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The sun filtered through crystalline glass; the prismatic effect splitting the light and illuminating the room in a vibrant array of rainbows. The deep crimson curtains were drawn back to reveal a stunning view of the rebuilt Cardassia city, sprawled out like a sleeping Sehlat. Below, the city was just waking, readying itself for the frantic scramble of the day. The buildings surround were dwarfed by the penthouse suite, each one sitting beneath and glinting like shards of glass. It was a view fit for a Castellan. It went unappreciated by the two entwined figures despite its magnificence. This room lacked the frenzy of the city below as its two inhabitants dozed the morning away.
Wrinkled, grey-scaled flesh wrapped around a slightly atrophied, burnished form as Castellan Elim Garak gazed down at the sleeping form Dr Julian Bashir. Cardassia’s current ruling authority traced the sleeping doctors features repeatedly: fine brow to sculpted jaw to soft lips down shapely neck and across carved collarbone. It seemed like the more he looked, the more he would never get enough. He would never stop cherishing this view.
It was different from watching him in his catatonic state. Even now, there were flickers of movement: his limbs twitching and eyes moving beneath eyelids. He was dreaming. Each movement Garak held dear now; each one a blessing that he knew he was unworthy to receive.
Touching him was another liberty he treasured now. Where before he had scrubbed his beloved’s flesh, changed soiled underwear and dutifully repositioned him to avoid bed sores; now Julian’s legs entangled with his beneath thin, breathable sheets. The human’s chest pressed so tightly against Garak’s, he could feel his breath and the warmth of his skin sank deep into the older man’s scales. Scales that were, no doubt, leaving heavy indents in the human’s soft flesh.
The closeness always brought a curious pressure to his chest and temples. Often, he was overcome with the urge to use the entirety of his Cardassian strength to crush the human into him. Often times, he loathed any distance between them. It felt as though all he wanted was his lips on Julian’s, fusing them together such that each breath he took would return only the sweetness of Julian’s breath. The only thing that stopped him was the fact he was loathe to wake Julian: his physical therapy was so tiring, he needed the rest. So, he was content to watch him dream, letting the world go about its business. It was becoming quite the problem with his cabinet leaders who wanted to know when he would return to his full public role of Castellan.
He would have to, eventually.
Cardassia Prime was largely rebuilt and their supply lines were strong but a state required a champion. But here, buoyed in the softness of Julian’s embrace, he didn’t feel like a champion. He felt like an old man who’d seen and done too much.
It was so nice to lie here.
Julian was warm. His skin like honey and his presence a balm, easing the pain of memory. His eyelashes sprayed down an older face; a face that was more familiar than the skyline. His hair was longer now, splashing out in tight curls that felt down feather soft against Garak’s shoulder. He smelt acrid and earthy and alive.
Logically, all these things told him this was real.
It still felt like a fantasy.
And when Julian woke that day…it was like the sun rose anew.