Work Text:
Garak has gotten used to his subservient little life on Terok Nor. It’s an old song and dance, to wake up in the service of other men that think themselves as Garak's better. To put on smile and nod along to every request, to accept their whims no matter how petty.
But in the past, Garak’s jobs usually ended with someone's death. He'd destabilize groups, leave chaos in his wake, and return home an unspoken hero.
There is no ending to Terok Nor.
The other Cardassians look at him like a spectacle. They watch him work on their off hours, as if seeing a tailor is somehow entertainment in and of itself.
They're more violent than the Bajorans are.
The few Bajorans that have money in Terok Nor frequent Garak's shop quietly. They watch Garak with wary eyes, and Garak learns quickly if they talk of Cardassia or the occupation, they never return and those eyes turn to hate when they follow him throughout the station. So Garak learns to stop talking about such things and instead puts on a smile, listens, and when relevant talks of mild, meaningless things to put his customers at ease.
It works.
It makes sense the Bajorans here are fragile. They're stuck on a station run by Gul Dukat, gaining no benefits of a Cardassian presence.
This paltry, insulting organization of the station is no doubt the reason his fellow Cardassians are so unruly. Gul Dukat had given them long leashes, and Garak knows when night falls he takes the most favored men and throws lavish parties with the most gorgeous women around who can't say no.
Cardassian arrogance has always been one of their more embarrassing flaws.
Still, Garak bears it with a smile. The errant Cardassian who tears at his fabrics, tosses them to the ground and orders Garak to clean it up. The Cardassian that takes one or Garak's needles and lazily places it to Garak's throat, just to see what he'll do (Garak let's the needle puncture him and the implant does the rest). The Cardassian that keeps ordering alterations for his clothes and sending them back, claiming Garak messed up, and to fix it for free.
An endless parade of humiliation. And in some ways Garak prefers it. It's when the Cardassians are busy that Garak starts to feel his chest ache and his stomach opens up and he works a little harder on trying to make a remote activator for his implant.
Eyes glaze over him. Most Cardassians ignore him, accepting Garak as part of the scenery as one would a plant or a replicator. He's used to this. Gardeners get ignored. Tailors get ignored. Servants get ignored. Laborers get ignored.
But it persists. It lingers. And Garak starts counting days, wondering what his life will be like when his exile surpasses his longest mission with the Obsidian Order. He still has a ways to go, but he can see the endless tunnel spanning before him. One day he'll blink and years will have passed, he just knows it.
Things change when there start to be whispers of leaving Terok Nor. Garak knows politics, whispers could still mean months of Gul Dukat’s rule. Nothing is set in stone but the tide is turning and what once were impossibilities are now turning to inevitabilities.
His fellow Cardassians are becoming agitated. They're looking at Garak, even when they don't have to. There's a building rage that didn't previously exist in those eyes. Dukat's not keeping a good handle on his men. And for that the Bajorans suffer. With Bajoran victories growing more and more every day in the outside world, on Terok Nor so does their losses.
Garak gets quite competent at smiling and saying nothing. They don't want to hear about Terok Nor being an anomaly. One day a Bajoran comes in with a gash along their forehead and Garak takes some medical thread he stole for himself and stitches it up. The Bajoran looks at Garak with somber acceptance and Garak smiles back. A week later that Bajoran is gone, either dead or having successfully fled the station.
The Cardassians lose contentment with their petty displays of power. They take to lambasting Quark, and the Ferengi takes it because the latinum is good. Garak can see it in Quarks eyes that the Ferengi intends to abandon his bar if things get much worse. The man's pride and joy, and Quark looks at it now with dismay. He's breaking even as he tries not to show it.
Garak wakes up to his shop having been torn apart a day after a rent increase. He first suspects the Bajorans, but it's not long before he knows the truth. A glinn comes along with a smug expression and slaps Garak with a fine for the disorderly state of his business.
They're watching him, the Cardassians. Their fury is growing, and Garak suspects he will be their next target.
It's a Cardassian by the name of Glinn Boheeka that finally decides to do something about it. He’s a man Garak has no respect for, with his petty desires for power and his insatiable addiction to the dabo table and the dabo girls.
Glinn Boheeka enters the store just as Garak's done cleaning up, and Garak can sense the hunger in his stance. Garak can't help but think that this will be a strange way to die. If Tain had wanted him dead, he would have seen to it. The exile was the point, the living, the humiliation. Glinn Boheeka is merely screwing himself over if he kills Garak here and now.
But Boheeka doesn't kill him. Instead he grabs at Garak's collar and grips him by the jaw, forcing Garak's face to look upwards. Garak can smell the alcohol on Boheeka’s breath.
Boheeka looks at Garak in disgust. He shoves Garak, ordering him to the backroom. Garak obliges and he's beginning to realize this will not end in his death.
Boheeka forces Garak to his knees.
“Your job is to serve us, right? Service me,” Boheeka orders. Like it's as simple as hemming pants. And maybe it is.
Boheeka withdraws his cock, already at half-mast.
Garak's lips part and he looks upon the man in disgust. He wonders what happened to lead to this moment. Did Boheeka's favorite dabo girl reject him again?
Boheeka grabs Garak by the hair and shoves him forward, and Garak takes him willingly.
The hot flesh situates unnaturally in Garak's mouth. His tongue curls around the shaft as he tries to keep his composure. He feels the top of his teeth scrape ever so slightly against the cock. Boheeka thrusts, thoroughly uncaring about Garak's ability to bite down. He goes hard, pushing his tip to the back of Garak's throat, and with a little more force, makes it past Garak's long-dead gag reflex.
Still Garak chokes. His throat tightens around Boheeka's cock and he struggles to breathe. He can feel the implant in his mind flicker, but it's not enough pain for it to fully activate.
Boheeka leans his weight against a table, a single hand still lazily wrapped around Garak's hair. Garak leans forward and bobs his head up and down along the man’s shaft.
Boheeka groans. He mutters words under his breath, calling Garak all sorts of things that grate against his ears. Vile. Freak. Depraved. Womanly. All those words and more as he watches Garak with a perverse sense of glee.
He's quick and after a few pumps he expels his load down Garak's throat. The sour taste threatens to make Garak puke, but he bites down on his cheek until it bleeds and the implant activates. The nausea's gone and Garak sits there in a mildly pleasant daze.
Sobriety returns to Boheeka, as if dimly aware of what he had just done. He doesn't say anything, he merely pushes his flaccid cock back within, buttons up his pants and leaves.
Garak hopes that's the last of that, but experience tells him it won't be.
It's a deeply held truth in Cardassia that a man lying with another man is a vile, unspeakably forbidden act.
And like all deeply held truths, it's a lie.
Men fucked men all the time, as surely as the women fucked the women. It's in secret, with clever social words to obscure the act, but it's there, plain as day, if you know where to look.
Garak's most intimate familiarity with such things is limited. He's known since a young age that finding men attractive is a neutral act, but to act on it would make him an unsuitable heir for any father he might or might not have. But attraction, as it turns out, is quite different from fucking.
A scapegoat does not require attraction, it merely requires detestment. When Garak had been young he had been placed in military training alongside nine other young men his age. One of them was lesser suited for the training, intelligent, yes, but frail and easily winded. He became their scapegoat.
Garak would watch when some of the other boys fucked him, never doing anything, just watching and waiting until it was over so he could get some rest. Sometimes he would drift off and then a muffled scream would pierce the night, and Garak would lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wishing the bastard would just give in already.
Garak would participate when the other boys fucked him, mindlessly accepting his role in the unit, shuddering in new found sickening pleasure at the intense warmth of plunging inside another Cardassian as he writhed beneath him. How quick and frenzied Garak's were, and how all he could stare at were the other members of his unit, seeking their approval with every thrust. When he pulled out, the pleasure, the rush, the frenzy would vanish instantly when he saw the look into the eyes of the boy he violated.
Garak would react violently when it happened, sometimes calling for help, sometimes attacking the other members of his unit. This never went well, and Garak would find himself placed against the wall and a similar fate would be inevitable. They weren't as interested in Garak, so often they would just beat him, except that one time when he really pissed one of them off and they cornered Garak in the showers and--
It didn't really matter which of the three versions of the events were true. What mattered was it happened again and again until one day the scapegoat left, and all was quiet and content in the unit. They never found another scapegoat, and none of them ever discussed it, as none of them had anything to discuss.
So it's no surprise when Boheeka shows up at Garak's quarters with a friend . It's no surprise when they say nothing, but one grabs Garak's hair and pulls him back and the other grabs Garak's throat and squeezes until Garak's struggling to breathe.
It's no surprise when Boheeka forces Garak to lie on his back on a table and pull down his pants and force his cloaca open while the other pulls Garak's head so it's dangling over the table and then takes out his own cock.
This time there isn't much Garak can do to speed things along. Boheeka’s friend wrenches Garak's jaw open and fucks Garak's mouth. Boheeka meanwhile forces himself inside Garak's entrance, causing Garak to spasm in pain. He goes to hastily pulls out his own cock, trying to make more room for Boheeka's dick, but Boheeka stops him.
“It feels better this way” Boheeka mutters as he snaps his hips against Garak's flesh and drives all the way into him.
It hurts. Garak's thighs spasm and clench around Boheeka's waist in an attempt to relieve the pressure. It doesn't work. The friction is too much. Boheeka's cock scrapes against his own, like sandpaper. Boheeka thrusts into him so hard that Garak jolts forward, and the cock in his mouth moves past his throat.
Boheeka's friend chuckles like it's a game. He matches Boheeka's thrusts and Garak is shoved between them, his back scraping against the table as his shirt hikes up.
He chokes, he writhes, he clutches the table to try and gain some semblance of stability but it doesn't work. Boheeka's inside of him, pushing at inner walls, driving as deep as the bastard can muster. Garak's cock throbs inside of him, sore and craving release, but he doesn't dare let it. Can't disappoint a customer, can he?
The implant activates, the threshold for pain reached, and instantaneously the pain turns to pleasure. Garak gasps at the sensation, and he can feel Boheeka's pace pick up as Garak's own cock secretes a lubricant. His breathing grows hot and his head spins at the sensation that only moments ago tormented him.
Garak moans around the cock shoved in his mouth. He's drooling. His eyes roll backwards and he wraps his legs around Boheeka all the tighter, silently begging him to fuck Garak even harder.
He figures there's a fifty-fifty chance his enjoyment will turn them off entirely, and his mind is so addled he doesn't know which he would prefer. He knows he's salivating around a stranger’s cock and he knows he's bucking his hips with every thrust. He knows he's shuddering and his fingers have dug into the table, leaving indents behind.
Heat rises in his cheeks and his cock aches for release. It takes every ounce of miserable discipline he has not to touch himself.
Boheeka’s friend finishes, deep inside Garak's throat. Garak barely registers the bitter taste, moaning instead at the pleasure of his throat being fucked raw.
The friend pulls out and sits down on Garak's couch. He fiddles with a holonovel rod on the side table. Boredom hits this man quickly, and it's all Garak can watch with his head dipped over the table edge like this.
Boheeka's groaning and hissing and his movement grows erratic. His hand snakes to Garak's throat again and the bastard squeezes as hard as he can imagine.
Garak sees star. His chest is rising. It's as if he's floated into the clouds. Garak's back arches and he can see the other man watching him with a single quizzical arched browridge. The implant can do nothing to take away Garak's shame. How lowly and pathetic he much look, so eagerly impaling himself on another Cardassian’s cock. So dazed he can barely see straight or think straight.
Boheeka finishes finally, and just like before he leaves immediately with his friend, with nothing else to be said.
Soaking wet, filled with Boheeka's cum, Garak finally, luxuriously pulls out his own cock and strokes it vigorously, the rough, brutal touches of the two men repeating in his mind over and over again. His hands are shaking as he rubs up and down his own shaft. He takes two fingers and places them inside, instantly hissing at the sensation of his sore, abused insides being stimulated once again. The implant is slowly shutting down, but it doesn't matter, Garak's still aroused.
By the time he cums, his cock and entrance hurts like a raw, dull ache. It would have hurt less if he hadn't touched himself, but he couldn't bear it. He remains lying on the table, panting heavily, still stroking his spent cock for crumbs of pleasure.
He takes a shower, but he still smells like that damn Glinn afterwards.
It happens again, of course it does. And again. And word gets around and it's no longer Glinn Boheeka but other Cardassians strolling into his shop with one thing on their minds. Sometimes they take him in the back rooms, sometimes they drag Garak to his quarters (never theirs), and at least once Garak found himself on his knees in an isolated corner of Quark's while hands yanked at his hair so hard that Garak thought it would be torn out.
Garak adapts. Violent sex is better than restrained sex. Once he gets past the pain threshold, everything is bliss. So he'll snarl, he'll glare, he'll stiffen his back and egg on the bastards until they hit him and force him down on the ground, tearing his pants off and taking him without preparation.
But usually he doesn't need to do much at all.
They want to hurt him. They want to make it clear that even on a station filled with those lesser than Cardassians, he too is lesser than his own people. It's his job to suffer in service to the Cardassians and suffer he shall.
The whispers have turned to talks now. The occupation is over. But Cardassia still holds Terok Nor.
Gul Dukat doesn't like that very much.
The worst part of all of this, Garak reasons as Gul Dukat enters his store for the first time and fucks him against the wall without even going to a back room, is that, regrettably, Gul Dukat is very good at sex.
He's well endowed, his movements are precise in a way that would make Cardassia proud, and he's the only man who successfully makes Garak moan before the implant kicks in.
He doesn't let Garak free his own cock, none of them ever do, but Dukat still takes a moment to shove his hand down Garak's pants and lightly coax Garak's withdrawn cock, stimulating Garak's arousal and producing lubricant.
Dukat apparently doesn't like rough sex. Not like the others do.
Of course that doesn't stop Dukat from pinning Garak to the wall and pressing down on Garak's throat and hissing at how worthless he is. How he hopes Garak gets killed by the ungrateful Bajoran rioters. How he will cheer on the day the rioters take to Garak's store, destroying it, and then pull Garak to the promenade and tear him apart limb from limb.
Garak can't even think of a response. He slams his head against the wall to activate his own implant. Pleasure overtakes him and he grinds desperately against Dukat's cock.
“You think your exile is bad under the Cardassians--” Dukat hisses. “You have no idea what you're in for when the Bajorans or the damn Federation steps in. You'll kill yourself within the month.”
It's a threat, of course. If Garak doesn't behave he'll be abandoned on the station. If he does, he'll live out his exile on some other Cardassian outpost. Garak's quite familiar with such threats by now. They're as true as any lie usually is, full of hot air and gas, able to explode at the slightest provocation.
But in this moment none of that really matters. Garak's cheeks are burning with need and he can taste arousal on his tongue.
It doesn't even feel that bad that Gul Dukat strode into Garak's store like he owned the place (he does) and just expected Garak to submit without even a question (and Garak did). Garak's never liked the way Dukat peacocked about, expecting others to bow before his mere presence.
And he certainly doesn't like the way Dukat does it in his shop.
But it doesn't matter because Dukat's fucking him right now and his body is vibrating and he looks out the shop window to see how obscured they are from passersby and he can't tell.
He grips at Dukat's back, mindlessly clawing at him as Garak moans and gasps and moves in time to meet Dukat's precise thrusts.
Dukat looks at him with the disgust Garak has come to expect by now. For a moment the thrusting slows. Dukat's hand lightens on his throat. provoking a disappointed whine from Garak. Dukat runs a finger over Garak's lips and then pushes through.
Garak's mouth lolls open and he looks at Dukat in a gaze. Dukat presses in further, up to the knuckle. Garak gives a soft moan. He presses his lips together and sucks Dukat's fingers.
“And you call yourself a Cardassian,” Dukat sneers. “How weak you are, how completely pathetic.”
He forces more fingers down Garak's throat. Dukat pushes past Garak's gag reflex and seems surprised when Garak doesn't flinch. He pushes in even deeper.
Dukat's right of course. But Garak had never seen himself as anything more than a servant of Cardassia, even when he had been seen as Tain's own son. And thanks to the implant, all he yearned for in this moment was for Dukat to keep fucking him.
Dukat could insult Garak all he liked. It doesn't matter what he says, right or wrong, because it's not about Garak.
Dukat is (or soon to be more accurate: was) the Perfect of Bajor. He is the one who failed to maintain the occupation. It is his reputation that will suffer from this incident. It was the Cardassians under his orders that failed to do their proper job.
Garak did his job. He was just a tailor.
As far as Garak is concerned, he’s the one having a wonderful time in this little encounter. Dukat is enraged, clawing at Garak like he has something to prove. Like Garak's suffering can somehow return the Bajoran occupation to it's former glory.
But even away from Tain and the Obsidian Order, Garak still reaps the benefits. It didn't hurt when the others tried to harm him, and it doesn't hurt when Dukat chokes him until Garak's eyes roll up and he sees spots.
The shame dwindles with every encounter as Garak observes these proud, proud Cardassians lower themselves in an ever growing attempt to snatch at stability. To foolishly remind themselves they were powerful men.
Garak knows powerful men. The Cardassians stationed at Terok Nor are no such thing. Tain would have culled them long ago if they had ever so much as touched Central Command, let alone the Obsidian Order.
Dukat finishes inside of Garak and promptly drops him to the ground. Garak looks up at Dukat in a drugged daze. Dukat’s more furious than when he had entered.
Garak smiles.
Dukat's boot meets Garak's jaw. Garak hits the ground and his body vibrates in bliss.
“Worthless fucking dog,” Dukat spits with more vile than Garak has ever heard come from the Gul.
He leaves the store like all the others did, suddenly, as if such a thing hadn't occurred.
Garak slowly staggers to standing position. He winces at the sensation of his painfully hard cock and Dukat's cum trailing down his thighs. He wants nothing more to chase his own relief, but he's got business hours and he's behind on rent. He slowly pulls up his pants and cleans up his shop. Dukat had been quite considerate to find a corner that properly hid Dukat's shame from outsiders. There's no one.
Garak returns to his fabrics. His arousal fades and the implant slowly shuts off as it always does. The familiar dull ache returns.
He looks up a second time to see Quark standing in the doorway.
Garak arches a browridge at the Ferengi. “Can I get you something, Quark?”
Quark looks at Garak with an inscrutable expression. “I saw Dukat leave here.”
“That he did, he was interested in my wares, but nothing was quite to his taste,” Garak said.
Quark continues to stand in the doorway. He doesn't believe Garak, but has not landed on the truth either.
Garak lightly touches his jaw and feels the stinging sensation of a darkening bruise. He smiles at Quark as pleasantly as he can muster.
Still Quark frowns. He looks around the shop, as if trying to find a damning piece of evidence. Quite a strange look on such a greedy man.
“Odo's a bastard but he could--” Quark starts, and then quite suddenly stops.
“Could what?” Garak asks.
Quark rocks back and forth slightly on his heels. “Never mind.”
The Ferengi turns and leaves without another word. Garak bids him goodbye with a nod that he can't see.
And just like the others, both of them pretend such an encounter never happened. After all, there's nothing to discuss.