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Need is a very strong word, particularly here and with the arguable existence of objective reality.
[ Are there worse patients than captains? Maybe, but even the EMH had trouble with her. She is making an attempt to be reasonable and mature about it, though. Once.]
Trioxin, or something that performs a similar function.
[ Are there worse patients than captains? Maybe, but even the EMH had trouble with her. She is making an attempt to be reasonable and mature about it, though. Once.]
Trioxin, or something that performs a similar function.
Edited 2021-09-27 16:45 (UTC)
It's possible, but it's going to take some time to produce.
How urgent is your need?
How urgent is your need?
In due time, Bashir finishes his shift at the hospital and calls up one of his favoured clubs and booked in a reservation for later that evening. He takes his time heading home and stops along the way to pick up a couple of supplies. He swings open the door and puts a bag on the side table before he calls out, "Good evening, Doctor."
It's been a long time since he was in this particular situation, long enough that it feels slightly overwhelming. His mouth has gone dry, his heart is pounding. He's spent the intervening time pacing restlessly, casting aside his velvet coat and putting it back on three times, utterly failing to focus on his guitar or his equations or his sketches.
Hearing Bashir call out is a desperate relief, but he doesn't allow himself to hurry; he walks, silent and steady, until he in sight. Then he stops and clasps his hands behind his back. He can control his posture, but he can only imagine how his expression looks - yearning, anxious, excited, guilty, all of the above?
"Sir."
Hearing Bashir call out is a desperate relief, but he doesn't allow himself to hurry; he walks, silent and steady, until he in sight. Then he stops and clasps his hands behind his back. He can control his posture, but he can only imagine how his expression looks - yearning, anxious, excited, guilty, all of the above?
"Sir."
"Oh my darling, I feel I should apologize for neglecting you. I can't imagine that you'd act out like this if I'd been paying closer attention to your needs." Bashir slips off his shoes and comes over to the Doctor, pulling him into an embrace. He keeps him close and runs one hand up and down his back until he can start to feel him relax.
With his voice pitched low and soothing, he keeps whispering gentle encouragement. "A slip-up happens to the best of us and I'm going to take good care of you, hmm? Make things easy." Difficult at first, of course, but eventually it will be better for them both. "I'm going to put you through your paces, really push you, and I know you might push back - I can't be angry with you for that, because that's just who you are."
"You'll fight, you'll swear, but we both know how this will end. You're going to be so sweet for me. You want that, don't you?"
With his voice pitched low and soothing, he keeps whispering gentle encouragement. "A slip-up happens to the best of us and I'm going to take good care of you, hmm? Make things easy." Difficult at first, of course, but eventually it will be better for them both. "I'm going to put you through your paces, really push you, and I know you might push back - I can't be angry with you for that, because that's just who you are."
"You'll fight, you'll swear, but we both know how this will end. You're going to be so sweet for me. You want that, don't you?"
It never takes long, not with Bashir. He melts into the embrace, hands falling to his sides even as his breath hitches.
He's the only one who's ever truly understood, truly accepted who and what he is. So many of his contracts ended because they couldn't sand away those rough edges, couldn't mould him into something more agreeable.
"Of course I do." It's a strained murmur, as tender as he ever sounds.
He's the only one who's ever truly understood, truly accepted who and what he is. So many of his contracts ended because they couldn't sand away those rough edges, couldn't mould him into something more agreeable.
"Of course I do." It's a strained murmur, as tender as he ever sounds.
Edited 2021-09-30 00:11 (UTC)
Bashir holds him a little longer, just keeping him close and safe. Once he's ready, he brushes a quick kiss over the arch of his cheekbone and nods once.
"Are you ready, love?"
"Are you ready, love?"
Even now, after all this work and all this time, this is the only place he does feel safe, truly and completely: in his Dominant's arms. Maybe that's how it was always meant to work, maybe that's why it took him so damned long to settle into his skin.
He refuses to let that go, now that he has it.
With a firm nod, "Yes."
He refuses to let that go, now that he has it.
With a firm nod, "Yes."
With a decisive nod Bashir steps back and stands a little straighter. He keeps his tone casual as he goes into the kitchen and fills up a glass of cool water before returning to the living room.
Holding the glass in one hand and his paper bag in the other, he sits on the chair with the large, comfortable cushion beside it. "When was the last time you came?"
Holding the glass in one hand and his paper bag in the other, he sits on the chair with the large, comfortable cushion beside it. "When was the last time you came?"
"This might be a little more uncomfortable then," he says with what is a too pleased sort of expression. He takes a drink from the glass, puts it down on the low table in front of him, and then begins to open the paper bag. "Strip for me."
"I thought about offering you a little something to make this easier, but I'm not sure you deserve it just yet." He puts a small pack of aphrodisiac laced chocolates on the table.
"I thought about offering you a little something to make this easier, but I'm not sure you deserve it just yet." He puts a small pack of aphrodisiac laced chocolates on the table.
He beings immediately, unbuttoning his shirt with stubbornly deft fingers. They do slip when Bashir takes those chocolates out, and he remembers -
No. Focus.
"That's fair." He meant to sound humble, ashamed, but it comes out wryly proud, which makes him wince slightly.
No. Focus.
"That's fair." He meant to sound humble, ashamed, but it comes out wryly proud, which makes him wince slightly.
"It's not easy to be fair with you, dear, but I try. I want to help you do and be your best, but sometimes it means we have nights like this one." He rummages about in the bag a bit more and takes out a bottle of slick.
"That's not a complaint, of course. I know you and I knew what I was signing up for with you." He uncaps the bottle and tests a little on his fingers, mostly ignoring how the other man removes his clothing.
"That's not a complaint, of course. I know you and I knew what I was signing up for with you." He uncaps the bottle and tests a little on his fingers, mostly ignoring how the other man removes his clothing.
"You did. You were the only one."
Bashir, of course, knows that being ignored is a punishment all its own, especially when his own gaze is utterly captivated by those glistening fingers. He tries to suppress the frustrated growl as he rushes through the last of the buttons, shucking off both his shirt and his coat and letting them pool around his feet. The rest goes far more quickly, at least.
Bashir, of course, knows that being ignored is a punishment all its own, especially when his own gaze is utterly captivated by those glistening fingers. He tries to suppress the frustrated growl as he rushes through the last of the buttons, shucking off both his shirt and his coat and letting them pool around his feet. The rest goes far more quickly, at least.
"Anyone who couldn't see your worth is an utter idiot and worthy of contempt." Bashir caps the lube and puts it off to one side before he takes a small box from the bag and opens it. He pulls out a couple of small, plastic fobs that look a little like remote door openers.
"Fold your clothing. Put it on the sofa."
"Fold your clothing. Put it on the sofa."
Maybe one day Bashir saying things like that will stop having such a profound effect on him, but he doubts it. It's enough that he doesn't even huff in exasperation at the order, or do a sloppy job; he brings them to the sofa, and kneels down to fold everything with precise efficiency.
Then he stands, turning towards Bashir and waiting for what he's meant to do next. In their own home, at least, he isn't uncomfortable with his nakedness or self-conscious about his growing arousal.
Then he stands, turning towards Bashir and waiting for what he's meant to do next. In their own home, at least, he isn't uncomfortable with his nakedness or self-conscious about his growing arousal.
With the last item still in the box and one more in the bag, Bashir gestures that the Doctor should come closer. He spreads his legs in invitation for the other man to stand between them.
His fingers are still slick, but that doesn't stop him from holding one hand up to the Doctor for him to lick. "I am going to have a little fun, but I strongly encourage you not to get too hard just yet or you're going to have a long, long wait."
He's not setting the Doctor up to fail. It's possible that he'll be able to control his reaction, but just as likely that he won't. Their reservation isn't until much later anyway.
His fingers are still slick, but that doesn't stop him from holding one hand up to the Doctor for him to lick. "I am going to have a little fun, but I strongly encourage you not to get too hard just yet or you're going to have a long, long wait."
He's not setting the Doctor up to fail. It's possible that he'll be able to control his reaction, but just as likely that he won't. Their reservation isn't until much later anyway.
He's unbearably curious, but he stays quiet as he moves into place. The gesture, the offer - it's a relief to do something, and he takes those fingers in his mouth hungrily, licking them clean with single-minded fervour.
That doesn't mean he isn't listening. An easy tell, when he's trying to reign himself in, is the way his hands press flat against his thighs instead of thrumming his fingers.
That doesn't mean he isn't listening. An easy tell, when he's trying to reign himself in, is the way his hands press flat against his thighs instead of thrumming his fingers.
"You sweet man." Bashir presses down with his fingers, pulling the Doctor's mouth open. "I'd thought about giving you the choice between easy and difficult, but let's just take that option off the table."
"There's a plug in the box. I'd like to watch you open yourself up, easy and slow, and slip it in." It's a nicely made piece, not too large, with a comfortable base - all of this suggests that it's meant for longer term wear. "There are two remotes with it. One for me, and one for you. We'll need those later."
"There's a plug in the box. I'd like to watch you open yourself up, easy and slow, and slip it in." It's a nicely made piece, not too large, with a comfortable base - all of this suggests that it's meant for longer term wear. "There are two remotes with it. One for me, and one for you. We'll need those later."
His breath catches, first at the praise and then at the instruction. Once he'd have been too proud to let it happen, but they're long past that. There's no real hesitation as he nods, pulling away just enough to start coating his own fingers.
But he can't resist asking, "Your design, or..."
But he can't resist asking, "Your design, or..."
"It is." Bashir is happy to use toys he hasn't designed on the Doctor, but there's a little possessive thrill when it's his own work. He reaches for the bag and pulls out the final item - a sleek, modern cock cage. There's a faint tracery of etching on the metal that matches the herringbone pattern of his collar. "So's this."
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