Title: Push
Author: mrs260
Series: DS9
Rating: NC-17
Codes: Garak/Bashir
Summary: Garak knows just how to push him.
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is the property of Paramount. This story, written in 2019, never has been and never will be sold.
Feedback: Any and all. Criticism welcome.

He felt slightly self-conscious as he walked to Garak's quarters, as if passers-by might perceive what was in his bag and know what was about to happen. Which they couldn't. And even if they could, telepaths were generally long used to the sexual preoccupations of others and allowed people the polite fiction of privacy.

He'd gone into the shop two days ago, after his shift and just before the end of Garak's business day. Garak had handed him a grey and red outfit that was immediately familiar – any Starfleet officer under 50 would remember it. "Put this on, Doctor," Garak said briskly. "I'll join you in the fitting room in three minutes."

He'd done as... requested? Garak had fit the outfit with none of the flirtation he'd anticipated, and little conversation. He'd drooped a little, confused and disappointed, but then Garak had noted, "You may find that it will fit more closely than you remember. A Starfleet replicator is no substitute for the individual attention of a personal tailor."

He hadn't tried the finished garment on yet. Garak had instructed him to bring it with him tonight, so that's what he was doing.

When he was admitted to Garak's quarters, Garak kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Good evening, my dear. I trust that you're eager to begin?"

What Garak was wearing – he hadn't really thought about that. It was a stylized homage to a Starfleet Operations uniform, black with a swath of patterned gold on the chest and arms. Like the type worn by Academy officers – and by the drill sergeants who met the new cadets.

He was staring. "Uh, yes. Yes, please," he stammered.

Garak smirked, no doubt at his dazzled reaction. "You may change in the bedroom, then rejoin me out here."

He hurried through his change of clothing, eager indeed to begin, but was sure to pause for a look in the bedroom's full-length mirror before he went back to the living room. If he was going to play the cadet, it wouldn't do to start out disheveled.

The uniform Garak had made for him certainly was tighter than his real cadet uniform had been. It was form-fitting without restricting his movement, which he suspected would be important. He fussed with his hair for a moment, then headed out to face Garak again.

Garak's persona had changed while he was in the bedroom – Julian had anticipated that. "Name?" Garak demanded. He didn't shout, but he didn't need to.

"Julian Bashir, sir," Julian answered. How was this going to go? Was he playing the good cadet, or—

"Cadet Bashir. I presume you know why you've been sent for extra discipline?"

Bad cadet, then. Well, he certainly could manage that. "Insubordination, sir?" he guessed.

"Someone thought he was athletic enough to skip his physical conditioning sessions," Garak said, looking theatrically at a little PADD. "Isn't that right?"

"Y-Yes sir."

"Well, we can start by testing that theory. On the ground and give me fifty ‘push-ups'."

Julian bit his lip against a smile – he could hear the quotation marks as Garak ordered him to perform the alien exercise. He flattened himself on the floor, then began to count as he levered himself up and down. "One, two, three..."

He could only see Garak's feet – black boots to match the black fabric of his trousers. He wondered what part of his own body Garak was eyeing as he worked – the uniform made his buttocks look rounder, his limbs and torso look more muscular, and even flattered his balls, though of course Garak couldn't see that from this angle... He wondered what Garak would order him to do after he finished the push-ups. More military discipline? Kissing his well-polished boots? Right to sucking cock?

"Hold your place, Cadet." Garak's words interrupted his thoughts. He wasn't sure what it meant – presumably something from the Cardassian tradition – but it brought his mind back to his count.

"Eighteen, nineteen..."

"Perhaps this is indeed too easy for you, Cadet," Garak said, "if you wander so obviously from your place." Julian saw his feet move, walking toward him until he moved past his head. Then he felt a foot on his back.

That did make coming up more challenging. "Twenty-six... twenty-seven..." Garak knew just how much to push him.

"That's good, Cadet," Garak murmured from above him, just barely hanging onto the drill sergeant persona, then obviously regrouping. "It's exciting to see just how well you respond to firm discipline."

Julian groaned between counts – what was he on now? "Th-thirty, thirty-one..."

"You're a good little soldier under all that arrogance, aren't you? Eager to please. You won't be any more trouble once I've finished with you."

"No sir," he gasped, then resumed, "thirty-five..."

Garak's foot felt heavier now – was he getting tired, or was Garak pushing harder? Moments later, it felt easier again – Garak had noticed his flagging pace and lightened up.

God, Garak knew just how to push him. "Thank you, sir."



Garak removed the foot from his back as he flattened back down to the ground.

Without even being asked, he kissed Garak's boot eagerly, gratefully. As he looked up into Garak's face, Garak smiled. "On your knees, Cadet."

He complied as Garak got his cock out. "Yes, sir!"

He'd been hard since around the count of fifteen, and he rubbed himself through his uniform with one hand as he steadied Garak's cock with the other. He was eager to please this man. He wasn't sure what was better – the submission or the reward. As he sucked Garak's cock into his mouth, Garak's gasped endearment told him it was time to break character. "Doctor!"

Garak came quickly, and so did he.