Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The roar of the Klingon General shook the walls. Julian was dimly aware of the looming beast pulling his attackers off of him. Reptilian claws cut through soft, human skin, as the Cardassian prisoners tried to hold onto their prize. Martok was like a wild Targ goaded with picks – an unstoppable onslaught of violence. The Human, no longer held up forcibly, fell to the floor in a bleeding heap. He was too dazed by the repeated blows to his head, and the short blackout from being choked, to do anything more than angling his face somewhat to try to see what was going on.

“P’tachs! Honourless scum!”

The growled words reached Julian’s fuzzy mind through the fog. He could hear the sound of retreating footsteps. Of meaty fists falling over and over, striking flesh, crushing bone. The dark, shadowy outline of the ring champion loomed over a supine blur or scales and claws. Blood sprayed from each mighty blow of Klingon fist. It was like a scene from a nightmare. A beast from folklore battling with a monster from deep time…

Julian’s ass was cold, he noted dully, and his intimate bits were being painfully squashed against the floor where he lay prone and exposed. Every gurgling breath hurt, more than one rib likely being broken. His eyes was starting to swell shut, further restricting his view.

Martok rose, then. Looming over him. Blotting out the light, panting hard, and up to his elbows with cardassian blood. The shape at his feet was still. For a moment he simply stood there, blood dropping from his knuckles to the floor, catching his breath and vibrating with rage. He looked like some ancient god, Julian’s slipping mind supplied, as he felt reality retreating away from his grasp.

…he was being carried…

Noises. Infirmary bleeps and boops, was he supposed to be on shift? No, that’s… that’s a Vorta, and he can’t move from the biobed.

“…need him for the blood samples still. Fix him up.”

A hypo-spray to his neck.

Black.

-

The characteristic itch of newly regenerated skin woke Julian up. His hips and shoulders were stiff, as if he had been laying down on a hard surface for a long time, and his stomach was protesting wildly. Hungry. He was so hungry. And thirsty. And he needed to pee, badly. What on Earth had happened?

He swung his legs over the side of the cot, feeling a bit lightheaded, and took in his surroundings. A cramped cell. The Breen sitting quietly on watch in the corner, looming silently like a piece of uncanny furniture. The faint noises of Tain in the wall. The muffled cheering traveling all the way over from the fighting ring.

Still at camp 371, then.

His head hurt, pounded like he was coming off crude sedation without a wake-up drug-cocktail to ease the transition to consciousness. Given the itchiness of his new skin, nerve endings wiring back together, that was even a likely scenario. His head was still not entirely clear, the leftovers of whatever hypo he was given swimming around in his bloodstream. What had happened? No matter, first thing’s first – he desperately needed to empty his bladder.

Taking a shaky step outside the cell, Kalenna suddenly appeared from the shadows and put a stopping hand on his shoulder.

“Martok said to keep you here until he returns.” She grumbled, seeming displeased.

The Romulan always seemed displeased though, so Julian paid her sour expression no mind. What bothered him was her grip, forcibly stopping him in his tracks.

“I need to piss.” He grunted, voice hoarse and dry.

He also needed to drink. And eat. Kalenna fell into a particularly lemony frown, but her grip relented.

“I’ll escort you, then.”

Whatever. Julian was not about to fight her on it, as long as he could get to the waste reclamation facilities. Or, the shitter, as it was colloquially known. It was a bit odd to relieve himself with a grumpy Tal’Shiar bodyguard looming behind his back, but Julian just could not be bothered right then. Deed done, his thirst jumped to the forefront of the queue if needs.

“We have water and rations in the cell?”

He asked Kalenna as they headed back to their little sphere of relative sanctuary.The Jem’Hadar on guard let them pass without taking any interest. His companion grunted in affirmation to his question, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

When Martok returned with the other Rolmulan in tow, Julian had eaten a chewy ration bar and slurped down what felt like several litres of stale water. He was laying down on his cot for want of anything else to do. And besides, he was feeling oddly fatigued, no matter having apparently slept for a day and change, according to Kalenna.

“Good, you’re awake! All in one piece, I hope?”

Julian stood up. The world swayed a little, and he hurried over to the General, who was bleeding from a cut to his face.

“I’m well, but you should sit down! Let me have a look at you, please.”

The Klingon waved at him dismissively, to no one’s surprise, but did indeed take a seat at his cot and let Julian prod at his injuries. There was nothing to be done about Martok's bruises and scrapes, and as long as his ribs weren’t splintering into one of his many Klingon lungs Julian was happy. The cut on the face was looking pretty nasty, though.

“Oh, it’s nothing! Just a healthy scrape from a good fight, Doctor!”

Julian didn’t bother pointing out that strikes to the head were always dangerous, as he had tried and failed arguing about that with Martok many times before. He knew he would just be risking the Klingon revoking his consent to be examined if he insisted, so instead he surreptitiously checked the man’s pupillary responses. He seemed to be okay, under the circumstances. To distract him, Julian started talking about something other than the months Martok shaved off his lifespan every time he stepped into the ring.

“So what happened then…before? I seem to have a bit of a gap in my memory.”

The Klingon’s face darkened at that.

“They almost got you this time, the honourless Spoonheads! Eh, no offence.”

The last utterance he addressed towards the dark corner where Tain was now resting, after his latest stint in the wall. The Cardassian smiled joylessly, a reptilian kind of smile.

“None taken, I assure you.”

Julian went to get a rag and the clean-water bottle, to rinse out the cut on Martok’s forehead.

“Hm. From what I do remember, my thanks are in order. You saved my life, General. Again. I owe you a great debt.”

“Pah! Nonsense. The way they have been going after you is shameful. I will never understand the drive to take another against their will – it is the height of dishonourable conduct, truly loathsome behaviour!”

Dabbing water on his wound, Julian grunted in agreement. He was going to leave the topic, when Tain piped up.

“I keep telling you, Doctor; you need to either stop fighting and submit to the inevitable, or let yourself be claimed by someone powerful enough to protect you. You are far too pretty and vulnerable to leave alone. Without natural alliances, being a lone Federaji and without even species mates to gang up with, you’re irresistible prey. If I’d been twenty years younger, I would have offered…” Julian could hear the lecherous smile. “…that not being the case, I still suggest the General as the obvious choice of master.”

Julian almost fell back as the Klingon he was tending stood up abruptly, pointing furiously at the Cardassian spy master who was, unfortunately, their only hope of escape.

“You shut your lizard mouth! I would never violate the Doctor, no matter how many times you call it a strategic move. Stop suggesting it, Tain! The Human has made his disinterest in being my kept man clear, and no one will be pressing the issue. Am I making myself understood?!”

He was rather magnificent in his fury, eye alight and dark hair haloing his expressive face. Julian was not a short man, but the Klingon made him feel dainty in comparison. Something in him hurt at being defended so fiercely. It was like his stubborn refusal to surrender his body was not a naïve delusion meant to be broken by harsh reality. Like Julian was right to consider his body his own. Martok was a good man.

“I agree with Tain.”

All heads turned to the speaker. It was Kalenna. The Romulan had never weighed in on this well-trodden topic before, so even the General fell quiet in surprise.

“The situation is getting untenable, and we can’t afford to lose our doctor because we can’t afford to lose Tain. Doctor Bashir, you say you don’t remember, so let me inform you: you very nearly died yesterday. If the Vorta hadn’t arbitrarily decided to heal you for their own reasons, you would not be standing here now – General Martok’s efforts notwithstanding.”

The Tal’Shiar agent’s eyes pinned Julian in place, urgent and inescapable. Raising a hand to shut said General up before he could protest, she continued.

“You are indeed too physically appealing and too unprotected to go unclaimed. One gang or the other will get you eventually, it’s only a matter of time. When they do, they will rape you to death, unless for some reason stopped by our captors. You’ve fought back too hard for too long. Breaking you has now become a matter of pride and principle. The General can offer you the best protection, that is simply a fact.”

Her tone was more insistent than Julian had ever heard from her, as she usually sported a sneering but otherwise flat affect.

“You should let Martok claim you.”

Having said her piece, Kalenna nodded curtly and left the cell. Julian felt faint in the knees. Dizzy but not dizzy. Punched in the gut.

There were few rules in camp 371, and fewer things to do still. The Jem’Hadar trained in the fight ring. The Vorta singled some particular prisoners of interest out now and then for their own nebulous ends. And that was about it. There was nowhere to run, nothing to do, and the guards only cared about the prisoners not turning on their jailors. What they did to each other couldn’t bother them less.

Tain had been an unquestioned authority in his day, but that day was solidly over now. His strongest allies had all died in the failed attack on the Founder’s home world, and the fact of that failure had weakened his position further. Oh, he was not about to be assassinated in the night – his legend loomed too large for that– but he was not a player in the politics of the camp.

There were a few gang leaders who duked it out for top-dog position every now and then. A younger Obsidian Order agent by the name of Kamat currently held the most sway, and the biggest posse, amongst the cardassian contingent. He had several challengers, however, and the balance of power could shift swiftly. Kamat was perhaps not the shrewdest man in comparison to his peers, but he was an unrivalled pit-fighter. In the closed world of 371, might made right. As only Martok himself had realistically good odds against the Cardassian hand-to-hand prodigy, Kamat was currently king of the hill.

One Lanak P’Rim seemed to be in charge of most of what was left of the Tal’Shiar, but who could really tell with them? Her presumed position of power had been a constant throughout Julian’s stay, though, and she never seemed to be openly challenged by any of the other Romulans.

Tensions ran high. All the under-stimulated intelligence agents and military types had few outlets for their frustrations, fewer opportunities to exert their own power, and still fewer sources of pleasure. Pretty, fuckable people were a very hot commodity in camp 371. A whole gang-war had been fought over a particularly beautiful young Cardassian woman a year back, apparently, and raids for other gang-leaders kept bed-warmers were a common source of inter-prisoner violence.

What all attractive people did was either finding shelter with a crew of peer. Or, if they were particularly desirable, getting claimed personally by one of the local big-dogs. Gul Falan had three bed-warmers that seemingly were always busy in his lap. Glinn Ern had four, the four very youngest inhabitants of camp 371. Not children, but near enough. It hurt to think about, so Julian tried not to. Kamat himself had six. Three Cardassian women, two dashing Romulan men, unusually - the species’ tended to group together and protect their own, and one beautiful young Cardassian whose gender Julian didn’t know.

Julian himself had been marked as prey the moment he arrived. There were no other humans at the camp, and not even any other Starfleeters to take refuge with. If he hadn’t recognised Tain on pure fluke and hid in his shadow almost immediately, the doctor had no illusions about what his fate would have already been. He was also rather desirable by both Romulan and Cardassian standards, which had never been anything but pleasant for him in the past but was close to a death-sentence here.

Kalenna might be right. The first time someone had jumped him, Julian had fought with the fullness of his augmented strength and reflexes to escape. It had been a close thing, but he had managed to run away unmolested. The Cardassian assailant had been too embarrassed about his defeat to spread the word… but once enough ‘superior’ reptilians had been bested by the scrawny piece of Starfleet ass, he had attracted far too much notice from the entirely wrong people. It indeed seemed to have become something of a contest between bosses, trying to become the one to finally bring the feisty Human to heel.

This had been the second time a group-attack on the camp’s lone Human had almost succeeded. The first had been interrupted by Jem’Hadar, who hadn’t liked the way the prowling Cardassians had moved through the space - coordinated like a battle unit. The offenders got locked in solitary for a week and then sent back in with explicit orders to not be seen fraternising with the others again. The second time… well. Martok was a good friend. A good man.

Julian looked to his battle-tempered comrade, now seated back at his cot. He didn’t know how long he had stood there frozen in place, considering the truth-value of Kalena’s unsavoury argument. The Klingon was rather handsome, in a ruggedly masculine way. Julian could do much worse.

Was he really considering this?

...Was considering this proof that he had let this place break him?

No. No, Julian didn’t think it was. He wasn’t giving up, giving in. Tain was working on a way out. Julian was working on a way to keep Tain alive. If he decided to consider a… new type of alliance with General Martok, should the man be willing, then that was not the same as defeat. It was strategy.

The game had changed. The attempts on his body had grown exponentially more dangerous lately, and evermore likely to eventually succeed. Julian must change his tactics in response. Augmented strength and pure, adrenaline-fuelled desperation could see him fight off one determined Cardassian at the time, most of the time. Not two. Certainly not a coordinated unit. Even just one could get lucky, catch him unaware.

Julian walked over to the Klingon, sat down next to him. If he was going to proposition the man after the forceful defence of his honour he had just voiced, Julian would have to do it immediately. Before his nerve ran out, before he forgot how close he had really gotten this time to a horrifically painful demise. Julian cleared his throat.

“General, you have been a true friend to me from the very beginning.”

The man clapped his warm hand on Julian’s back.

“And you to me! I had never expected someone so small to fight so ferociously, but you have earned my respect, Doctor. I’m happy to call you my comrade!”

Julian bit his lip.

“Right. So, eh... thank you.”

“No need to thank me, I’m simply stating a fact.”

He could not do this with Tain in the room, looking at him with interest. Staring at him with a kind of smug curiosity that reminded Julian eerily of Ga-

“Could you come with me to the shitter, General? I need to empty my bladder, but as Kalenna has made clear; I should probably not leave this cell unattended.”

“But of course, Doctor! I need to take a shit myself as well, as luck would have it.”

Oh, such luck indeed. When exactly had Julian become comfortable discussing his bowel movements with the Klingon? Probably around the first time Martok had saved Julian with his pants down and a scaly hand on his throat. It was hard to keep up the barriers with someone who had seen his ass like that, he supposed.

On the way back from the facilities, such as they were, Julian pulled them into a relatively private nook. The Jem’Hadar patrolling on guard above could see them of course, but another prisoner would have to go out of their way to catch them here.

“Doctor? Did you spy an enemy ambush?”

Martok grumbled in what probably passed for a Klingon whisper.

“No, nothing like that. At ease, General. I just… I need a word with you in private.”

The Klingon rose a bushy eyebrow.

“Oh? Whatever can’t you say in our cell, then?”

Julian looked down, bit his lip. This was awkward. Martok had made his disinterest in keeping the Human as his own clear, on numerous occasions. Julian had always been so incredibly grateful for that. Asking Martok now…asking him now to claim him still felt like defeat and not tactics.

Besides, would the General even want to? Wasn’t it extremely presumptuous to assume… no, no spiralling. They didn’t have time for Julian’s spiralling.

“I was wondering if Kalenna isn’t right. If the best way forward might be for you to… officially claim me. You’re the ring champion. Between Tain’s reputation and yours, I should be able to move more freely. At least for a while, and hopefully a while is all we need before Tain gets the message out.”

The furrows on his mighty brow deepened, and Martok’s eye grew dark in displeasure.

“You too? I will not take you against your will, Doctor. I thought YOU of all people understood that.”

Julian looked up then, projecting a certainty he didn’t feel.

“It wouldn’t be against my will, though! I’m asking you. I…I want you to. If, that is, if you might be amenable. As a friend, helping a friend?”

The darkness in Martok’s gaze dissipated, was replaced with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

“Like comrades on the battlefield, you mean?”

Julian shrugged. Then he remembered Martok was very much married. Hopefully Julian was not suggesting the man bring dishonour upon his House by his suggestion. He could not afford to lose Martok's favour.

“I guess? Would that, eh, be okay with you? I mean with your wife and all?”

Now the Klingon looked confused.

“Whyever would my most honoured Lady Sirella have a problem with my battlefield couplings? You are barren – I can sire no bastards on you! …Right?”

Julian blinked, taken somewhat aback.

“Eh, right. No, I don’t have the anatomy for gestation, you’ve got that correct.”

“Right! That’s what I thought.”

Martok scratched the back of his head, rustling his mighty mane.

“It’s not my marital fidelity that has me opposed to a public claiming, my friend. It is the inherent violence of the act! I have no interest in subjugating someone of inferior strength, taking with force one who cannot take me back in equal measure. That goes against the very core of lovemaking – the amorous battle between equals!”

His gaze turned apologetic, a hand clasping the slender, Human shoulder.

“You are a fierce little fighter, Doctor, but you are not my equal in power. Taking you without regard for your physical inferiority would be a most dishonourable coupling under any conditions... but the symbolic meaning of the act in our current circumstances? Well, I find it appalling.”

Julian slumped, embarrassment burning in his cheeks. He agreed. He agreed wholeheartedly. The public claiming of a bedmate was appalling. Forceful, often violent, demonstrative rapes, in the fighting ring to maximum audience. A declaration of ownership. He didn’t want to suffer through it. But he needed the protection that would be afforded to him by being known to be Martok’s. Desperately.

“I don’t disagree, my friend. And yet I ask you. Please. Claim me. I can’t survive without the protection any longer, and it was naïve of me to ever believe that I could.”

He couldn’t meet the Klingon’s eye. But he must. Forcing himself to turn his face up, Julian saw conflict on Martok’s face. The General seemed to think deeply. He sounded a little defeated when he finally said:

“Are you quite sure? You are asking me to harm you, agreement between friends or not. I don’t wish to damage you, doctor. Are you really certain about what you are requesting of me?”

He absolutely wasn’t. But there simply was no better alternative. Julian nodded resolutely. Projected all the certainty he could muster.

“Yes, General. I understand what I am asking you to do, and I understand that it will hurt me. I accept this, fully. If you agree to it… I can only thank you, and give to you my life in debt once again.”

Martok contemplated this a moment, then he nodded resolutely. And thus the deal was struck. They stood still a moment, letting the the enormity of their agreement sink in. Then Martok's face turned from discomfort to a mischievous grin.

“Well, since that’s settled, there’s nothing to be gained from fretting about it! Instead... I will admit to being quite intrigued with the notion of a... practice round or two in private, before we take the show on the road. This dead-end seem as private as anywhere, no?”

Julian’s brain short-circuited momentarily. Then he saw the rowdy twinkle in the General’s eye and finally caught up to the moment.

Martok was propositioning him. Right here. Right now.

What the hell, that took a bloody turn! The Human flushed and felt a tingle going up his spine. Okay. Alright. This was good! This was not rejection, nor was it a duel for challenging Martok’s honour or something. It was quite the opposite.

The gaze Julian felt raking over his body was heated and… oh, he wasn’t completely numb inside after all. Martok squeezed Julian’s shoulder and the Human took a step closer in. The big Klingon served as something of a wall towards the exit, caging Julian in with his body. Providing some illusory shelter. Martok pulled him close, inhaling at the top of his head, stroking his large, strong hands down Julian’s body, landing cheekily on his ass. Giving it a firm squeeze. He murmured in Julian’s ear, in that rumbly Klingon whisper:

“As distasteful as the thought of hurting you is, I will admit to being pleased that you decided to come to me. I found you an exotic kind of beauty from the very start. You are such a fine-boned, delicate little thing... yet deceptively strong and spirited! The thought of having you for a willing coupling is quite exciting. It would not be like the wholesome trysting with another Klingon of course… but I wonder if what I heard of Human promiscuity has any merit?”

Oh shit. Julian felt a surge of excitement rush downstairs. The thought of Martok actually desiring him but never letting on was an unbearable turn on, mild xenophobia aside. Julian had had his will disregarded by lecherous would-be-rapists for weeks. But here was a friend who had not once let his own desires show, but instead had prioritised Julian’s comfort and safety? Fuck, he should have come on to Martok way earlier!

Garak…

No, not now. Force Majeure. He and Garak were probably broken up after that terrible row anyway, and who knew what the changeling was up to in Julian’s absence…

No, not that either.

Martok. Martok was right here, he was big and strong, and he wanted Julian. And dammit if Julian didn’t want him back right now. He put a hand on the General’s stomach, slid it slowly downward – keeping eye contact to look for any hint of hesitation on the Kingon’s part. He saw only fire.

Julian’s hand landed on the straining fabric at the crotch, dual dicks swelling to attention. He gave the bulge a few strokes, then took his hand away. Put it on Martok's cheek. He wanted…something. Something gentle in this harsh and ugly place.

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of responding, Martok lifted him up to face-hight by the grip on Julian’s ass, prompting the Human to wrap his legs around the General’s midriff. Julian grabbed hold of Martok’s face and went in for the kiss, rather more forcefully than he had intended. It still felt good. Felt different from the way bosses used their bed-warmers for their various holes and services. Felt like hooking up with a hot guy because he’s hot, and you both want to.

The Klingon turned around, pushing Julian’s back up against the wall. He kissed like Klingons are wont, deeply and harshly – a playful battle. But not domination. Not taking; push-and-pull.

He started to grind up against Julian’s ass, and the doctor could feel himself growing harder in his pants as well. He had never been with a male Klingon before, and feeling the sheer size of the man rutting up against him was exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.

They had no access to lubrication. When Martok takes him in the ring later, Julian will tare so very badly... but there was nothing to be done about it. Best not dwell. Best concentrate on the way he was getting ravaged against a wall by a dashing man and feeling horny for the first time since arriving in this godforsaken prison. He let go with his legs, let himself slide down the Klingon’s body. When his feet were firmly on the ground, he kept sliding downwards, bending his knees.

The General took half a step back, giving Julian space to kneel, and started to undo the fastening on his pants. The ground was hard and cold, but Julian was pounding with pulsing heat. Soon Martok had freed himself, and Julian looked at the twin phalluses with trepidation and hunger. Throwing a glance upwards, he licked his lips.

“Could you let me just… let me do the work? I know Klingon sex is usually a very active affair on both ends, but I need… I need to get to be in control of this. This once, at least. Is that, eh, is that okay?”

He had not anticipated the laughter at this request. It was rumbling and loud and boisterous. Martok seemed delighted, though - not like he though Julian was ridiculous.

“There’s that spirit I spoke of! Our very first coupling, and he asks me gently to not fight back but simply admit defeat? Give you control? The absolute cheek of you! Very well, you have beguiled me, Doctor – I shall refrain from proper and wholesome conduct and allow myself to walk the path of depravity with you. Do with me as you wish, my Human friend!”

That was all the prompting Julian needed. Klingon cocks were large by Human standards, but not outside of the possible Human range. Julian judged that he could fit the girth of the top one inside his mouth without getting his teeth too much involved. Jerking with his hand on the lower, thicker but shorter appendage, he set his lips to work. Klingon sweat was funky, and Julian would have preferred to do this after a shower, but fuck it. The heavy warmth in his mouth was like a delicious treat after subsisting for so long on dry rations and harsh words. A throbbing proof of the desire Julian could inspire, but freely given and not violently forced upon him.

Martok rumbled deep in his chest, fisting Julian’s hair. But he didn’t exert force on his head, letting Julian steer, like promised. The doctor dove onto his task, bobbing his head, getting the still hardening cock wet with spittle. Exploring the mouthfeel of the to-him-alien ridges, pushing further down with each bob. Coming up for air, he put his other hand to the wet dick – jerking the two cocks in tandem as he panted. Then he went back in, relaxing his throat and starting to push down as far as he could go.

For a moment there was no camp. There was no impending pain, no Jem’Hadar watching with disinterest. No danger lurking behind every corner. Not even thought, breath, or choice. There was just cock, throat, and the pleasurable giving of pleasure. The vibrations of the Klingon’s moans travelled all the way to Julian’s teeth, making him buzz and pick up the pace. Ignoring his gag-reflex, the Human pushed himself harder and further down. Savouring the dull ache in his stretching pharynx, the gurgling noises from his throat as he pulled off to take a breath. Jerking mindlessly with his hand, he pushed his face in one smooth go all the way. As his nose hit the General’s pubic bush, the need to wretch suddenly could not be ignored.

Pushing away violently, strands of human hair ended up between Martok’s fingers. Julian hurled to the side, as far away as he could muster. Thankfully, his stomach was almost empty, as he hadn’t eaten much since his partial reconstruction in the Vorta Infirmary. Spitting what was left of partially digested ration bar out of his mouth, Julian refused to let this embarrass or stop him.

So he gaged, it happens. Whatever. There were cocks left to suck, and Julian wanted to suck them.

He was more careful going back in, however. Licked long, firm stripes from base to tip, suckling only as far down the shaft as he could comfortably go. Soon he felt the massive hand back on his nape, sharp, claw-like nails digging into his scalp. Still not forcing, not using him like a hole.

Forming a tight ‘o’ with his lips, Julian set to bobbing his head at a rapid pace, milking with intention and drive. It was not long until Martok couldn’t help but buck a bit, growling loudly. Julian was relentless, jerking the top cock with his mouth like his life depended on it. In a sense, it did.

Klingon semen tasted bitter but not bad. Kinda like grape juice, only not at all like that. The General roared as he came, and his second cock sprung to life almost immediately upon his first release. The lower phallus had been partially erect all along, but now it poked Julian in the chin as the Human tried to swallow all that had been given to him without dribbling all over himself.

Without delay, Julian descended on his new task. The lower cock was too thick to even attempt swallowing down his throat, but Martok didn’t seem to mind the firm licks and tongue teasing around the upper ridges. His hands fell hard on Julian’s shoulders, sharp nails digging into soft human flesh.

“You try me, Doctor! I had not considered the mighty contest of battening myself in the throes of passion! Truly, you are a devious sort. I am very pleased that you decided to turn your considerable charms on me.”

Julian almost laughed at that, and it was a heady thing! Something warm and pleasant and not at all like kneeling on the floor of a prison, sucking off a man as an audition to become his bitch. Martok kept talking.

“You cannot not defeat me, but in allying yourself with me against my own self you have rallied a Klingon warrior’s power to your side. You may have the soft hands of a healer, Doctor, but you possess the cunning of a military strategist. Marvelous! Now, you can go a fair bit harder – that one is less sensitive and I am soon there.”

Taking the direction, Julian put his hand to the base of the shaft and started jerking very firmly, keeping only the tip in his mouth and applying strong suction. The rumbling in Martok’s chest was so low it felt like sitting next to a loudspeaker blasting base, vibrating the air, through flesh, tremors in the very bones. Aborted little twitches and thrusts told Julian he was getting close, and so he kept a steady pace. Rapid but possible to keep up for several minutes if he had to.

He did not have to. This time he got some spend down the wrong pipe however, and instead of swallowing cleanly, Julian coughed drool and cum down his chin and throat. It stung in his airways, and his eyes were running over with fluid. He was not crying, his orifices were just protecting themselves, trying to rinse out the intruding substance. He could have done without the unfortunate inhalation, but the achy ‘used’-feeling of his throat was remarkably pleasant. The tiredness in his jaw reminded Julian of his academy days, of simple dormitory-party fun and the brimming potential of the beckoning future.

“Aaarrgh! Thank you, my friend! That was a most invigorating experience! I would not wish it every time I take a tumble, but I am not opposed to trying something like it again sometime! Now, up with you… are you alright there? The water from your eyes indicates emotional distress in Humans, yes?”

Julian accepted the offered hand, shakily coming to his feet. He wiped his disgusting chin with his sleeve, trying to feel a little bit less than what he was – Martok’s newly minted prison wife. He coughed and cleared his voice.

“I’m okay, General. I’m not crying from distress, the tears are a purely physiological response to certain stimuli in this case. Thank you for checking, though.”

Martok clapped him on the shoulder so hard that Julian almost fell to his knees again.

“Good! That’s good. I’d offer to mount you now, as practice, but you look to be rather worn and I would not expect you to have the endurance of a Klingon. Let us go recuperate and inform the others of our tactical decision.”

Julian was only too happy to hold onto the General’s arm as they made their way back to the cell. He was feeling faint. It was hardly surprising, what with his having recently gone through a massive physical trauma and recovery just the other day. Hurling up the only sustenance in his system was not making things better either. Stepping into the cell, they were in something like privacy. Tain was in the wall, and the Romulan’s were off skulking somewhere. The Breen might as well be a statue.

Suddenly, Julian was just tired. Making it to his cot, he laid down and wished he had a blanket. He felt cold, and empty, and weak. To his surprise, Martok crouched at his face, catching his gaze. The Klingon looked uncharacteristically uncertain.

“Are you sure you’re quite alright, Doctor? You seem cowed and subdued – not at all what I would have expected a Human who had just conquered a Klingon warrior, using his wits, would act. Can I… do something, for you?”

Julian started ty cry softly, then. The care was so unexpected, so deeply needed, that he could do nothing but weep. His quiet sobs were obviously alarming the Klingon who made to leave, thinking perhaps that his presence was disturbing the strange alien, but Julian reached out his hand to the General’s face.

“Could you maybe hold me? Like, huddle with me for warmth? I… I would be most grateful if you would get on the cot with me and rest for a while. Would you?”

The General looked relieved to be given such a straightforward request. Face relaxing back into his stubborn joviality – despite it all – he clapped Julian on the shoulder and smiled toothily.

“That I can do! But if you’re cold, we better head to my cot – I have a blanket, and it’s further from the draught.”

And without being prompted or asking, the man scooped Julian up in his arms, bridal-style, and walked over to his bed. Julian tried not to think of the implications of the visual. Tried to simply relax and be held. He was deposited gently on his back, and then Martok pulled the threadbare blanket over his thinning frame. A moment later, the Klingon climbed under the paltry cover himself, stretching out his arms and letting Julian hide his face in this chest. It was a narrow cot. That was why they were so close...

Martok’s arms became a warm, protective cave for Julian to rest in. The heat radiating off his virile body seeped into the smaller man, relaxing something at his core.

He woke to Tain’s derisive sneer, some indeterminate time later.

“Finally! You better make your claim official sooner rather than later though, General. He stinks like a Qo’noSian whore to every Cardassian with a functioning vomeronasal organ. If you don’t make it clear that the good doctor off limits to them, my countrymen will all assume it’s open season on Human.”

When Kalenna returned and heard of the new development, she gave Julian an approving nod for once.

“Do you require anything to make the claiming more manageable? I have acquired a great deal of leverage and connections – I might be able to procure something. Lubrication, comes to mind.”

Julian stared at her in disbelief. The offer was like a godsend, but why?

“Thank you. A lubricant would make all the difference in the world, yes. Why...?”

The Tal’Shiar agent cuts him off curtly.

“Because I’m two moves away from acquiring some medical equipment, but it won’t do us any good if you are not around to operate them, Doctor. If you expire due to rough mating, you are of no use to anyone.”

Julian swallowed.

“Right. Of course.”

Kalenna nodded, sharp like a razor, and set out on her mission.
 

When she returned, many hours later, Julian was about to curl up with Martok again for sleep – there really was no reason to be cold when he didn’t have to be. She came straight to him and handed him a small vial of some sort of oil. Julian didn’t ask what is was, didn’t even care if it was body-safe for Humans. He just looked her straight in the eyes and thanked her with all the sincerity he could muster. Another curt nod from the Romulan, and the matter was concluded.

-

When Julian woke the next morning he didn’t remember, for just a moment, where he was. He was warm, for one, and quite comfortable. Solid arms were bracketing him, one pillowing his head, and the steady breath at his nape was like calming ocean sounds. What would Garak want for breakfast?

Only no. This wasn’t Garak. And there would be no breakfast. Ice dropped into Julan’s stomach as full wakefulness slapped him in the face with realisation: He was not going to have breakfast just as he hadn’t had anything since he’d emptied his system by retching the day before.

They had agreed, when discussing the particulars, that whatever indignity Julian could be spared, he ought to be. Soiling himself due to an inability to close properly was one of the few things that where within their power to prevent. Julian’s digestive system was clean and empty for now, due to his recent medical reconstruction work. The timing was good. The tactics said don’t delay. The claiming would happen today.

Time passed in a blur. Dread gnawed at Julian’s guts, and the lack of energy was making him sluggish. Cold in his hands and feet. The hunger he could dial down - probably an Augment thing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of his need to eat, but he could turn off the alarm-bells demanding he gave the hunger his attention.

Moving didn’t make him feel dizzy as such, but it was as if his vision was lagging behind his other senses a bit. If he moved his head too quickly, he had to brace himself and wait for the “camera view” to slide into place in the new perspective, wait for the motion blur to clear.

Martok had only fought one bout yesterday and had barely sustained any injuries. He would definitely be called to fight again today, and when he was victorious…Best not to dwell.

They had discussed the scene they would enact, the narrative that would be the most strategic to present to the camp. Neither Human nor Klingon were particularly happy with how they would come off, but both agreed that their chance of escape was worth a hit to their respective prides in the name of subterfuge.

When the Jem’Hadar finally came to fetch Martok, he exchanged glances with Julian. The doctor nodded grimly, and that was that. There would be no more communication away from the gazes of the crowd.

The Romulan denizens stood sentry outside their cell, giving Julian a modicum of privacy to prepare as well as acting as bodyguards for the duration. Tain was, as ever, in the wall, calling for Garak.

Garak would come. He would come. Julian just had to survive, just had to keep them all alive, and Garak would come rescue them. He would.

He would.

Taking out the small bottle of mystery-oil, Julian took a deep breath and arranged himself on his old cot. He didn’t want to do this with the smell of musky, earthy Klingon sweat in his nostrils, for some reason. Easing down his pants and getting on all fours, Julian thought of the last time he had done this. He had been straddling Garak at the time, kissing him lazily and slicking up his fingers.

Julian poured some oil into his hand. It had a neutral, foody sort of smell. No reaction to the skin of his palm at least, that boded well.
Garak had been laying with his arms behind his back, just watching and letting Julian do all the work. Enjoying the show. Julian stretched his hand back, behind himself, found his entrance. Back then the lubricant had been a gel, cool and silky. Now his fingers were greasy but not as well coated in slippery substance. Julian had to take his hand away and pour a little pool into his hand, trying his best not to spill everywhere as he once again turned his hand around behind his back and slathered the oil straight onto his puckered hole.

Slick, coated fingers had slid so easily into himself. Julian had moaned out loud, enjoying the way Garak looked like he could eat him alive. How his ridges flushed dark, but he refrained from touching. Instead scenting the air and watching with rapt attention as Julian slowly fucked himself open on his own hand. The oil was much messier and provided a significantly worse glide. Having it at all meant everything, however. Having seen Martok’s cocks up close and personal, Julian was now quite sure he would have been wrecked beyond his ability to heal without Kalennas’ gift.

Pushing a finger into himself he tried to relax. Tried to think of Garak losing his composure and kissing him… the wet sound as he everted… The finger was caught in a tight clench. Julian told himself, willed himself forcibly, to relax. The finger was pulled in deeper as the sphincter did his bidding, letting go of tension. Slowly, methodically, Julian worked himself open. Pushing on the sides, urging his flesh to yield. He once again added more oil, then another finger.

Garak had raked his hands down Julian’s torso. Tweaked his nipples and eaten his gasps right from his mouth in hungry kisses. Julian had started to scissor his fingers, eager, wanting to connect, to take a ride… He scissored his fingers now, but it was too soon. He was simply unable to relax enough, fear haunting the edges of his awareness at all times. Martok was a beast. The beast would take him soon.

Deep, steady breaths. Careful scissoring, more oil. Relax, dammit! He was adding a third finger, thinking about sitting down on Garak’s everted cock, slowly and deliciously filling himself… When three sharp knocks woke him up to the current moment. The signal: “help me get out of the wall.”

Flushing, horrified at his vulnerable state, Julian froze. Then he pulled his hand out of himself, hiked up his pants, and knocked the wall back. "Be right there". A few moments later Tain was out, looking worse for wear.

“Doctor…”

He managed before collapsing, and suddenly his own worries were the furthest thing from Julian’s mind. He had a patient.

In the end there was not much Julian could do without Kalenna’s promised medical equipment. Hopefully she would deliver soon, or all their hopes were truly lost.

No, there was no use in even contemplating that. Garak would come. Bedding down Tain, giving him water and Martok’s blanket for extra warmth was maybe not much, but it did allow Julian to be a doctor for just that while. To not think about his impending –

“Doctor Bashir? It’s time. Come with us.”

The Romulan’s tone said she would suffer no questions, but then, it always did. Julian swallowed. Right. This was happening. It was happening now. Shit.

“Can you give me just another minute?”

He wasn’t prepared. He needed to stretch more, he wasn’t ready. He –

“No. You need to come now.”

Julian felt faint, blood draining from his face. But he set his jaw and walked out of the cell, joining his Romulan escort. There was nothing to be done now but follow the plan. Endure, treat Tain, wait for Garak to come. From behind, the source of all his hopes spoke up, unhelpfully.

“Be sure to put on a good show now, Doctor! Display no sentiment between you - I would hate to lose both you and the General, should Kamat’s crew sense something amiss.”

Then the bastard had the audacity to chuckle, as if the whole situation was the height of comedy. Julian didn’t have time to respond to this in any way though, as he was hurriedly shepherded down the corridor. Towards the fighting ring.

The sounds of raucous cheering and jeering greeted them first. Martok was putting in an effort to make his duel a spectacle, then. That was good. In accordance with the plan. Draw in a crowd, make them actually excited about watching the reigning ring champion do battle for the gazillionth time. Make it interesting and catch their attention. Julian was cold as ice but somehow still drenched in sweat. Could the Cardassian prisoners smell his fear? Coming around the bend, he could see the crowd. See the ring, the fight.

Martok was a vision of brutality. He moved like a man in his prime, as if unbothered by healing ribs and cranky knee joints. Radiant, glowing with the power of honed violence. Julian was awestruck. He felt like he was witnessing some ancient god of the battlefield strike down his foe with the crackling thunderclaps of divine might. Indra, wielding his weapon at Asuras who would challenge him. Thor, throwing his hammer and slaying the giants in their own halls. Then he was reminded that the first Klingon heroes killed their own gods, usurping their power. Looking at Martok fight the Jem’Hadar, he believed it.

When the Founder’s soldier yielded, the General threw his head back and gave a mighty roar. His hands were stained with blood, as were his teeth. The Jem’Hadar First ordered his men to resume guard duties. There would be a break now before another unit came to use the ring for training. This was it. This was showtime.

Julian could not move. A hard push on his back made him stumble forward gracelessly, only just keeping himself from falling to the ground. Martok's back loomed before him. He needed to go to him, to check him for injuries. This was what he usually did. It was the plan. He needed to do it now, before the crowd lost interest and dispersed. He needed to move.

“Doctor!”

Martok called out to the room at large. Julian started as if slapped. The Klingon’s voice carried none of his common cheerful joviality. Nor was it the pure rage Julian had heard on occasion. It sounded... hungry? Whatever else it was, it was loud. Heads turned towards him, conversations – such as they were – fell quiet. The prison population smelled drama, intrigue. This they wanted to see.

Kamat was there with one of his pretty Romulan men clinging to his side and stroking his neck-ridges softly, two scarred and gnarled-looking Glinns on guard just behind him. Julian recognised several faces as belonging to assailants he had narrowly escaped in the past. And there was even Lanak P’Rim, standing to the side, everyone giving her a respectfully wide berth. It was the perfect audience. Fuck. Any last, desperate hopes Julian might have harboured for a Deus-Ex-Machina to intervene – the feeling of being transported and re-materialising to a smiling Garak on a cloaked shuttle, perhaps – choked and died. He swallowed and took the few remaining steps to get inside the ring.

“General! Are you hurt? Can I help you?”

Martok twisted around with the speed of a striking viper. His eye was burning and his smile stopped Julian in his tracks. Australopithecus was a prey animal. Millions of years of evolution were stripped away from Julian’s body, as a primal Fear of the Predator seized his limbs, froze his heart.

“Doctor! Why do you always assume me weak, in need of help from an inferior?!”

Julian is supposed to answer this line, but he couldn’t form words. His sphincter was clenching in terror and anticipation, and his knees were going weak. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t win against Martok! He had to run. Run!

Julian turned to flee, but the Klingon was faster in a sprint than one might expect. The doctor barely made it two steps before he was yanked back violently by his shoulders and thrown to the ground in the middle of the ring.

“I’ve indulged you long enough, Human, because I respect the battle prowess of Starfleet. But you are not your empire, boy, and you may not question my ability as a Klingon warrior! I rule the ring! I think it was time I ruled you too.”

Julian made it to hands and knees during the performative outburst, dazed from hitting his head slightly in the fall. Martok was not pulling his punches – couldn’t, or this wouldn’t work. Fighting his hammering heart, the stinging pain from his scraped hands and knees, Julian pushed himself up and into the character he must play. It would be suspicious if he just gave in after all this time fighting off ‘suitors’.

“What has gotten into you, General?!”

He did not have to fake the desperate undertone to his angry yelp. Julian got into position, fists up in guard. He demonstrably couldn’t flee, so he kept his distance. Guard up, circling. Facing Martok, hearing the interested murmurs from the crowd at his back, the Klingon laughed in a way that was eerily similar to his regular, warm joviality.

“What’s gotten into me?! The desire for conquest, little Human! I should have claimed you long ago, but this place had dulled my appetites too much for me to see. No more! I hunger.”

And with that, he lunged. Julian jumped aside, danced away to avoid the huge man’s grasp. He would be in trouble if he had to try and parry a blow, so he would have to have to keep his distance and hope for an opening once Martok tired. He wouldn’t tire, and Julian would be caught, but that knowledge was far from the doctor’s mind as the adrenaline surged and he fought for his life. Martok once again lunged, and Julian again spun away, kicking his assailant in the tibia. The force of it would have brought a Cardassian to his knees momentarily, giving Julian his opening to escape. Martok just laughed, seeming almost delighted.

“The baby Targ has tusks! That’s it, Doctor! Show me what you’ve got – it shall make my victory the sweeter when I take you!”

The crowd was cheering now, any disappointment at not being the one to bring the uppity Human down drowned by the general excitement of seeing it finally happen. It wasn’t that Julian was so very special, really. It was more that he was upsetting the balance of things as long as he remained unclaimed and roaming free. It might give people ideas, and an unclaimed prize was always a source of conflict. The Jem’Hadar or Vorta would not save Julian now – his being brought to heel would only be good for camp stability.

“Surely we can talk about this, General?!”

Julian did his best to stay in character. If this hadn’t in fact been pre-negotiated, a Starfleet officer would try to use diplomacy until the very end. It was expected of him.

“No more yapping!”

The Klingon growled, and then Julian was nearly caught. Martok's almost-claws cut up his uniform as Julian used every ounce of power to tear himself out of that terrifying grasp. He hit the General in the face with his elbow, probably hurting himself as much as Martok, and then scuffled off to the far ride of the ring. Loosing his footing, Julian felt a strong hand grab his ankle, and then he was violently yanked backwards. He only just managed to break his fall with his hands rather than his face, but he knew it was over.

Martok roared, straddling Julians kicking legs and gathering his arms behind his back with painful efficiency. One massive, Klingon fist holding a vice grip around both of Julian’s wrists and pushing them tight against his mid-back, Martok rose his other fist in the air and declared to the gathered:

“I claim this one! From this day on, he is mine. Anyone who tries to take him from me will face my wrath and die screaming! Spread the word: the Human is officially claimed!”

The cheer of the crowd was deafening but felt distant to Julian bucking impotently under Martok’s iron hold. This was it. He didn’t want to be here, nothing could be worth this, he wanted it to stop! But there was no stopping it. He had gotten his friend to promise not to stop until the claim was carried through, no matter his own protests. The General had been uncomfortable but given him his solemn word as a warrior and a man.

Julian had felt grateful for him then. For his friendship, his willingness to go through with something so distasteful purely for Julian’s benefit. He wished now that he hadn’t demanded that oath.

“Please, Martok, you don’t have to do this! Stop it! You can stop it, don’t do this to me, please!!”

Julian could hear his voice cracking from fear, and several pitiless laughs rose from the crowd. Martok ignored his pleas, roughly pulling the lining of Julian’s pants down his thighs, exposing his underwear.

“Please, no! Pleeeease!!”

Julian felt his cry catch on a sob. As his boxers were yanked out of the way, the sound of fabric tearing for sharp, hard nails, the Human felt very small and horrifically vulnerable. He started to cry, shaking, bucking more and more lamely against the heavy pin he was held in.

“This will be easier for you if you can relax, Doctor.”

The nightmare-monster at his back murmured with a dangerous amount of audible concern. Then he cleared his throat and added, more loudly: “It will be more fun for me if you keep struggling though! I like some fight in my mates!”

A roar from the crowd. Julian noted that he seemed to be starting to disassociate, because the sound of the onlookers was quite distant. That was probably to be expected. This was objectively a pretty traumatic event, his consent to it notwithstanding. As a doctor he was well aware that Human minds tend to try to protect themselves from situations, when corporeal flight is impossible, by distancing the consciousness from the body for the duration. This eery disconnectedness was an expected trauma-response, and probably something he should talk about in counselling after he gets out of here and…

PAIN!

The pleasant distance from his own sobbing body was obliterated by a stab of pain that threatened to break him open. He screamed, earsplittingly, writhing away from the source of the intrusion rending him in half. Martok responded by putting more of his weight on the arm pinning Julian’s arms to his back. Pushing him into the ground, pressing the air out of his lungs.

The blunt, horrifyingly large cock kept burying it’s awful length relentlessly inside Julian’s ass, and it was too much, too fast. It hurt so very badly, and Julian wanted to cry, to heave great sobs of pain, but he could hardly expand his lungs enough to even breathe. When his vision started to blot out with black spots he went limp, scared he might actually die.

Martok let up on the pressure, and sweet, sweet air filled Julian’s lungs once again. It was one marvellous second of relief. Then the General snapped his hips forward, burying his shaft to the hilt up Julian’s poorly stretched hole, and everything was pain. Someone was screaming. Right, it was Julian.

“Aaaahhh, tight like a virgin on his first battlefield! Wonderful!!”

The rumbling of the general above was only distantly registering. Julian felt the tears streaking his cheeks mixing with snot as he blubbered.

“Make-it-stop-make-it-stop-make-it-stop…”

The fight was leaving his body, speared open and skewered like a piece of meat. Julian could not have moved if he wanted to, every twitch around the intrusion shooting lightnings of blinding pain through his whole body.

Martok must have felt his loss of fight, because he let go of Julians wrists and grabbed his hips with both hands instead. The General pulled the impaled ass upwards as he himself got into position on his knees, never slipping out of Julian’s screaming hole. Julian did his best to brace himself on his hands on the ground, feeling the shame rise in his cheeks as his arms wobbled. The reptilians might not register the implications of this position, but Julian certainly felt like Martok’s bitch right then.

Or maybe it was worse. Maybe the Cardassians found it extra uncivilised to be taken thusly from behind? Garak had quipped about it once or twice. Like riding-hounds in heat – mammalian, animalistic. Soon he stopped being able to wonder whether Garak had informed him of genuine cardassian biases or simply told him an amusing lie, because then Martok tightened his grip on Julian’s bare hips. Gave a quick squeeze in warning, all the courtesy he was able to show Julian at present.

If the initial breach had been bad, the thrusting was so much worse. The oil was indeed providing a measure of lubrication without which, Julian knew dimly, he would be already bleeding profusely. He had a very hard time holding on to the comfort of knowing that things could have been worse, though. Martok crashing his pelvis into Julians bare ass with big, wet slaps was so painful that Julian hoped he would lose consciousness just to escape. He stopped noticing his own screaming, just felt his throat hurt with the force of it. The Klingon hauled on his hips mercilessly, pistoning in and out of the slick little Human hole while growling in pleasure.

“Humans are such filthy sluts! No wonder when you feel like this on the cocks! Yes, I’ll keep this one, he’ll serve me well. No one else may lay a finger on him!”

Julian mewled mindlessly, feeling weak in his arms, trembling in pain. Then something horrifying happened. His arms giving out, Julian’s back fell into a deep arch, changing the angle of Martok’s cock. Besides the excruciating pain, there were now sparks of nauseating pleasure intermingling with the overwhelming sensation. Mortified, Julian tried to squirm, to get the Klingon’s cock the hell away from his prostate… but to no avail. He was held in a vice grip, and Martok was pummelling his ass with abandon, grazing the sensitive gland over and over again.

It was a different kind of horrible. His body betraying him. This genetic construct, that shouldn’t even exist, forcing pleasure on him through the pain and horror. It was humiliating. Shameful. His next scream sounded alarmingly like a moan, and he could hear the snickering and jeers arising from the audience.

“…his ass! Yeah, fucking wreck that Human skank! Gave me a black eye when I tried it, the cunt.”

“Oh, he likes it, General! Good on you for finally making use of the bitch – he’s clearly made for taking cock, just look at him!”

“Fuck ‘im ‘till he dies! Fuck ‘im ‘till he dies! Fuck ‘im ‘till…”

If he could pass out on cue, Julian would have. He was definitely bleeding now, but his torn hole was screaming so loudly from every nerve that it wasn’t possible to tell one kind of hurt from another. It was just a flaming ring of agony, surrounding a deep shaft of pulsating hellfire splitting him in twain. Forced stimulation notwithstanding, he would at least not get hard. The pain was too consuming, the horror too overpowering.

Just when Julian thought he might get to black out at last, Martok roared and came with gushing gusto. Feeling the General spill inside was first a relief, it was over. Then it stung, abused tissues reacting poorly to the alien emission. And then Julian remembered. There was one cock left to go.

The thicker one.

When Martok pulled out, he momentarily let go of Julian’s hips. Plan be dammed. Julian saw his chance, and like a fleeing deer, he took it.

He might have made a daring escape of it too, if his pants hadn’t been tangled up at his knees. As it was, he fell gracelessly to his face a few steps from where he began, to raucous laughter. Martok grabbed his ankles and pulled him back effortlessly. Julian’s flaccid dick scraped against the floor, and he desperately tried to buck his hips up to get the sensitive flesh away from the chafing onslaught.

“Look how he’s presenting ass!”

“Just begging to be fucked, that one! I wonder why he fought it for so long.”

“…filthy, alien slut…”

The General grabbed his hips again, but instead of pulling him up, this time he flipped Julian around on his back. The burst of fight leaving his body, Julian went limp. Martok did not look like the man he knew. He looked like a monster, glowing eye and bloody teeth and angry, weeping cocks with their alien ridges. Putting Julians legs up on his shoulders, the Klingon leaned over him, filling his view. He took one sharp-nailed hand and grabbed Julian’s throat… but he didn’t squeeze at all, just held it there tensely.

It’s a performance. The knowledge slowly seeped into Julian’s consciousness. This was all a performance. Martok wasn’t really raping him. It had all been decided beforehand. It was a show. Just a show.

Leaning ever closer, folding Julian almost in half, Martok growled menacingly… until his mane of hair hid them both in a little tent of fleeting privacy. The General’s face immediately fell into concern - Martok again, not the nightmare-beast. He growled under his breath:

“Not long left now, Doctor. Just relax, I’ll be as brief as I can.”

Then he drew back up, one hand on Julian’s neck one on the floor, and lined up.

“Let’s see how well you take me, now that you’ve accepted your place!”

Translation: act cowed, relax, stop fighting and it will be over soon.

Julian nodded weakly, and Martok pushed inside in one fluid move. It burned. If Julian had hoped it would be better now that he was already forced open, he was wrong. The sore, swollen flesh was irritated by abrasion and chemical reaction with the semen in his open wounds. Julian screamed weakly.

Martok’s second cock was a bit thicker than his first, and the ridges were harder and more pronounced. The General started to move, pushing Julian down into the ground. Forcing the air out of his lungs in time with the thrusts. It was agony, but the doctor didn’t fight. Defeated. He had to look defeated.

He was defeated.

His tears fell silently now, as he was too exhausted to do anything but whimper pathetically as he got fucked in front of what felt like the whole camp. His eyes wandered, as he felt himself dissociate from his body again. Gray, scaled faces cheered, looking varying degrees of entertained, envious, and calculating. The Romulan faces in the crowd sported mostly superior sneers, but what else was new?

Kamat's Romulan bed-warmer caught his gaze, and Julian halted his dazed survey. The young, beautiful man looked at him with such pity in his eyes that Julian could feel heat rising to his cheeks. It should be a relief probably, one friendly face amongst foes. But suddenly Julian couldn’t look at the youth anymore. He closed his eyes, drifted away, disconnected from his body and his pain. Aware of it, but not quite existing in it.

An indeterminable time later, Martok spilled again, and Julian found himself scooped up in the man’s arms. Like a bride, or a child. He clung on to the Klingon, leaning his spinning head against his shoulder. Shaking against his solid frame, feeling Martok's spend seeping out of his gaping hole, coating his thighs. The rumble of his deep, strong voice vibrated Julian’s skull, as the General proclaimed to the crowd:

“The Human is claimed! You have born witness – let it be known! Now, I’m going to take this one for a few more rounds in my cell. If anyone thinks to bother us, know that I’ll not hesitate to kill you.”

They left the ring to loud cheering and the Cardassian equivalent of a catcall whistle, a sort of trilling sound made in the chest. Julian clung to Martok with what strength he had left in his body, a pulsing, aching hell burning between his legs and up his whole gut. He had never wished more for the sweet relief of oblivion.

“I’m sorry my friend. I’m so sorry to have hurt you.”

Martok’s mumbles felt distant, as they made it over to the cell. Couldn’t think couldn’t speak, couldn’t sit or stand or walk. Julian was deposited gingerly on his own cot, and the Klingon made as to withdraw. A sudden lurch of his stomach made Julian shoot out his hand to grab him, stop him leaving. He was in pain and Martok hurt him… but Martok was not his enemy.

He needed his body to know that Martok was not his enemy, or Julian feared that he would simply break apart into a thousand little pieces and never be put back together again. Humpty Dumpty.

“No.” He managed, voice cracked from screaming. “Stay. Hold me.”

The General hesitated a moment, then simply picked him up again and walked over to his own cot. Laying Julian down with a gentleness that many bigots swore Klingons were incapable of, Martok touched Julian’s cheek briefly.

“Are you sure you wish to be near me after just I violated your weaker body thusly?”

Julian nodded, feebly but firmly.

“Yes. It would be…helpful, to me. If you could be... could be soft with me, now. Gentle.”

The General looked a bit awkward at that, inspecting his blooded nails for a moment. Then he sat down on the edge of the cot, swung up his legs, and carefully slotted himself next to Julian’s broken body.

“If it’s what you need, I shall provide for you. I claimed you, after all, so you are now my dependent. I will be your provider, you can trust in that. Do you wish to engage in, eh, cuddling?”

Julian couldn’t bring himself to answer. He just nuzzled into Martok’s chest and let himself be embraced. Being touched hurt. But not being touched hurt worse, and that pain was in his soul and not only his body. Martok had him. Martok was safe. Martok was his friend.

In a way, Martok was now his husband.

-

The sounds of single combat permeated the air, but only reached Julian through a layer of cotton in his skull. He was sitting, kneeling, on the ground by the ring. Waiting for Martok to win his bout. Since the claiming – a few days ago? – Julian had not left the other man’s side for even a moment. He spent a lot of time simply lying in bed with the Klingon, resting as well as he could. Fatigued, waiting for things to happen to him. Otherwise he clung to Martok’s arm walking to the shitter, looked after the deteriorating Tain, or followed the Klingon to the ring, like now.

Kneeling was uncomfortable, but Julian was too weak to stand. Sitting with all his weight on his ass was not an option. The doctor knew that he was running a fever, body desperately fighting with the predictable infection. He had many tares and fissures, going in deeply, and the ability to even keep reasonably clean were limited in this pit of damnation. He could only hope that his augmentations gave his immune system an edge, because he could not afford to be this useless.

Kalenna had not yet managed to procure the medical equipment, so whatever Julian could do for their Cardassian would-be-saviour was currently all they had. If the Tal'Shiar agent were to be successful in her quest, then Julian's skills would be even more valuable... Provided he could be useful at all and not lost to the fever fog.

The crowd was a lot less engaged today – a fight was hardly as exiting as a claiming. But Martok seemed invigorated after the event, which shouldn’t make Julian feel queasy but did. It was well known that Klingons found sex to be energizing, and often used fucking as a way to gear up and prepare for battle. It wasn’t strange that the General would have been given a boost by having relations again after so long in chastity.

It still felt horribly unfair. Julian was swaying on his knees, skin clammy and head fuzzy. And there was Martok, virile like a Klingon folk-hero of old, fighting joyfully and getting his dicks sucked regularly for his troubles.

Because Julian was sucking Martok off at the very least once a day. Tain had informed him that the scent of the Klingon’s sexual fluids – his aroused sweat, his cum – clinging continuously to Julian’s skin was the real shield. The demonstration in the ring had been necessary, yes, but it would not suffice as protection if Julian started to smell unclaimed again. It would be quite dangerous for all of them in fact, as some parties would definitely interpret the General’s apparent failure to use his prize as a sign of weakness, an opening for attack.

The last thing they needed was a raiding-party trying their luck, invading their cell to best the apparently failing ring champion and steal his bride. It would be a great coup to any who succeeded, worth the risk if they sensed the threat of Martok fading in any way. No, Julian had to stay vigorously and obviously used, or the whole ordeal rendering him weak now would have been for naught.

The Jem’Hadar yielded, and Martok roared in frustration. He had wanted to defeat his opponent properly it seemed, and he could barely hold himself back. Trembling with pent-up energy, he growled as the unit of the Founder’s soldiers declared that training was over for the moment.

This was Julian’s que. He should go to his husband, check him for injury. Be a doctor. He couldn’t move. Martok descended upon him, trembling and twitching. Before the General could pick up his bed-warmer and go ‘home’, Julian slumped, face first, into Marto’s crotch. He had not intended to, he was just so tired…

The Klingon stopped dead in his tracks. Breathed heavily. Within moments Julian could feel something stiff poking him in the chin. Oh. Right. That was unfortunate. Julian had not intended to initiate anything here, but he it had obviously seemed like it to Martok. Shit, it had definitely seemed like it to everyone watching, too. If Julian hadn’t been so warm, no cold, but mostly tired… But done was done.

Martok’s hand var carding through Julian’s hair, his cocks tenting his trousers and revving to go. The aborted fight must be singing loudly in his veins, and this was the sort of situation Julian was supposedly for these days. It would look suspicious if he didn’t go through with it now. If he didn’t fulfil his new function.

Realising that he had put Martok in this unfortunate position, Julian angled his face upwards and frowned apologetically. He murmured.

“I’m sorry. It’s okay – just... Just take your pleasure, sir.”

Martok looked apologetic, but needed no more prompting. With a deft hand, free from blood- stains and hungrier for it, the Klingon released his straining members from the confines of his pants. Their construction was such that he could let down a flap, let out his cocks, and still keep his own ass covered. Julian let his jaw go slack. Let his mouth be just a wet hole, nothing more. He couldn’t do the work this time, couldn’t take charge of proceedings. If it weren’t for Martok’s hands grabbing his skull, he wasn’t sure he could even keep sitting up.

The top cock breached his mouth and Julian surrendered to the invasion. He knew this routine by now, knew this shape in his mouth. He gave a little encouraging lick at the seam with his trapped tongue, more like a twitch really. As if to say ‘go on, do your thing’. Martok slid a thumb into the corner of Julian’s mouth, wedging it between teeth, prying his jaws open. Then he took a firm grip of the Human’s hair with the other hand and pushed Julian’s head down his length, until nose hit mons pubis.

It was easy to suppress the urge to gag. Julian had always had higher control over his autonomous responses than Humans should strictly be able to. And with all the desensitising of the reflex he had been doing lately… It was not easy, submitting to Martok’s use like he was nothing but a mindless hole, but it was simple. Uncomplicated. Just find the rhythm.

Thrust, inhale, hold. thrust, thrust, exhale, thrust, inhale. Repeat. Hope Martok didn't change his pace too often. Accepting the encroaching black spots dancing in his vision. It was important to fight the urge to breath in deeper as he was getting slowly hypoxic– the extra oxygen would be nice, but the risk of inhaling phlegm was too great. Julian wouldn’t be able to push the Klingon off himself at the moment, not even if he was choking to death on his own drool.

The pain was dull. Familiar. Almost a comfort, in a twisted way. Sucking Martok meant protection. It meant freedom from threatening catcalls and groping hands, from attempted assaults in dark corners. It meant a renewed commitment from his keeper. The dull, throbbing ache that split his guts in two was a much bigger issue.

That pain was not going anywhere, just morphing in character from stinging and sharp to aching and hot. It was bad. Julian knew it was bad. He just didn’t have the bandwidth to care about that right now. And besides, he was being used like a blow-up doll in full view of the general population of camp 371 again. His comfort hardly mattered. Only his compliance, his supplication. He was an owned man, but it was simpler that way.

Cold crept up Julian’s hands and feet. Even his scalp felt cold. The dark spots were multiplying, and reality seemed to shrink away. Like looking through binoculars backwards. His mouth was leaking hot, stringy drool, covering his chin and dripping down in his lap. Martok’s top cock was sliding forcefully down his pharynx, into his throat, probably making it bulge if seen from the outside. His face was definitely red, or even purpling, with encroaching hypoxia,  swollen veins fat like worms squiggling under his skin… It was all so distant…

He was so cold.

It was dark.

Nothing hurt anymore.

…

“…mine! Where are you taking…”

…

“…unacceptable…need his blood to be free from taint of infecti-….”

…

“…-nal cavity is quite damaged as well. Restore everything, the Founders still have use for this one.”

…

When Julian came to, he felt the distinct smell of medical facility, first thing. Then he became aware if the sounds. The beeps from monitors and scanners, the low-pitched hum of a biobed in a generic regen-cycle. After that, he felt the itch up his colon and prickling around his sphincter. To a lesser degree down his throat. Itch… but no pain. None at all. Also, he was naked.

Itch, meaning new skin. Regeneration.

He was in the camp infirmary. Again. This was the only explanation. He was probably overseen by a Vorta. Since he didn’t want to let on that he had regained his wits, Julian kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. He needed a minute to regroup.

What had happened? He had been ill, this he knew. Infected, feverish, not healing properly. He had followed Martok to the ring and… did he suck him off right there? Maybe? Something sure triggered his loss of consciousness. Even minor oxygen deprivation could likely get Julian there in his enfeebled state, so it was not a bad hypothesis.

Be that as it may. The important part now was to best utilise this unexpected opportunity. Tain needed medical intervention. This was maybe the only chance Julian would get to swipe something from the infirmary. He focused his attention of hearing, letting other awarenesses fade, building a mental map of his surroundings. There were no other heartbeats in the room, nor any breathing. Unless there was a founder present, Julian seemed to be alone. The room was small, they had probably stashed him somewhere out-of-the-way for his cycle of general bio-regen. Tentatively, Julian opened his eyes. Yes, he was alone in a smallish room, with a window facing an observation bay in one wall. There was the biobed he was lying in, a rolling shelf stocked with some hypo-casings, and not much else.

There where shapes moving in the observation bay outside. Julian moved his eyes as much as he could without shifting his head around. The Vorta behind the glass seemed to have their backs solidly towards him, but he could not be sure. He needed to be sure. Closing his eyes again, Julian let his head loll in the direction that would give him the best view. He waited a few moments, made sure to keep his bio-readings calm and steady, calm and steady. The Human? Why, he’s still asleep. Nothing to see there. Then he opened his eyes just a little. Yes, the Vorta were indeed facing away. This might be his one window of opportunity.

Ignoring his vertigo, Julian sat up on the bed, heart and breathing slow and steady… He reached for the rolling shelf, pulled it towards him. Glancing over the shoulder he saw the Vorta still otherwise occupied. He didn’t have time to read the labels; he just swiped as many casings as he could without leaving any too obvious gaps in the shelves.

The big prise was a squeezy-tube on the top shelf – medical grade general lubricant. Hands full, Julian pushed the shelf back, and lay dawn on his side. Now for the unpleasant part. There was really only one place to smuggle the cartridges out, as he was currently naked. He opened the cap on the tube, allowed himself a wince, and started to prod himself open. He really hoped Kalenna would be able to procure the hypo-injector to make this worth it.

He didn’t have time to be gentle with himself. Even though anal penetration was perhaps at the very lowest possible place on the list of Julian’s desires currently, he didn’t have much choice. Pushing in a finger, he had to focus hard on keeping his bio-signs steady. He crushed a surge of panic as he felt himself breached, his body wanting to defend itself from another violation, from more disturbance to the site of the wound...

But there was no wound. Julian was whole and healthy, and all was well. He had to take a few moments just to breathe. Don’t think about the Vorta that could at any moment turn around. Don’t think about Martok ripping him to shreds for the whole camp to see. Don’t think about the agonising death he’d suffer if even one of the cartridges fail and leak while inside him...

It was not working. He was clenching, and his heart rate was soon going to pick up, and he was going to be caught and…

Think about Garak. Garak kissing his neck, stroking his sides.

Relax, shush’ika. You have all the time in the world, just relax. Let me in…

Phantom Garak’s finger was slick and smooth and moved inside Julian softly.

That’s it…you don’t have to stretch much, juuust enough. Good.

Julian felt his heart beats growing steady. Good. He really doesn’t have time…

All the time in the world. Now, slick up the first one and get it inside you. I want to see how well you take it.

Julian squirted more lube into his hand, coated one small cartridge, and pushed it onto his opening.

That’s it, good job.

It breached him easily, started to slide… and was suddenly lost inside. Julian had to sternly remind himself that this was the idea, and not a horrible accident in need of a medical transporter.

Very good, shush’ika! Now keep count, you need to get them all out later, every last one, okay?

Okay. Yes. Julian could do this. He could count, he could take them.

Cartridge after cartridge slid inside him without issue. Thirteen, all in all. Julian felt full in an awkward, solid way. It was very far from arousing. If anything, he felt like he had to take a massive dump. Nothing hurt, though, and nothing was visible from the outside. He wished more than anything that he could get the tube of lubricant with him to out – armed with that it could even be pleasurable should Martok ever need to claim him like that again... but it was much too big to smuggle inside of himself. It was also not hermetically sealed in a little metal vial like the hypo-cartridges. Sadly, lube was just a no-go.

He dropped the tube on the floor, hoping no one would notice something amiss, and turned over on his back. It was not comfortable, but it was the least suspicious position. He felt faint and slightly sweaty, stretched awkwardly inside with deadly cargo. Don’t think about that.

You did so good, my dear. So very good for me. Now just relax, feel how it fills you like I would. That’s it, it’s just you and me playing a game. I challenged you, because I knew you could take it, and you could! Just breathe, calm, relax…

He didn’t fall asleep again, but it was a close call. When the regen-cycle was over and the bed powered down with a buzz, a Jem-Hadar opened the door abruptly. Julian rose with a start, only partly a performance.

“Good, you’re awake. Get dressed, and you will be escorted back to the general population.”

His shabby, torn uniform was thrusted his way, and Julian did as he was bid without delay or protestations. An ‘encouraging’ blow to the stomach right then would be a death sentence. Walking normally was difficult. Julian had to continuously remind himself that the vials were sturdy and not, in fact, made from brittle glass that would shatter in his colon any second. For once he was actually glad of his surly escort to the cell he shared with the others - no one would accost him with a Jem’Hadar at his back.

“Doctor! Are you well?”

Martok rose to greet him but winced and sat back down on his cot again.

“I am.” Julian said hoarsely, having not used his voice since the reconstruction of the mucus membranes. Then he added: “You don’t seem so well though, General?”

“Argh, it’s nothing I haven’t bested before!”

The Klingon deflected, predictably. The male Romulan, whose name Julian still hadn’t learned, unexpectedly spoke up.

“General Martok took a severe beating from a squadron while trying to keep you in his presence. He would only stop fighting once a Vorta came and informed him that you were to be taken to the Infirmary for medical attention.”

Julian took a few uncomfortable steps towards his friend and protector.

“Oh, you silly man, why would you fight ten Jem’Hadar like that?”

Julian tried to sound jokingly stern, but he couldn't hide the undercurrent of real emotion. Martok looked at him with a serious expression.

“I wasn’t going to just let them take you, Julian. I didn’t know what their intentions where. You’re my charge now, and that makes you as good as part of my House. I’d rather die a warrior’s death attempting to fulfil my duty to you, than live longer as an honourless coward.”

Julian made it all the way to the General and clasped his face in his hands. He put his smooth forehead to Klingon ridges in a Cardassian gesture of intimacy. Before he closed his eyes he caught Martok doing the same.

“Thank you.”

Martok hummed in a deep, grumbling hmm.

“No need to thank me.”

“Still.”

They stay like that for a moment, linked by foreheads. The Julian straightened his back and looked to the male Romulan. Kalenna was away somewhere and, for once, so was the Breen. Tain was in the wall, though for how long he could keep that up was anyone’s guess.

“Right, eh… I don’t know your name, actually?”

The Romulan looked at him but didn’t volunteer the information. At least Julian had his attention.

“...Okay. Anyway, I need you to guard the entrance. It’s imperative that no guards spot us for this.”

Julian was prepared to be made to answer questions, but the man simply nodded and did as he was told. That was easier than expected. Time to get the blasted hypo-vials out.

“General, I have managed to smuggle some medical supplies out of the infirmary…”

“Excellent! But... how?”

Julian could feel heat rise to his cheeks, which was silly all things considered. It wasn’t as it there was any part of his body that was unfamiliar to Martok by now.

“That’s the thing, as a Human male... I only really have one natural pocket aside from my mouth.”

Martok blinked. Then understanding dawned on him.

“Oh! Indigenous, Doctor! Truly ingenious! I would never have thought of that. Do you need help emptying your ass, then?”

Julian felt the awkwardness dissipate with Martok’s matter-of-factly attitude to the whole matter. He smiled weakly and scratched the back of his neck.

“If you would be so kind. There’s thirteen hypospray-cartridges up there, and if I can’t expel them all by myself... I’m going to need help, yes.”

“I’ll gladly stick my hand up your bottom to retrieve your precious booty, Doctor… Why are you laughing?”

Julian tried desperately to tamp down his good humour, every giggle shaking his colon precariously. But the accidental booty-pun was too funny. He had to take several deep breaths to centre himself.

“Just an unfortunate translation error. Never mind, I want these bloody things out of me.”

In the end, Martok only had to stick a few fingers in to retrieve the very last vial. Julian trimmed the Klingon's claw-like nails down with the good secret shiv, and to his credit the General didn’t complain about the loss of the natural weapons. He just looked at his manicure with vague interest, prodded Julian gently with his fingers, and managed to coax the last straggling casing into his grasp.... and then out.

Turning around from all fours, Julian plunked down with a big sigh of relief. He was sporting a half-chub, as the General had managed to stroke pretty directly on his prostate repeatedly during his search. When Martok returned to him after hiding the vials behind a lose panel, he noticed Julan’s state. He cocked his head.

“Do you want me to do something about that?”

He asked, so casually that it took Julian a few seconds to grasp what he might be talking about.

“What, this?”

He gestured at his dick, that was perking up a bit at the attention.

Martok grunted in affirmation, giving a curt nod.

“Ay, your arousal. Do you wish for me to get on my knees and suck you to climax, as you have done so many times for me? The door is guarded and no one will see the reversal of our expected roles. If you wish it, this is a good opportunity.”

Suddenly Julian was hot and prickly all over. Stunned, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words.

“I- I mean, don’t feel that you have to, if you don’t want…”

Martok expelled a short laugh.

“Ha! Humans are funny creatures. Do you really think I would offer suck your cock if I didn’t desire to do so? Why would I? No, the question is not that of my desire, but of yours?”

He lifted an eyebrow and quirked his head, making the last statement a question. Julian swallowed. Martok on his knees for him… Holy fucking shit.

“Then, yes. Please, yes. I’d like that very much.”

Martok smiled and rubbed his hands together.

“Excellent! Well, no time to waste. I confess to having been curious about this for a while.”

The General closed the distance between them and braced on the cot, on either side of Julian’s legs, to support himself as he made it to his knees. As he winced in pain, Julian suddenly remembered that the man was injured from fighting half a dozen Jem’Hadar for him.

“Wait, Martok…” Julian put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye, angling his face downwards to do so, for once. “You’re hurt, let me see your…”

The Klingon frowned and growled, looking no less menacing for his supplicant position.

“Doctor Bashir! If you deny yourself to me now for any other reason than your own lack of desire, I shall go quite mad with hunger! Is it your intention to tease your keeper thusly?”

Julian swallowed nervously, suddenly caught by the glint in Martok’s unnervingly sharp teeth. The danger should probably have been a boner-killer, but his dick didn’t get that memo and swelled to even more pert attention.

“I don’t wish to deny you, General, of course not. Please, have me as you wish.”

Those teeth flashed again as Martok smiled widely, heated and pleased. He put one hand on each of Julian’s knees and held his things firmly spread. Then he bowed in close… and breathed a hot breath over Julian’s straining erection, not touching with anything but his body heat.

“Mmmm… So dainty and delicate…Elegant and exotic, like the rest of you.”

Before Julian could process the words, Martok’s tongue lapped one long stripe from the root of his shaft to the rim of his tip. Julian held on, white-knuckled, to the edge of the cot and let out a keening groan of his own. Oh, stars and all the galaxies, this was good. Martok hummed again, pleased… and then Julian was enveloped in wet heat.

Klingons ran a little hotter than Humans, and even though the difference should not be noticeable Julian could swear he felt it now. The slick fire of Martok’s mouth sent glowing tendrils of heat up his spine and down his thighs. The large man had obviously done this sort of thing before, and if Julian’s smaller size was unfamiliar it didn’t particularly impact Martok’s performance.

He was achingly gentle, though. Like he thought Julian might pop like a balloon if he as much as grazed him with a tooth or applied any real suction. It was not how Julian would have imagined a Klingon blowjob to be...but after so much rough treatment it was a relief to be handled with such care. It was also extremely hot to see the fearsome General Martok on his knees for his prison-bitch, sweetly giving him careful pleasure at the expense of his own comfort. Julian’s breath grew laboured as Martok swished his tongue around exploringly, flicking at his slit and rubbing against his glans repeatedly. It was almost too gentle. Teasing and maddening.

“Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-fuck!”

Martok withdrew immediately, looking up worriedly.

“Did I hurt you?”

Julian, eyes closed and head tilted upwards shook his head furiously. Then he remembered that this was not a universal signal for ‘no’, and managed to find his voice.

“No, not at all. It was very good, was all… You can go a little firmer you know. I’m not made of tissue paper.”

Julian hadn’t expected a response, but suddenly he felt the Klingon’s hand on his face and, surprised, he opened up his eyes to meet his gaze.

“You are a fragile creature, fierce as you are. Your skin breaks too easily. I’m am sorry to have harmed you before, and I don’t wish to do so again.”

Julian was struck dumb by the fondness and regret that was spelled out so clearly on Martok’s face. The genuine display of friendship and care made something melt a little in his chest. He smiled, and felt his smile to be a little brittle. A little too filled with emotions. Martok seemed to be waiting for some sort of reply. When none was forthcoming, he prompted:

“Some instruction would not go amiss, Doctor. I have never done this with one as easily breakable as you, and I don’t intend break you.”

Julian blinked. He was not tearing up a little, because that would be a foolish display of vulnerability in a place like this. Instead, he closed his eyes again and leaned into Martok’s hand a little.

“I’ll guide you. And I’m not as fragile as all that, you know. You’ve been most gentle with me. Thank you.”

Grunting in satisfaction with this reply, the General once again bowed his head and slid Julian in between slightly chapped lips.

“Mmmm, that’s so good… If you could make a tighter ring of your lips, yes- like that, and kind of bob your head up and down… don’t be alarmed at the looser skin being tugged along, it’s as it should be. I’m more sensitive underneath the fore- hng! Don’t lick there directly for now! But if you could do the thing where you bob your hea-… oh god, fuck, yes!”

Martok jerked Julian with his mouth, applying a good amount of pressure after some verbal cues and adjustments, and the Human was momentarily transported. No-longer imprisoned, no-longer in danger, Julian was in his room – any version of ‘his room’ he’d inhabited over the years – and a beautiful, rugged hunk of a man was at his feet, pleasuring him. Without deciding to, Julian snaked a hand into Martok’s mane, grabbing a fistful of hair loosely and guiding his head a bit. The Klingon yielded immediately, taking direction like a pliant lover without a care in the world for the optics. Focused entirely on Julian’s enjoyment.

And Julian was enjoying. Heat was pooling in his lower back and his loins. He arched his back, pushing his head into the wall behind him. Breathing hard, he let out a moan so sluttish Martok growled deep in his chest in satisfaction at the sound. The noise vibrated up Julian’s shaft and rattled his balls and oh bloody hell and sweet baby Buddha!

“Swallow me, stop moving, and do that growling thing again! Pleeease…”

The General followed Julian’s frantic order and… It was like a fucking vibrator on his dick! The growl lasted a long time, but Julian didn't. Moaning and grabbing Martok’s hair tightly, Julian spilled down the General’s throat. For a blissful moment, everything was just uncomplicatedly good. Julian was whole. He was healthy and unbroken, getting his dick sucked to completion, and his healed body sang with endorphins. Flying high, Julian laughed in joyful release.

Then the vibrations were suddenly much too much, his balls over-sensitive and spent. Slightly panicked, Julian yanked Martok’s head away from himself, surprising the man who started to cough. Alarmed, Julian let’s go of the – probably painfully tight – grip he had on the General’s hair and looked down at his friend.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You okay there? It just was a bit much all of a sudden, I should have just told you with words and not reacted instinctually like an idiot…”

Martok turned to his side, spitting out a viscous mixture of phlegm and human cum, then caught his breath and straightened to face Julian again.

“No harm done – it takes more than a little unexpected semen to defeat me!”

Julian laughed heartily at that. Leave it to a Klingon to make anything into a test of battle prowess! And few could compare to Martok in that regard, he had to concede.

“Are you boys quite done?”

Both of ‘the boys’ in question startled at the sound of Kalenna’s sudden voice. When had she come back?! How much had she seen? Julian suddenly felt much too exposed and started to feel for his pants that lay on the cot somewhere. He had taken them off for the retrieval-mission earlier, not wanting to soil theme worse than they already were with lubricant and other nastiness.

“Make sure not to be seen doing that again. The owner should not kneel before the owned in this place. It signals weakness, sentimentality. And don’t look so scandalised, Doctor; you’re hardly displaying something we haven’t all already seen before.”

Far from comforted by that statement, Julian felt the heat rise to his face as he did battle with his uncooperative pants.

“Agent Kalenna! Do you return to us a victor, or have your schemes once again yielded limited success?”

Martok had risen from his position at Julians feet, and was sitting down on the cot, frowning with suppressed pain. The Tal’Shiar agent gave him a particularly haughty sneer.

“I suppose my victory might best be called ‘pyrrhic’”

She conceded, and Julian wondered what she had really said that the translator had rendered as an allusion to an old Erath myth. Kalenna reached inside her vest and produced…

“A hypo-spray!” Julian gasped.

The Romulan looked like someone had pissed in her tea.

“Indeed, but it is of no use to us – the cartridge is empty.”

Embarrassment forgotten, and pants finally defeated, Julian sprang to his feet with a broad smile on his face.

“Oh, my ever-dour friend do I have news for you!”

He sauntered over to the hiding spot and waved for Kalenna to follow. Guardedly intrigued, she did so. Julian removed the lose panel and revealed their treasure. They had a tiny apothecary now, and each vial held at minimum five doses each. Some as many as fifteen. This was a game-changer.

Beaming with delight, Julian turned to look the ‘ever-dour friend’ for her reaction. Amazingly, she did not look like she had just bit into a lemon. Indeed, she might even be said to look mildly surprised… then, oh wonder of wonders, she nodded at Julian with something like a tiny smile. It was gone too quickly for Julian to be sure, but he decided to believe in the existence of that smile even if it was just for a fraction of a moment.

“Well done, Doctor. This gives us a fighting chance.”

She asked no questions, just handed the hypo-injector to Julian. Then she looked over to Tain’s dark corner, and her usual frown returned.

“Where is Tain? He should not be in the wall at this hour.”

Triumph was quickly replaced by dread in Julian’s gut. He and the Romulan hurried to the wall, and together they extracted a Tain that was barely conscious. Doctor-mode came to Julian like second skin. No, like a separate body altogether from that of Julian-the-Human-bed-warmer. Julian incarnated as Doctor Bashir, and for the first time since the claiming he felt fully like himself again.

He barked orders, had Kalenna act as nurse and apothecary both, finding and handing him the substances he needed to stabilize the old Cardassian. The medical supplies came at the last bloody moment. It was, in all honesty, probably too late even. If Tain would make it a month it would be down to Julian’s efforts and ill-gotten pharmaceuticals. That, and the sheer, Cardassian stubbornness of the man might yet see them rescued.

Let it not be too late. Let Garak come.

Oh please, dear Universe; let Garak come.