thigh, letting his pinkie slide just a little between that juncture, not quite brushing jes covered slit.

“Are you excited to find out?” He feels a subtle push, Parmak as always, so nice and warm. There’s a soft hiss in the affirmative that reaches his ears almost tempting him to give in to heedless instant gratification as well. Ah, but Garak has better control than that.

“Is this alright then?” Julian asks sounding a touch uncertain. If Parmak’s heightened scent of arousal - and certainly his own - is anything to go by then it’s a silly question to even have to ask but Garak is well aware that humans aren’t able to scent the air in the same manner that they are. A pity but even a human’s poor senses cannot possibly be that oblivious.

“I assure you, Julian it is...” Garak searches for the proper praise. “...a splendid tribute to the human form.” Which actually begs the question, “so perhaps you’ll forgive my inquiry as to why you felt it necessary to divine some elixir to aid you in your sexual conquests.”

“Oh well ah…” Julian appears embarrassed by the question. “I don’t seem to have much luck in that department. Not for lack of trying I just never well…” Garak watches him scratching the back of his neck with a nervous little grin. Do humans have an odd sense of aesthetic? He doesn’t appear diseased, he’s got a long thin fragile looking neck, his entire frame appears rather delicate, slim like the water reeds along the coast of the Morfan Sea. Julian appears to be all long, lanky limbs and Garak would almost fear for being too rough with him, but he recalls hearing that unlike Elaysians, humans tend to be much sturdier than they appear. It would seem in poor manners to inquire further although Garak is already burning with curiosity.

“Mmm, that’s a shame,” Garak hears Parmak saying, stepping out from beside him. “You’re quite attractive, I’d say. Where we’re from ah… in the other place,” je covers a bit poorly. Julian doesn’t notice the odd choice of words, instead stiff like a frightened vole caught out in the light. “Your skin is fascinating too,” Parmak observes softly. “Might I?...”

“Oh yes! Yes, anything you’d like, anywhere I don’t mind!” Julian exclaims, holding his hands up high in the air his elongated body definitely looking like one of those reeds now. Garak notes that he also has those dark patches of hair under his arms wondering what purpose such a pointless covering of fur might serve. Could it be a sensitive area that requires prot-

“Hah!” Julian jumps back, hands over his chest when Parmak strokes that very spot, making Parmak jump as well looking concerned. “Sorry,” Julian rushes out, “it’s just ticklish er… sensitive,” he clarifies at the confused expressions. Ticklish? It’s a word that Garak has never heard before and he makes a mental note to investigate further at some point. Still, he doesn’t allow his focus to divert for long as he watches Parmak’s hands moving over Julian’s chest, finger poking at one of his nipples – curious to see them on a male, though they’re definitely smaller. He can’t imagine what purpose they serve. Do human males also nurse their young? Parmak has them though je’s sterile so it’s a bit of a wasted purpose and as for Garak, well he’s a hatcher, not a live breeder like Parmak.

Garak’s eyes are a greedy study watching as Parmak’s hands rub over Julian’s arms, ghost over his neck, and Garak almost wanted to ask jem to move a bit so he could see Julian’s body better. Still, that leaves Garak free to study Julian’s face – especially when Parmak lightly lets jes fingers brush Julian’s… cock, he thinks is the proper vernacular. The completely unabashed look of pleasure when je does that is quite a sight. Clearly Julian wasn’t lying when he said he’d never done this before. That gives Garak an idea; an absolutely wicked idea. Parmak might not exactly thank him at first considering that je’s practically vibrating as je goes to pull off the top layer of jes outfit saying that “fair is fair” after all. Garak imagines the impish little grin on jes face with Julian staring so blatantly.

“Perhaps, my dear,” Garak suggests as Parmak has it pulled halfway, “you might allow Julian the experience of undressing you seeing as how this is his first time.” The impatient glare that Parmak shoots back as je half turns mouthing “what are you doing Elim?” is amusing.

“I thought that we might endeavor to provide the dear boy with a little instruction, Kelas. You do enjoy teaching, don’t you?” Garak keeps his tone light but surely Parmak must realize how much of a torture he’ll be subjecting himself to. Je hesitates only a moment before returning that grin, a flash of eagerness in jes eyes as je pushes jes glasses up. The things are forever slipping down no matter how many adjustments they make at the shop.

“True… but I should leave that to you for the moment, shouldn’t I, Elim? You do enjoy the sound of yourself orating…”

“I love the sounds you make when you come undone, Kelas.”

“Oh then… by all means… tell him what to do, Elim.”

—

Julian is sure that he’s looking at the two demons confused while they hiss back and forth at each other. Are they having an argument? It hardly looks like it. If Julian had to guess he’d sooner put his money on some sort of strange mating song the way the air crackles between the two of them. He’s about to ask when Parmak turns back to him with a gesture that looks like it may resemble something of a shrug.

“Elim is right, Julian,” Parmak says holding jes arms out at jes sides. “We would be remiss in not seeing to your proper instruction. You did summon us after all and it may not have been the result you were seeking but perhaps we can still be of help.” Julian spends far more time staring at the soft looking gray scales of Parmak’s skin, fixated on the ridges around jes collarbone and the faint blue dip in the center. But seriously? This is well beyond a consolation prize and well, he may not be able to actually tell anyone that he made it with a demon but…

“May I touch you?” Julian asks, hands hovering.

“Please.” Julian really wants to touch that little spot and see how it feels but he was given an order but… but surely one little touch… He reaches out and just lets his fingers run along the ridges trailing down to it, seeing Parmak tense when he does. “Oh that’s fine… light… it feels a little… strange like…”

“Tickling?” Julian asks nervously, still not quite believing that he’s standing in his living room in front of some mess of a summoning circle. Maybe he should have cleaned all that up? Well bit of a moot issue now.

“Ah, that’s the word… tickling… ticklish,” It sounds like je’s saying “chiclets” and Julian cracks a smile. “Yes you can do it harder. We… ah demons are quite resilient,” Parmak assures him and Julian supposes that makes sense what with traveling astral planes or however it was that the demons came to Earth from the other world. It must take an awful lot of effort.

Julian obeys, running his thumb over those collar ridges with his thumb more firmly, feeling the ripple, like a soft pliable resin. He runs it around seeing Parmak shiver and he asks if he might put his mouth to it.

“Your mouth, your teeth you can, hnn…tsss…” Julian hears a hiss as he presses soft kisses to those little mountains along Parmak’s collar, tasting skin that isn’t salty like human skin but like fine leather or like a soft snake skin – not that Julian’s ever put a snake in his mouth! – and maybe it’s all the movies that he’s watched which started this same way but his hands are already slowly easing the straps of the shift over Parmak’s shoulders as he does. He thinks it might be a tickle again so he lets his teeth graze that center point as the fabric slips easily off as loose as it was. Julian’s only slightly dismayed to realize there was another layer underneath, a violet camisole. It’s like unwrapping a present really.

“Yes, that’s a good boy, you certainly don’t need to be so delicate with jem,” Julian hears Garak say and he gives an experimental bite, nearly jumping when he feels Parmak’s hands on his shoulders digging in.

“Hah…” reaches his ears and he’s afraid that he did it too hard but that’s when Julian notices that those defined ridges are flushing darker gray. So maybe that’s their equivalent of a blush of some other form of arousal? Julian hears more of that Parseltongue between the two of them and he’s surprised to hear something half angry sounding as Parmak pushes him back.

“Ah… you’re fine but I’m… taking this off,” je says and Julian watches eagerly as the thin strapped petal of violet is peeled off and there’s an incredible moment of anticipation in watching the abdomen revealed, more gray skin, so smooth looking with just the faintest ripples differentiating it from human skin, until it meets a fine line of those scaly ridges and Julian watches, watches, waits, wants to know just what’s undeneath the rest as Parmak pulls the top off wearing just a pair of what appear to be white silk bloomers tied loosely low around slim but still feminine hips. Je doesn’t have a navel, Julian notices.

Parmak’s chest isn’t quite flat, and Julian stares longingly seeing there are two dark gray nipples hard, atop just the faintest of soft peaks, something that’s neither entirely male or female but just a small raise of flesh that he wants to-

“Alright, between you and Elim we’ll be here all day and some of us have shifts and regular hours and ah... right right,” Parmak stops suddenly, leaving Julian to wonder what any of that means or what sort of shift or work a demon might have and... And he stops wondering when Parmak grabs his hand and puts it to jes chest with a grumble of “there now can we continue please”. Oh Julian can continue. He can do that! The skin is so soft, his thumb flicking what has to be one of the most perfect nipples in existence seeing the motions of ridges around Parmak’s eyes, darker, swollen, jes neck ridges doing the same and Julian’s mouth is to it like some desperate virgin in a Milky hentai do not judge!

He hears some sort of raucous around him, more hissing between the both of them as he swirls his tongue around it, hearing soft hitches, hands back on his shoulders but this time not digging in just... clutching. Oh lord that’s so sensitive, not even a little handful as Julian’s left hand steals over squeezing, groping, a bit of an awkward bend as tall as he is. He hears something that sounds like ”ysysysys” as that tongue flits back and retracts to his mouth on it sucking hard, hearing a soft keen above him and he thinks he hears Garak murmur something about strange human proclivities with Parmak telling him to stuff it, begging Julian to keep doing that. Julian doesn’t need to be told twice, sucking harder, rolling its twin between his fingers tugging hard, rough, seeing that Parmak is nearly sobbing and Julian is so hard he already thinks he’s going to come or collapse to his knees as much as Parmak’s hands are pushing on his shoulders and he can...

Oh... Oh that’s a scent he hadn’t noticed before. Arousal, that has to be arousal - and it’s not like he goes around ordering used panties online or anything that he’s some sort of expert - because there’s some visceral part of him that can smell that heavy musk in the air and he groans deeply sort of wishing he’d rubbed one out before all this because that would take the edge off that he desperately needs right now. The high little hitches from Parmak are turning him to fourth gear something fierce as he switches sides, hands, stopping in the middle to let his mouth worship that vibrant blue dip. Julian can feel the give of those swollen ridges beneath his mouth and he hears some swear or his name but it’s so slurred that he can hardly tell. He looks up to Parmak’s mouth because of course enough blood’s gone to his cock he actually thinks for a second he can lip read when he stops, seeing lips parted so pretty and tempting and-

“Can I... kiss you please?” Julian asks though what he really means is “May I please pull you close and grind against you with my tongue in your mouth because whatever is between your legs I’d very much like to rub against it right now thank you.”

“K-kiss?” he hears Parmak ask confused, glasses slipping down on jes nose. “The ah... human mouth thing? I’m ah... afraid I don’t know it very well.”

“Then you could consider it a learning experience for you both, couldn’t you, Kelas?” Julian hears Garak say and when he looks behind Parmak he sees the other demon watching them both intently, the ridges of his face and neck also flushed darker. Parmak says something else to Garak, another exchange before Garak with a wicked smirk on his face answers back. Parmak’s tongue darts out a moment and je gives a breathless answer of “alright. But you may be disappointed so I ah... just... okay, go on then...” Julian tries, he honest to god tries not to just rush in like that fish man from The Slayers about to make out with Lina Inverse but well perhaps he’s just a bit too enthusiastic and it’s not like he hasn’t kissed plenty of people before. It’s the after kissing part that’s stalling him after all. Oh god, maybe that’s it, maybe he’s a horrible kisser!

Parmak doesn’t seem to notice Julian’s moment of existential kissing crisis, rather instead trying to figure out where to put jes hands. Julian doesn’t have that problem, letting his hands slink over those slim hips, pulling their bodies together, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the feel of silk satin something sliding against his naked prick. He may let his hands just slip the rest of the way around feeling the swell of Parmak’s ass through that nothing bit of fabric using that opportunity to pull them closer together. He’s a bit surprised not to also feel a penis since Parmak said je was both or something along those lines but what he does feel is warm and wet and so hot against him he doesn’t care if its a bloody Octopussoir right now his mouth is going on it next you read it here first.

So Julian’s a bit like a dog with its tongue hanging out giving a ridiculous swiping lick to Parmak’s mouth catching half jes nose in the process. He’s about to apologize seeing a double blink at him from behind those spectacles in response. It’s not his fault, it’s really not! Julian was caught off guard when Parmak decided to just copy his motions; he felt sharp little claws digging into his ass like they were testing a mattress. Alright, so maybe his fat ass father has had more than his fair share of comments about Julian’s “poor lack of posterior are you sure he’s mine Am? Haha, are you sure he’s even yours?” His mother teases him that maybe one day he’ll wake up and it’ll have grown in and he almost thinks that Parmak is saying the same sort of shitty joke to Garak in that stupid Parseltongue and if he had a wand right now he might be tempted to hex them both because he’s positive he’s caught a snicker between the two of them.

Except Parmak smiles at him before tilting jes head, diving back in with an enthusiasm that’s stunning, giving Julian one of the most heated, heavy fucking kisses he’s ever gotten in his life making his toes curl into the carpet.

It may also sort of make him come, his seed surely staining Parmak’s silky bloomers between them.

Yeah, he may also kind of sort of wants to die right about now too…

(Part 3 is now up HERE)

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #au #humor #sort of crack #Garak/Bashir/Parmak #Julian Bashir #Elim Garak #Kelas Parmak #shitty magic #too many pop culture and anime references #fanfic #update #cyrelia-j

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[Fic] Inside a Dream III (Garak/Bashir)

Took a bit to think more on where I was going with this and it's probably slow burn which I don't normally do because I'm impatient haha. #rd chapter of this bittersweet sad thing. If you need a refresher,

Part 1 and Part 2

Still AU but not really an AU set at the end of everything show/books. Angst, Drama, Romance, falling in love [again maybe] but lots of angst and bittersweetness to be had, This next part is based off My Chemical Romance's “The World Is Ugly”.

Brief note on other pairings: You can read Kelim into this (especially from the first 2 chapters- no decisions made on whether that avenue will be pursued) ALSO, past Julian/Jack Pack (Jack, Lauren, Sarina, Patrick in some form or another but nothing explicit)

The world is ugly

But you’re beautiful to me

Well are you thinking of me now (now)

“Do you ever dream of outer space, Garak?” Julian is seated on a plastic milk crate out back behind the old Goodwill. There was a cigarette in his hand but he put it out when he saw Garak approaching him. He had to apologize, tell him that he didn’t have long to chat. He was surprised that Garak had found him here as well but it was a pleasant surprise. Garak had let him know one of the ladies inside had said he could find his friend here. Julian let him know that he only had fifteen minutes before he had to get back. He was proud to tell him that he was making progress, that he thought he might be able to move himself to an apartment with a proper kitchen, a place where he might be able to have Garak over. Doctor Parmak had praised him for his progress. In the end, Julian wasn’t surprised that Garak had found him. Somehow he knew that the two of them would meet again.

Julian remembered his notebook today so that he could be sure to capture anything that Garak said and not forget. He has it open looking at Garak excited. It doesn’t feel so cold today to him; he’s wearing a blue sweater and pair of faded jeans. He doesn’t like it but he’s also wearing his glasses so that he can read the numbers on the register properly. Garak is wearing the same wool coat and took a seat next to Julian without care for any dirt or possible snags.

“I hope you don’t laugh at me. I feel like someone’s father in these things,” he said pushing them back on his face when Garak had seen them. Garak looked at him long and hard before saying that no, he thought they suited Julian just fine. It wasn’t quite what he was expecting; Julian somehow thought that Garak had spent a lifetime teasing him before now. But there was something nice about this too.

“What did you want to talk about today, Julian?” Garak had asked him. “We used to have a lot of invigorating discussions over lunch.” Julian had instinctively leaned into him and maneuvered his head to Garak’s shoulder.

‘’fraid I just got a fifteen since this is part time but... but I’ll try to be invigorating.” He laughs softly. “Think all the vigor might have gone out of me when my head got cracked open.”

“Never,” Garak declares definitively and Julian smiles at that.

“It’s strange,” he says opening his notebook seeing the letter “DS” and the number “9” written to the most recent page. Julian doesn’t see well enough for long periods to draw but he’d managed to sketch out a small little doodle of a wheel in space with four prongs around it. “You see this here?”

“Sometimes I dream of a space station far away from here. I think it started when I met you, you know.” Garak places his thumb over one of the sketches station prongs and Julian gasps. “Yes, yes that’s it! But how did you-” He turns and looks at Garak confused. “Can you… can you see inside my dreams or… or is this like from a… television program maybe?” Garak moves his thumb from the page and instead takes Julian’s hand.

“It would be to your detriment were I to tell you everything. I’m certain that my perceptions and memories might color your own in remembering. Do you… remember anything else from your… dream, Julian?” Garak asks him and Julian closes his eyes trying to remember. It’s difficult because there are so many images when he lets his mind drift. Sometimes when he shuts his eyes too long he starts to see fire and explosions and hear screams and people dying around him.

But not today. Today with Garak he doesn’t see any of those images that make his head spin and make him nauseous.

“Alright. You’re right I can… um… right, I can picture them now. It’s... it’s strange... because I always see the same people. There’s a woman with these lines on her nose, a woman with spots along her face, a man with curly brown hair, a man with a funny looking head, a man with a mountain range on his forehead, a man with a washed over face like he’s got a stocking over his head or something and then… Then there’s a man there. He’s tall, he’s bald, he wears a red uniform and I... I feel like I want to call him father. Or maybe it’s that... I feel like... like I wonder what my life would have been like if... if a man like him was my father and not... ah well you don’t need to know about my father. I’ve never done anything but disappoint my father.” Julian laughs softly. “Can you believe that… that of everything I’ve forgotten I still remember… being a child… being… being institutionalized because there was something wrong with my head?”

Garak is silent a moment before he squeezes Julian’s hand.

“I know,” he answers softly.

“He hasn’t come to see me either… no one… no one else came once Sarina left but... but I suppose I can’t blame him. I must have been an awful burden when I was younger but I know that I used to be a doctor... Oh well, of course you know that. Stupid, Julian,” he whispers to himself closing his eyes tighter. “Sorry, you know I have good days and bad days and I... do you think that I... that I could ever be what I was?” Julian asks him opening his eyes again, staring hard at the cracks in the blacktop. “I’m afraid.” He’s said it to Doctor Parmak, but there’s finality in making such a confession to Garak. Doctor Parmak didn’t know him before he was... broken. Garak did. “I’m afraid that I’ll never be what I once was... that it will never come back.”

“It will come back, Julian.”

“Right, of course, that’s what they keep telling me but… I keep feeling like I’ve lost something terribly important. Like there’s something not right and I…” Julian turns, looking Garak in the eyes and he remembers again how beautiful and blue they are- like they could drown him, like Garak’s mouth is the most beautiful thing when it’s curled to some lie and… he doesn’t understand these thoughts. “I...” He feels that he’s always loved Garak’s mouth and then he realizes that he’s leaning in with a tilt of his head and… and something so intimate as a kiss should spark some memory... but it doesn’t... but he feels as this is what should be happening and he doesn’t understand why his mouth is so dry and his hands are starting to shake and Garak isn’t moving and Julian feels so confused because he wants this more than anything and-

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says with a stop, minutes to midnight short his mouth in that uncrossable gap to Garak’s. Julian doesn’t understand why he says that. He’s sure there’s a reason but-

But his watch is beeping and he’s sure he’s making an awful break but he has to get back because… because…

—

Garak is breathing hard, the memories swirling in his head as the time is up and the room snaps back to its reality. He thinks how Guls damn lucky that Julian is to be sitting in that odd fantasy world dreaming of that thing called television and worrying of nothing else but his imagined service job. Garak can’t do this anymore. He can’t. He can’t look at Julian and see those hazel eyes flicker with him grasping, searching, like Garak is meant to give him something that he no longer has to give. He can’t go through Julian’s push and pull and beautiful neck, pained expression like everything Garak says wounds him. Those words haunt him, along with Julian’s expression of betrayal when he looked at Garak. “no one else came once Sarina left…”And Julian didn’t even have the spirit left to ask him. Why didn’t I come to see you? Why did I abandon you here? That’s what the real Julian would have said to him. The real Julian would have joked, would have made some smart remark and he wouldn’t have stared at him like a glassy eyed doll and apologize for some imagined transgression.

That man wasn’t his Julian if there ever was a “his Julian”.

Garak stands up straight from where he’s been bent over, breathing hard with a soft curse. He blinks at the knock at the door. Surely Parmak wouldn’t knock? But he sees Parmak’s head duck in as the door opens.

“My apologies, Elim for the ahh breaking of our convention but there was a visitor here who I felt we would benefit from speaking with and I shouldn’t think to push you into something you’re not ready for. That is if you’re not up to it since these visits seem to drain you so…” There’s a bit of a rustle as Parmak’s head turns to the side and Garak rubs at his face.

“It’s fine, Kelas.” Garak removes the coat, the garment stifling in the warm room. He drapes it over the back of the bed from where Julian is laying still dreaming. “Does this have anything to do with the upcoming-” Garak stops when he sees exactly who it is that enters the room after Parmak and he freezes. Garak doesn’t forget faces. He doesn’t forget names. He especially doesn’t forget figures who make his threat senses rise to dangerous levels. That’s the only reason that he really remembers the man beyond Julian’s offhanded mention and stories. He hadn’t chanced upon the man much on the station, only a few times in passing but even that was enough. He was the most dangerous of the lot of the augments that were brought by that doctor. He was the one with the furtive, darting eyes. He was the one with the enhanced strength and speed and eyes that said he might any moment decide in his madness that there was an immediate threat that needed to be taken out. He was clever and bright, and a man that Julian never seemed to have the sense to be afraid of.

The name was simple to remember; it was Jack. Just Jack- like plain simple “Garak”; and like Garak there was nothing plain or simple about him. When Garak watches him step confidently into the room, he reassesses that threat level and determines it’s just as high as before if not higher. He’s thankful for the disruptor pistol by the bed in the top drawer of the dresser. Of course Parmak has said that the device- that the technology allowing them to project the space of Julian’s mind to the room- was from Jack but that doesn’t mean Garak had ever expected to see him in person. He rather thought that the gift was in lieu of his ever coming to Cardassia Prime. Jack has no reason to visit Julian that he knows of. They were never that close that he recalls. Not the way that Julian was with-

“Messy messy, Jubilee,” Jack says, walking right past him to where Julian’s lying on the bed. “Christ, how many times did I tell you, tell you to run for it like the rest of us, turn around, don’t come back hm? RPM could’ve left ‘em all behind but not you, you had to save every dumb fuck in that asylum, didn’t you? And then zap when your brain, McMurphy...” Garak watches him, hearing the words, knowing from what little recollection he has that Jack was one of the “defective” ones. He was one of the augments that didn’t make it. The affection is strange. Julian had written Garak once regarding them, nearly as an afterthought. It had simply said that “the others” had made progress, that they were able to integrate and that was the end of it. Jack is looking at Julian muttering things that sound like nonsense about Jack being the one who should’ve broken his crown not Jill but-

Garak is distracted as he watches Jack occasionally... vibrate, his hand up the side of Julian’s face as he insults him a million times in two different languages. Garak remembers that Jack is the same age as Julian but he looks years younger. His hair is the same messy auburn as before though vanity might play some part there. Garak doesn’t see any gray in his mustache, in that patch below his mouth but again there’s much to be argued for vanity versus genetics. His eyes were a similar hazel to Julian’s but wild, uncertain, and though there’s a black patch over his left eye, his right appears more settled. His mouth is turned down in a frown, he’s still dressed in a long coat and a buttoned up vest as if the temperature doesn’t bother him, smartly dressed, really as he stands there. He doesn’t have any weapons but then again a man engineered to be a weapon wouldn’t need them.

Parmak is still hanging back next to Garak and it seems they both sense some intimacy that they hadn’t realized before. Jack is still looking at Julian shaking his head before it snaps up to Garak without warning. That erratic turn isn’t quite what it once was. It’s tempered and Garak notices black leather gloves on his hands as he stops himself from raising a finger to his mouth.

“He’s still out. He’s still dead and damned to the world, still sleeping like Endymion so why did I bother giving you the device if you weren’t gonna pull him out? You were supposed to pull him out you were supposed to bring him back to me! Do you like keeping him here!? Are you trying to steal him for yourself?! Well too late that ship sailed so why isn’t he-” Jack catches himself, taking a deep breath, head back, voice dropping back from that yell to his normal cadence. “I thought you would have brought him back by now,” he repeats though it’s clear that the steady voice is a strain.

Garak takes a wary step forward careful to maintain the range just out of reach that he gauged. Jack is faster than Julian was, possibly better reflexes, surely faster than Garak at his age but he doesn’t sense a threat just... the agitation that one would have for a-

“Why do you mean you thought I would have brought him back by now? He’s in a coma, as you can quite clearly see and I assure you that reality does not mold itself to whatever human fairytales you’ve woven into this.” Or whatever other illusions he’s clearly dreamed of Julian and the rest of them. That’s what it is, surely it’s an illusion that he’s manifested. He isn’t well, just as mad as ever, Garak decides.

“Ha! Right! Exactly!” Jack exclaims, raising a finger dramatically. He takes a step but there’s another breath and again he holds back, snapping his hands behind his back. “Right, exactly the fairy tale and in this Talia needs the king, no wait, not the king, the king knocked her up and it was the suckling babe that woke her no no, you’ve got it wrong mmhm we need a different-”

“Jack,” Parmak interrupts gently with a stupidly fearless step forward. Parmak is the one who puts a hand to Jack’s shoulder with that look that could calm the fiercest and wild hound. “Take a breath Jack, I fear you’ve confused Elim and myself as well and ah… you know that us basics, you say? We need a few more steps to catch you. Is that alright, Jack? Can you give us a few more steps so that we might catch you?” Jack blinks at him from that eye, carefully unfurling his arms, stretching them in front, nodding definitively drawing a breath. Garak swears that if Parmak had the stomach for it he’d have made a fine interrogator and as if reading that thought, Parmak stares at him with a disapproving frown and a sigh.

“I shall endeavor to be silent and allow the man to say his piece,” Garak says, deciding to leave the pistol. For now.

“Right, of course, you’re limited so, layman’s terms, dial it back mmhm,” Jack says softly, his breaths erratic but slowing. “So, we have a theory- the rest of us do- that the closest one, can bring him back. He’s back there buried, hiding half broken, not his fault though the Lethean attack weakened him. Pity, poor thing he might’ve just been missing an eye here.” Jack laughs awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” Garak says already breaking that vow to silence, ignoring Parmak’s look to keep it. “It was my understanding that Julian’s mental state is the result of watching that woman taking her own life.” Parmak is glaring at him mouthing that Sarina Douglas wasn’t “that woman” but “Julian’s wife”. Well she’s dead now so it hardly matters what she was in life because in death she’s nothing but a woman who wouldn’t even visit Julian’s head in whatever dreamworld he’s fallen into. And Garak needs information and that is the mission at hand now that he finally has something to work with. He sees Jack twitch again, another of those laughs before he crosses his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Heh, au contraire mon frere, as the saying goes. You think, you really think this… that this man, this agent, this extra sensitive bean who seen death, war, torture, friends snuffed out like candles -all that good ultraviolent stuff- couldn’t handle that hm?”

“I wouldn’t think so either from what I’ve seen, but then again I’ve had plenty of opportunity to witness the breaking point of many an “unbreakable” man.”

“Ah, unbreakable, but not Bashir, not Julian, not my Annabel Lee here…”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that your contingent was less connected by similar genetic enhancements and more by carnal knowledge,” Garak snaps starting to wonder if everyone in the galaxy as had Julian but him. Amazingly Jack doesn’t rise to that antagonism, instead turning back to Julian looking down.

“T’was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea… Ah right, limited lizards, limited lizards, hm, slow it down Jack. But you know it really was the wind that came out of the cloud by night. When Sarina had taken down the system it activated…” He trails off a moment before whispering almost too soft for Garak to hear but he heard it nonetheless. “…chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.”

“The system running Section 31? I thought that woman, was the only one affected.”

“She was,” Jack agrees with an emphatic nod of his head. “But you don’t… you don’t understand how we’re connected.”

“I’d rather not,” Garak says flatly. Jack ignores him.

“It’s the killswitch, mmhm, that’s what the told us. One of us turns against the mainframe it takes us all out at once.” And then it all makes sense when Jack taps to his eye and Garak looks at Julian. The Lethean attack was a psychic attack that would have damaged Julian’s ability to resist future assaults. Julian had told him then that no one had ever survived an attack and Garak sees now it must have been like a snake bite. Once bitten, forever weakened. Which means that-

“Ah, not so limited after all! I see the dots connecting, Castellan. You got it, there’s hope for you yet, mmhm. Exactly! Ashes ashes... we all fall down.”

(Next chapter, the mystery of what happened to all of them and this dream world is revealed! Chapter 4 now posted HERE)

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #post canon #Garak/Bashir #garashir #Julian Bashir #elim garak #kelas parmak #ds9 jack #angst #romance #fanfic #update #cyrelia-j

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[Fic] Me Tangere (Jack/Parmak)

Continuing with this since a bug kinda bit me on the pairing. Still for @borg-apologist who I want to give such massive undying thanks to for being so encouraging with this ridiculously self indulgent series. I don't normally do romance but I love this damn sappy over the top gooeyness of this universe and these characters.

Anyway, this is a sequel to Dear Jessie which is from Parmak's POV and can be found HERE

Note: This does feature C132 Parmak (Don’t know what that means? click HERE for the in depth but basically it’s an off canon version who’s different from traditional canon Parmak) and a LOT of headcanon made up stuff.

Summary: Ten years after moving to Cardassia Jack often finds himself reflecting on all the Good things in his life sure to keep his timers for them all. Two and a half kids, one Kelas, and a perfect morning in the garden, and he still can't quite believe it's all real.

Warnings: Fluff to the max, intersex Parmak who's pregnant in this story, talks of Jack's mental, impulse control, anxiety, augment issues, Jack's POV so it's very stream of conscious and Julian still doesn't come off too well because it's Jack's POV, past bad parenting and implied child abuse, Alternate Reality (mainly the same universe but averted Dominion War and some characters meeting under different circumstances), brief sexual content too

So if you wanted a sequel, here's your sequel :)

Juggling was one of the first things that he learned to do when he became aware that he was “different”. His father used to have all sorts of euphemisms that he would use aside from “different”. His father, his mother, any number of black and whites rushing around the busy house like one of the old gala scenes in the movies that he used to enjoy watching. His father would also say that juggling was a Supreme Waste (capitals!) of the gifts that he’d been given and Jack - Jack of all trades he liked to call himself using his middle name instead of the dull old John J”- said if the old man paid all that money he could do anything he wanted and if he didn’t sleep he’d have more time. The old man didn’t rightly have an answer to that one, Jack winning, counting the score down as he learned to juggle eleven knives at once by the time he was thirteen.

Time, time was something the old man used to rail about. Brevis tui tempu est his old man would drone at him while his mother smiled and told him to listen because the old bastard was very wise. He’d go on about a lot of things often, frequently, all the time Very Loudly until Jack started hiding from him considering the matter of time on one of the high branches of the old oaks where they couldn’t easily reach him; at least not until they cut every one of them down. Jack considered that mutants like him should live longer if anything. But the old man didn’t like his Truths contradicted firing decrees from behind the old mahogany desk like a God himself. That desk was huge, austere, like the old man himself all dark eyebrows, dark eyes, sometimes turning into some giant owl in his vision or morphing to The General telling how some animals were more equal than others.

Jack was more equal than others. Jack was special. Jack was the investment of a lifetime buy sell buy till the old man jumped out the window just like one of those old fat cats in the twentieth century. Didn’t jump so much as pushed but that wasn’t anyone’s business but Jack and God’s and there was no God so it was Jack’s and Jack’s alone, damn right! Ah, amend that amend that, his business was his bondmate’s business too. Bondmate, husband, jailer warden, ah no, Incorrect thought with a capital “I”. Those Incorrect thoughts are fewer and fewer nowadays. Correct thought: Kelas is… everything. Kelas, Jessie, Kiss, and-

“Focus.” Jack hears the child’s voice and looks down, seeing his oldest looking up at him and he sets down all four of the large pots he’s been juggling, one after the other onto the sand. Jessie is nearly five now and is old enough now that ze recognizes when Jack’s mind needs to be tugged back with a small cue; like now. Kelas taught zem that, his brilliant Jessie picking it up so quickly. Correction, he thinks as he looks over to Kelas kneeling in the sand next to Kiss (“Kiss” because Jessie couldn’t say “Kesya” when ze was first born) adding water to the white sand to make a castle little by little. Their child and Jack’s goddamn genius – is he or isn’t he a mutant little smirk ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’- bondmate is four months pregnant with their third. “Theirs”. That’s the correction that he makes. He’s gotten much better at those Johnny on the spot mental corrections since he met Kelas over ten years ago.

Kelas looks over at him and there’s this soft little smile, this look on his face that’s identical to the one he gave him in the Replimat the day they met, when Jack said he was blind and that Cardassia needed better optometrists if he couldn’t tell the difference between Jack and Julian with those spectacles and... shit... God there’s no God, no proof for God except that smile. Jack had yelled at him with a jump off the table and Kelas had just laughed and then Jack was right there in his face and he’d stopped and looked down because he was just a little taller than Jack but he could see that Kelas was looking at him not afraid but like somehow Jack’s outburst was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen… I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. No, that’s Keats, not God Jesus, Mary, and Joseph same difference!

Jack thrives on the exercise he gets in that sprawling sand garden, succulents and other desert plants like one of the Zen gardens he’s seen pictures of making it a magical place like falling through a looking glass and finding the gardens of Ginkaku-ji on the other end instead of Underland. Well missing most of the coveted trees but he and Kelas and their family have spent years building it beautiful and art brought to life any why couldn’t the old man pay for some natural artistic painting enhancement because he can speak every language he tries to learn but he can’t capture Kelas or his children in more than memories. Ah right, because life isn’t perfect and if it was it would be dull and Jack is Absolutely not dull. He’s the Best Daddy as Jessie says and Kiss repeats and their children aren’t liars so that’s that. Every morning he’s out here barefoot in his loose trousers -how novel is that for him of all people not to be wearing a shirt?- with katas, with tumbles, sweat drenched before the sun is too high and his pale skin in has to be doused and drenched in sunscreen. Jack hatessunscreen.

He usually walks around the city with his big black UV umbrella.

Sometimes Jessie likes to drag the rake through the sand to make the patterns in the sand of the shared garden; this one is more secluded, closer to their modest dwelling than the others. Sometimes ze and Kiss fight over the rake; sometimes Jack joins in too though more often than not Kelas thwaps his shoulder with a book and tells him playfully to behave. Kelas will raise the big tome kissing him long and sweetly behind it, those full lips begging to be bitten ‘til they’re flushed dark gray, It’s one of many games they like to play, kissing until one or both kids yell “Aha!” declaring they’ve been spotted. They laugh when the book lowers and Jack is red and Kelas is just beaming with his glasses half askew. They have endless ridiculous little games they play and Jack is always amazed by how Good this is. Jack doesn’t remember his parents ever… doesn’t remember old George and Martha ever… old swampy ever being anything but cold to each other snip snap at the table clattering spoons and little presses of napkins to mouths.

“Right here, Jessie Jess mmhm. Your turn?” he asks going to one knee, letting himself be knocked backwards when ze yells “yes!” because they’re outdoors and outdoors they can be loud as they want. He gives a good dramatic death yell as his back hits the ground, holding his baby close a moment as he falls. Almost five, Jessie always corrects him, not a baby, Four years nine months nine days ten hours five minutes three seconds... and Jack watches his mouth, ensuring that any kisses are Cardassian presses of two quick fingers – index and middle – to each other. Things around his mouth make Jack anxious because he wants to nip and that leads to gnawing, to biting and that’s only acceptable if it’s Kelas.

Sometimes Kiss or Jessie will give him little nips to the rings on his fingers to show affection and he… doesn’t know how he feels about that because it’s special and theirs but it’s not typical as Bashir says with those castigating hidden expressions that he thinks that Jack can’t see just like he says it isn’t healthy for them to see the marks and the blood when he and Kelas kiss hard but they don’t get upset, they only laugh at how silly yadek and his red mouth look and… and Jack is Careful, always careful with the two of them because he would sooner die than hurt them and Kelas will tell him that he’s too most conscientious delicate and it isn’t necessary to self-flagellate and if he doesn’t knock it off he’s going to start calling him “Dimmesdale” which is absurd because Kelas is no Hester Prynne in any sense of the character and he should understand that it absolutely is necessary to be careful because he broke too many children when he was a child even if he didn’t mean it and-

“Focus.” Jessie repeats, this time with a tap to his nose giving him a terribly weighty look; Jessie takes “helping daddy fix his head” very seriously. Jack blinks and nods. That’s a very serious second warning there!

“Right! We’re going upside down today hm hm?” Jessie nods excited, scampering off him, jumping at Jack the moment he stands back up. Jack catches zem easily around the waist, his baby a little monkey climbing up his shoulders. The air on Cardassia brings him alive even if it is warmer than he’s used to. Kelas says with a face, a precious Kelas face that he makes when something irritates him - cute, so cute will always be adorable a hundred two hundred, Jack doesn’t care - that the air of Nokar is the purest most amazing smell. He knows that Kelas still thinks about going back, away from Central, away from the southern continents to the Steppe, to the cold and Jack thinks it’s the funniest thing that a Cardassian would long for the cold but he understands it’s so much more than that.

Kelas is a misfit, a mutant too but a damn perfect one and Jack will fight anyone who disagrees.

But for all the stares and the whispers - which he can hear, always hear with his enhanced hearing - Jack has never found a place more of a home than on Cardassia Prime. Bashir, passing normal Federation mutt, Bashir asked him if he didn’t miss all the comforts of the Federation, the food, the culture, the people who didn’t glare or condescend and a list that went on and Jack had an epiphany. It was brilliant. He wrote it down he was pleased, he read it to Kelas, he read it to Lauren and Patrick and Sarina and a full audience around an evening bonfire to cheers and chirps in fact. Bashir wasn’t a mutant passing as normal, he was a basic passing as One of Them. Jack didn’t read it to Bashir because Bashir wouldn’t get it and the hell with him anyway! Jack didn’t have a lifetime of Federation comforts. He had a prison, he had walls and bars and “do this do that step jump sit behave be Normal!” He had a lifetime of people backing away from him making the sign of the damn cross and ha joke’s on them, mutants aren’t vampires and he could still bite throats out no matter how much garlic they used!

Jack grins big, wide, toothy, vicious as he wants when he looks at his children, when he looks at his Kelas and there’s nothing, no drug, no “Federation comforts” no religion, nothing that could ever bring him the high that their fearless answering smiles brings him. He walks through the streets with every damn one of these Cardassian Morlocks meeting him with a level stare, a sneer, a challenge to prove that he’s their equal. They challenge him when he recites his poetry. They aren’t afraid to shove at him in the crowded markets. They’re not afraid of confrontation, they revel in it, every Sunday morning Jack going into the city to argue with the same old woman selling flowers about every damn thing in the world and no shrinking back when he’s loud, no “shut up” no “behave” no belts no smacks to the mouth nothing but the same irritated arguments that they fling at each other.

Jack keeps grinning like a damn idiot as he looks up, feeling Jessie putting small hands in his ready to be raised up to the top of Mount Parnassus to meet the fabled muses. Jack can see a bit of a tremble of zes arms, but he shouts encouragement, a babbling string at his little hatchling - Kelas says “hatchling” though not properly hatched but that’s pedantic so shut up Jack! - turns himself upside down, holding a count of five before ze flops, Jack catching zem easily, the both of them laughing. It’s a life he never dreamed that he could have and no amount of holofeeds of the “successful augment doctor” like old technicolor popcorn matinee propaganda reels could ever convince him that he and that stupid smiling thing would ever be the same. As long as he lives, Julian will never know what it’s like to have people afraid of him and fuck him anyway. The sharp sound of a clap catches his sensitive ears, head jerking, that instinct relaxing in a split second seeing Kelas applauding him.

Applause isn’t a Cardassian custom, occasionally chirrups or a stamp of feet signify massive approval but Kelas thought the gesture was novel when he learned of it and Jack sees Kiss following along after him when he sets Jessie down. His children love “doing acrobatics with Daddy” and he’s just in awe of how far ahead their development is without being augmented. He teaches the children in their little community they’ve built too and he’s not just biased when he says that Kiss and Jessie are the best of the excitable lot.

“That’s my Jessie Jess hm! Shoot off the guns like Buffalo Bill! There’s a cowboy hm hm! We’ll have you swallowing swords for Emperor Wu mmhm!”

“Ze’s going to be a doctor!” Kelas calls out emphatically with that irritated face.

“Then an acrobat doctor hm. Think if the money you’d pull in adding a few flips to your routine hm. Climb that Bashir beanstalk like a diving board hm hm hop skip splash!”

“Splash!” That’s from Kiss before diving into the half-finished sand castle an explosion of wet sand everywhere on both zem and Kelas. Kelas laughs even as he spits out a mouthful of sand.

“Ah, right, definitely sticking with my usual practice, I think,” he says brushing sand from his lap.

Jack is sure that his face hurts from smiling, Jessie running past him bowling clear into the mess, into Kiss with a yell of “Splash!” the two tumbling around with their little growls play fighting, a little tinkling of beads reaching his ears too as they clank together. Jessie is slim, all limbs like Kelas, a wiry little worm as the two of them wrestle. It seems that Kiss will take after him, stockier, strong - nearly as strong as Jessie at three years six months fifteen days five hours nineteen minutes three seconds. His head is a constant count of every moment of their lives because every atomic second passing by is one that he wants to be thankful for. Kelas suggested that when he told him about the constant numbers and figures and unwanted thought intrusions that he might fill the space with everything positive in his life that he wants to track instead- fill his head so full to bursting that there isn’t room for anything else. So he does.

His head is full of clocks of all colors, shapes, appearance, a clock to count his children’s’ ages, to track the time since he and Kelas met, the time since number three (working title “Seska” still in progress”) was conceived, the time since the community where they live was completed, the time since their petition was approved for Lauren, Patrick, and Sarina to be remanded to their care (take that Nursed Ratched!), and at least half a dozen other events, tracking, counting, numbers flashing but these are Good numbers. Good numbers, good thoughts, his mind is usually a jumble of thoughts, numbers, followed by blinking impulses, little hands that pull at his limbs, his arms and legs, his mouth and make his body sometimes act outside his thoughts. It’s those impulses that he knows make Bashir say that he’s unpredictable and Dangerous and sometimes those thoughts intrude and lock him still afraid to act at all until he can pull himself out of it.

He has one now but it’s not a violent one. He hasn’t had a violent one in years and that one had a very specific trigger. That one was Elim Garak and wasn’t his fault no matter what Bashir said. That was one of the worst ones. That was one of the last ones and Not His Fault! It was Garak. It was Garak’s fault and Jack hates that Bashir thinks it’s some alpha male posturing poppycock that’s completely beneath him but according to Kelas it’s not on his place to speak to Bashir on the wicked devil that he takes to his bed. (Le Démon ! - c'est un Démon, vous savez, ce n'est pas un homme.-that’s Rimbaud predicting the wicked Morlock centuries in advance!). Anyone who scares his Kelas like that… anyone who causes his Kelas to flinch like that, anyone who makes that flash of fear cloud over his eyes is a devil no ifs and or buts and they’re dead!

The first time that he saw Kelas look at Garak, stop, panic, swallow and nearly take a step back terrified he lost it. Jack blanked out. He didn’t think at all. His hand was already moving for Garak’s throat by the time Bashir had tackled him because Bashir wasn’t as fast as him or as strong as him and if it wasn’t for Kelas asking him softly to please forgive it they’d see just how dangerous an augment that he was because no one including him hurts the family he went through hell to have. They used to tell him that he didn’t have empathy, that he was a monster incapable of understanding other people and he almost, almost believed them, but if Frankenstein’s creature wasn’t a monster, if Jack could weep silently, his head buried in Kelas’ lap when Kelas told him softly what Garak’s old iron monkey on his back, what his old man had done that had made him have that fear then he... no... no bad thoughts, not now. This is a Good place and a Good day and those thoughts are banished.

When Jack has that unconscious impulse now it’s to join in that raucous and he turns to Kelas, seeing him shaking the sand off the top of the long sleeveless tunic he’s wearing. meeting Jack’s eyes a moment.

“Splash,” Jack says in a rush and he catches those blue almost violet eyes widen in surprise and his mind would yell at him careful careful but he’s already moving with his hands on Kelas’ shoulders pushing him back to the sand. His mind corrects, his enhanced reflexes able to catch up with that recrimination that caution he’s pregnant he’s old he’s delicate he’s… laughing as Jack lands on top of him. Kelas is laughing loudly.

“Ah I should have known you were going to wait until the sand was gone. You always love getting me dirty!” He exclaims with a laugh as Jack in a rush of expelled nerves puts his face into Kelas’ neck sure he’s getting sand in his own hair now.

Kelas reminds him at least twice a day that he won’t hurt him- that he may be over a hundred but that doesn’t quite mean the same in their years and in any case their skeletons are more dense and durable. Sometimes he demonstrates it. Sometimes Jack even believes him. Jack turns his face about to say something to that but Kelas is already turning, kissing him silly, breathless, swearing at him in that melodic Northern tongue that’s like a slip of hisses, or angry snakes circling his ears.

“…sorry,” he says instinctively because sorry is what they always told him to say when he Did Something and he said it so much he used to like to see how much of a curse he could put behind those words.

“No you’re not,” Kelas mutters, trying not to smile, his hands sliding sandy, gritty over Jack’s sticky sweaty back holding him there on top before Jack can scramble off. “Mmm but that’s alright, I think your punishment should be to finish what you started.”

“Yadek has one baby you can’t give him one yet, Daddy!” he hears Jessie yelling at him and that only makes Kelas laugh even louder, the lines around his eyes crinkling, ridges flushing darker as he just… smiles up at Jack.

“Ah well… perhaps we’ll have to wait then,” Kelas says not moving his hands from Jack’s back in the slightest. His hands are strong, slightly calloused with the work that he does in the lab with Lauren now. He kneads at the muscles with determination and Jack feels like he might pool into goo dripping, soaking into the sand or into Kelas. That’s an idea- totally perfect idea.

“That right hm? No making new babies til this one’s done hm hm?”

“Can’t have two at once,” Jessie confirms terribly seriously. Jack smiles while Kelas keeps kneading at his back. Well, his little hatchling may have a numerical point but there’s always room for more practice because number three took so long it surely was because they hadn’t practiced enough and number four… ah impractical meandering illogical thoughts but-

“Maybe if we make you into an ovipositor... I bet Sarina could do it,” He hears Lauren’s voice and doesn’t ask how long she’s been standing there because Lauren is like the wind flitting in, out, hot, cold, but always there in some form. He doesn’t say that she’s like his sister but he hears their neighbors calling her that without correction and it’s strange but it’s Good and there’s a counter running for the first time someone called her his sister: three years two months five days four hours eighteen minutes thirty four seconds…

“An ovipositor? Ha! You couldn’t make a Kranessan fly hm!” The Kranessans, he learned were famed for their elaborate zip lines through the mountain passes.

“And you couldn’t make old Jala a rich woman if you tried,” she fires back with an arch of her eyebrow holding out her only to have Jessie and Kiss rush past her towards their house. She shrugs with a sigh. “I’ll see that they get to their lesson. Mr. Gok is teaching today and…” She pauses there, letting the old familiar rejoinder slip away unsaid. It’s become more of a small joke between them now.

There’s buzzing that Jack hears just then and he watches as a large dragonfly double wings gold, glistening in the sunlight as it hovers into the yard. Ah, right the little attendance drone, one of Patricks dozens of creations flying, beeping, walking around their compound. The newly elected council’s relaxed restrictions on sedition and unlawful assembly years back were what allowed him and Kelas to work tirelessly into one of the first communal living spaces outside of Central. There were more that had cropped up always monitored for radicals but as more sprang up, as more shared spaces came with their family dining halls and sand gardens and families sharing the grounds outside their modest homes, the more accepted they were.

Ah acceptable as Northerner and outcast refuse but there was no better refuse and no better life and Jack reaches up to sign off on the PADD the dragonfly is holding that Jessie and Kiss will be in class today outside with the other children. He snorts thinking of old Jala and older Gisha (and how Kelas always gets so hotly indignant when he calls them that saying they’re hardly older than he is) always hovering around chattering whenever he and Kelas make love. He’s heard them over stone walls, through fences, once catching their eyes with a curious blink before they waved him on and that… isn’t Normal, he thinks but he sometimes catches other couples or other triads outside their homes together in some partly secluded space with little mind paid. Sometimes he’ll hear a rattle of beads and he can always tell when Jala and Gisha are jabbering at each other about whether it’s better or worse for fertility if one is silent or loud. Jala thinks silent. Gisha thinks loud.

Kelas is always loud and Lauren says the two of them have a bet each time on which it will be.

Jala has yet to win once, and Lauren lets them know she has her data prepared whenever Kelas is ready to go over their new formulations for perfume tonics they’ve devised – fragrant and flavorful particles that confer different effects when “scented” from the air. Kelas looks thoughtful as he hooks an ankle around the small of Jack’s back, pushing that swollen belly up against him completely undoing him.

“Thirty minutes should be enough,” he hears Kelas say thinking sand is a challenge and rough and irritating and sand is nice beneath his bare feet but a cruel menace elsewhere and his hands are already beneath Kelas’ hip with a hurried murmur of “other leg other leg,” getting to his knees. Kelas wrapping around him like a beautiful pale vine, his hair half out of it braid, those glasses already mussed. Jack thinks he hears some impressed click from the other side of the wood fence marveling at his augmented strength.

He prefers to take it slow, to savor every touch, every press of Kelas’ mouth to his chest, every sigh, every push into Kelas’ body and Kelas into his too. Time is short, so short but the longer he can drag every perceived moment out, the closer to immortality in a beautiful vacuum where seconds aren’t ticks but instead Kelas’ breaths and slow steady beats of his heart. Ah, but now time is a rush and it always surprises him how excited his body is for Kelas in ways it is for nothing else. Ah, the old women think they’ve seen strength? They haven’t seen anything, Jack holding that full weight with one arm now panting, quickly tugging himself free from trousers, from undergarments. Kelas is already whining as Jack starts biting his shoulder ridges hitching the hem of his tunic up with that free hand, Kelas squirming into position, a loud breathy cry when Jack enters him halfway, readjusts with both hands on his ass like he weighs nothing, driving right deep to his center.

And for that moment, time stops.

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