Archive of Our Own ^beta

The variety sampler was enticingly cheap. Apparently the supplier wanted to offload it quickly for reasons that were possibly not entirely legal. But business is business and if Quark has anything to do with it the special stock won’t last long enough for anyone to question its provenance.

He has high hopes for these rare intoxicants from all over the galaxy. With this selection of high end, hard to find ingredients, he can make exclusive cocktails and charge premium prices.

Buy now while stocks last.

It even comes with a fancy cabinet to display the bottles. Quark sets it up in a prominent position and starts checking the stock, making plans. Lucrative plans.

Rom saunters in while he’s working, asking, “What you got there?”

Quark ignores him. Focussing instead on a small purple bottle that has fallen off its display mounting and rolled to the back of the cabinet. The cabinet is deep. Quark has to reach right to the back. He grunts as his fingers close around the purple bottle.

It’s quite shocking how fast it happens. The moment Quark touches the bottle, he suddenly feels light headed, his entire body seems to fold up under him and he collapses.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s lying on his back on the sticky floor of Quark’s. The bottle is still in his hand. He looks at it. The letters on the label swim before his eyes. He feels terrible. Mouth dry, head pounding. He groans and the bottle falls from his hand, rolling across the floor.

His eyes follow it. He needs to get that back. Whatever it is. With effects this strong it might be valuable to someone.

But Quark can’t seem to get up or move at all. He can only watch as the bottle rolls towards the doorway, where Rom is urging Bashir into Quark’s with a hand on his sleeve.

“Quickly,” Rom is saying. “He just screamed and collapsed.”

Quark can’t have this. He doesn’t want Bashir involved. He’ll get in trouble for unlicensed spirits if the doctor starts poking about. With every bit of strength he has, he forces himself to sit up saying, “I’m fine. You can go,” but as he speaks he doubles over, hands cupping his head.

“Quark? What happened?” Bashir says, rushing forward.

“Don’t.. Don’t come any closer,” Quark says, but his voice sounds weak.

He hears Bashir say, “What’s this?”

It seems to take an enormous effort for Quark to even move his head. Bashir is bending down to pick up the bottle where it rolled from Quark’s hand.

Quark feels weak. He tries to cry out, but Bashir is already taking the purple bottle in his hand.

***

Julian opens his eyes, blearily. He’s on the floor. On the floor of Quark’s

Quark stands over him.

“You touched it,” Quark says. His voice seems to come from far away.

“Touched what?” he says. As he speaks he realises how strange he feels. His whole body is tingling. As he looks at Quark he feels a great, sickly wave of desire. He has to suppress a groan.

“Laphraxia,” Quark says. He’s holding something in his hand. A small purple bottle. “It’s an aphrodisiac, I believe.”

“A what? Oh,” Julian grunts. His whole body feels like it is burning. He only picked up that bottle. This feeling is just from touching the glass containing whatever Laphraxia is. But there is no doubt, from the way he is feeling, that Quark is correct about its effects. “How long does it last?” Julian asks, his words ending in a moan as a desperate wave of arousal washes over him. Harsh and fiery.

“I don’t know,” Quark says, coming closer. “How the fuck would I know?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Julian snaps. And then he realises Quark is close enough to touch. His arms feel weak and slightly numb, but he reaches out and curls his fingers around Quark’s calf.

He groans at the feel of it. Flesh, firm and warm through Quark’s satin pants.

Quark steps back, pulling out of Julian’s reach. ‘No. Don’t touch me. You can’t touch me.” His voice is breathy. “We can’t.”

But Julian is rolling onto his belly and dragging himself forward as Quark steps back. Reaching out, trying to touch Quark’s leg again.

“No,” Quark snaps. He stamps on Julian’s hand. The pain is sudden and sharp, but not bad. It’s still contact, still something. Julian moans.

“Just fucking stay still.”

Julian can’t seem to control his breathing. He’s panting like an animal. He thinks he might die. This might kill him. He is sure of it, suddenly. He will die if he doesn’t…

“Oh no. We need help, I…” And then he cannot speak.

Pain then. Not the pleasurable pain of Quark stamping on his hand, but a sickening wave of cramps, starting in his belly and spreading lower. “Quark, please,” he manages between grunts of pain. “I need help. Get help.”

“We need help,” Quark snaps back. “It’s affecting me too.”

“It is?” Because even in the state he’s in, it is very noticeable to Julian that Quark is standing up, speaking mostly in complete sentences and refusing to touch Julian. If someone was crawling across the floor begging the way Julian currently is, Julian does not think he would be as stoic and resisting and frankly as irritated as Quark.

But when Julian manages to ignore his own body’s ceaseless, agonising demands for a moment, he can see that Quark’s cheeks are flushed, his breathing is a little heavy.

“It obviously affects you differently,” Quark says.

“Yes, perhaps.” As he speaks, he can feel the pressure of the floor against his aching erection. “I have, uh, I have different physiology.”

“Yes.”

“So we need help. Call the medibay.”

“No. We can’t do that. I don’t want anyone else involved.”

“Quark, we need medical attention.”

Quark takes a step closer. He is standing over Julian, hands on his hips. “I’m not calling anyone.”

Julian is about to protest, but then it dawns on him. The reason, the completely obvious reason Quark will not want the authorities alerted to what has happened. “The Laphraxia, it’s not legal is it?”

“I don’t know,” Quark snaps as if this is a tiresome concern. “It was part of a box of rare elixirs. It wasn’t itemised. Blind item. Good value. But if these are the effects, I doubt my license covers it.”

Julian groans. He can’t even sit up. His head is pounding. He feels like he will vomit if he moves. And there are other sensations too. Heat, tingling, between his legs. He can feel the beat of his pulse in his cock, in his asshole.

He wants…

He cannot even bear to think about that.

How dangerous is it? There’s no accounting for the effect of some strange alien liquor on human physiology. All he knows for certain is that he’s in no state to call for help himself. He’s at Quark’s mercy. “What do you suggest we do?”

Quark looks Julian up and down. His tongue flicks his lips. Julian groans. The pressure of the floor against his cock still feels good.

Far too good. He can feel the precome leaking from his cock, soaking through the front of his uniform. It’s so undignified. He rests his forehead on the floor. Because there is another course of action. One Julian cannot ignore. One his body is screaming for. One that Quark’s body is presumably screaming for too if he is under the influence of the same drug.

“Quark, I need to…”

Quark gives Julian a sour look. “Not that. I do not do that with males.”

Julian looks up. With his teeth pressed tight together he grinds out, “I was not suggesting that.”

“We endure it,” Quark says. “We wait. It will likely pass. Have some self control.”

Self control feels like an impossible demand. Julian rolls his hips, grinding against the floor again. He feels like an animal. He likely looks pathetic. “We don’t know how long that will take,” he says to the floor. “Or if it even wears off at all. There are a great number of such substances in the universe and their effects vary wildly. Some are fatal.”

“We’re not going to the medibay,” Quark says, then gasps, tipping forward, clutching his belly as if suffering from the same cramps that are wracking Julian. He falls onto his hands and knees. He’s sweating. Julian can see the sheen on his face and smell it. The odour coming from Quark’s body makes Julian want to lick Quark’s armpits.

“We’re fucked,” Julian says weakly.

“We agreed not to do that,” Quark says, sounding distinctly pained. “I would not even know how.”

Julian swallows. “I know who we can ask to help us. He’ll be discreet.”

***

Garak is closing up his shop, when Quark and the Doctor limp in. Both of them look strange. The Doctor is leaning on Quark as if he is injured. But he doesn’t look injured. He looks delightful. His face is flushed. He’s distinctly aroused.

They both are. This is interesting.

He rounds the shop counter, quite thrilled, but before he’s even taken a step towards them, Quark holds out a hand. “Don’t come any closer, Cardassian.”

Garak stops. This is more than interesting. This is fascinating. He says, “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

Julian lifts his head. Oh, he looks delightful. “We’ve been infected with Laphraxia.”

“Ah,” says Garak. “How very unfortunate.”

“You know it, Cardassian?” Quark says, sounding rather as if he thinks Garak had something to do with this.

“I do indeed. A very highly controlled substance in every quadrant. But it has all kinds of uses for those who understand it. Ritual, interrogation and, of course, recreation. Although I would not advise that for Humans or Ferengi.”

“We didn’t do it on purpose,” Julian says. He sounds pained in a way Garak cannot help finding intriguing.

“Good,” Garak says breezily.

“You said he’d fucking help,” Quark snarls at Julian.

“He’ll help,” says Julian, the words coming out as a simply delightful breathy gasp.

“But naturally I’ll help,” Garak says.

“Good.” Quark looks at him suspiciously. “What do we do?”

“Take a seat,” Garak says, pointing to one of the shop’s benches. “Perhaps not too close. It would not do for you to infect anyone else.”

They sit. Both with heavy groans. Quark looks at Garak. “What do we fucking do?”

As Quark speaks, Julian gasps in pain and doubles over on the bench. He seems to be sobbing from sheer despair. Garak is glad they came to him.

“Laphraxia,” Garak says thoughtfully. “I believe there is a simple cure—”

“No,” snaps Quark. “We agreed. Not that.”

“If we were going to resolve this by fucking,” Julian pants, “We could have done that without your assistance.”

“Well, of course you could. In that case, I suppose you will need an antidote.”

Julian looks up, his face brightening. “There’s an antidote?” He sounds like he thought he would be this way forever. “Good. Where do we get it?”

“And how much does it cost?” says Quark.

“I have simply no idea what my contacts would charge for such a thing. I will speak to them.”

“What contacts?” Quark snaps. “No one must know about this.”

“I assure you, I am the soul of discretion.”

Julian looks at Garak with his eyes wide and red-rimmed. “How long will it take?”

“Not long.” Garak shrugs airily “A day or so.”

“A day,” Julian and Quark say in chorus, Quark sounding angry, Julian simply resigned.

“Yes, but worry not. I will take care of everything.”

***

Quark sits in the corner of the stockroom behind the Cardassian’s shop. They’ve been in here at least twenty four hours. He dreads to think how the bar is faring in the hands of Rom. When he asked the Cardassian to bring him details of the day’s takings he was typically evasive.

Slippery fucker. It crushes Quark that he is forced to depend on that creature.

The Cardassian has also arranged for Julian to be signed off on emergency leave. Apparently whatever he told them was believed. Quark doesn’t know what it was. But he has to admit he’s lucky they are hidden away like this.

Anyone, Odo for example, finding out what he did doesn’t bear thinking about. Laphraxia, it turns out, has far more pronounced effects on human physiology. He’d lose everything.

Quark, at least can still speak coherently.

There’s a narrow mattress pad on the floor of the storeroom. Produced by the Cardassian from somewhere with apologies that he only had one to hand and he doesn’t want to arouse suspicion by bringing another from elsewhere on the station.

Quark has let Bashir have it. It seemed a reasonable sacrifice. As all he has done for hours now is lie on it moaning and ripping his clothes to pieces. They’re in shreds now. His cock is exposed. Hard, dark and leaking onto his belly. He looks pathetic and, to Quark’s horror, more and more enticing as the moments pass.

Quark is at least thankful he is not so badly affected. He feels uncomfortable. Hot and itchy all over. He’d like to fuck, but he does not feel like he will die if he does not. Although, he struggles to think of much else.

He takes a steady breath through his nose. He isn’t sure how long he can hold out.

He would like to fuck. And he’d like to fuck Bashir, despite his unappealing body shape. Quark has been staring at him in his tattered clothes, moaning, for some time. He keeps wondering what sounds he would make if Quark touched him.

If Quark…

The Cardassian arrives with a tray of food before Quark can act on his horrible desires. He stays by the door, sliding the tray across the floor. He claims he does not think his physiology will be affected by Laphraxia. But they do not want to take the risk. It is, Quark understands, very infectious.

Quark picks up the tray and takes it back to his corner of the stockroom. “Do you have the antidote yet?” Quark asks. He picks up a cup and drinks some of the liquid inside. It’s some kind of tea. The hot liquid seems to move oddly. His tongue feels strange. Everything feels strange. The tea is quite palatable but not what he wants.

He knows what he wants.

The Cardassian does not leave. He hovers by the door and says, “I think we ought to discuss other measures.”

Quark looks up at the Cardassian over the rim of his cup. “I told you no. When he was able, Bashir and I agreed not to.”

The Cardassian nods. “Yes, I know that. But the effects of Laphraxia are more serious than you knew then.” He nods at Bashir, moaning, half naked on the mattress. “Look at him. He hasn’t been able to speak coherently for quite some time. Who knows how long he has left before it sends him permanently mad.”

“I will not,” Quark snaps. “I only fuck females. Female Ferengi are the most delightful creatures in the universe. I refuse to soil myself with that.” He points at Bashir.

As if in response, Bashir moans, revoltingly.

The Cardassian leans back against the wall beside the doorway. “You may think,” he says in a mild, casual tone, “That your situation is better than the Doctor’s, but your infection is merely progressing more slowly. In another day you’ll be like that, and he’ll be dead.”

Quark swallows. “The effects are less strong for me. My body is stronger.”

The Cardassian shakes his head. “Not less strong, simply slower. You can feel it, can’t you? How it is developing. Your need is growing. I really don’t think you have a choice.”

“We said we wouldn’t,” Quark snarls. He can feel his whole body humming with want. “He does not want it.”

“The situation has changed. Ask him what he wants now.”

Quark stares at the Cardassian, but he stands. He walks over to Bashir. He stands over him and looks down. Bashir is naked and writhing in the remains of his uniform, dick leaking, face flushed, lips parted. He sees Quark through puffy eyes. “Quark,” he says, voice cracking with desperation. “Quark, please.”

Quark looks down at him. Bashir’s mouth is wet. He doesn’t understand it. Bashir’s not attractive, he's extremely unappealing. Not pleasant to look at, or to speak to. He is a male creature from a notoriously ugly species. But all the time Quark’s been in this stockroom, watching the scrawny male human writhe and rip at his clothes, Quark has felt hot all over, thinking about little except what it would feel like to put his dick inside him.

Bashir blinks. His eyelashes are damp. He looks at Quark and says, “Please.” It's not a word. Just a shape of his lips and a hiss of breath. The sound of his voice makes Quark’s heart beat harder with want.

“You said no,” Quark grinds down at him.”You said whatever happened, we would not.”

Bashir’s eyes open wider. He looks like he is in the throes of a kind of furious pain. “Fuck what I said,” he manages to say, grabbing hold of Quark’s calf. “Fuck me, Quark. Please. I need it.”

Quark snarls and tries to pull back, but Bashir’s grip is weirdly, eerily strong. And his touch is… Quark groans aloud.

He lifts his other leg and puts his foot down on Bashir’s face, crushing the sole of his boot against Bashir’s cheek. Bashir moans with need, as if this contact is a great pleasure.

“You still think he hasn’t changed his mind?” the Cardassian asks.

Quark looks up. He feels like he has to tear his eyes from Bashir’s panting face. He’d forgotten the Cardassian was even there.

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t know his mind,” Quark says. His voice comes out thick. He knows what he says is the truth, but he doesn’t think he cares. He can’t stop. He takes his foot off Bashir’s face and looks down at him again Bashir whimpers. Quark swallows hard.

And then he drops to his knees beside Bashir. He thinks no more thoughts. His mind is full of nothing but a strange buzzing hiss. He presses his lips against Bashir’s. Hard. With such force their teeth crack together and he tastes blood. He doesn’t care. He is kissing Bashir, with a kind of fever, desperate. Hands on Bashir’s face, pulling that hot, sexy mouth open wide, forcing his tongue in deep.

He is blindingly hard in his satin pants. He is on top of Bashir, body pressed to body. He is forcing Bashir down into the mattress and Bashir’s cock, like a bar of iron, is pressing up into his thigh.

And the sounds. Bashir is kissing him greedily with a great cacophony of sounds, moans, pants, desperate words. All of it seeming to rouse Quark further and further. He has to have him. He cannot stop.

Bashir’s hand is on Quark’s face, pushing him back. Pushing his face out of Bashir’s face so Bashir can gasp, “Please, please let me. I want it. Let me suck you, please. Please.”

Bashir’s whining and begging undoes Quark completely. If he had a scrap of resolve left before, that's long gone now. Bashir’s hand strokes down Quark’s body. As his hand reaches over the bulge of Quark’s dick it seems to light a fire within him. Quark’s hips jolt forward into Bashir’s touch.

Bashir rips Quark’s pants open. Quark cries out in shock as the satin is shredded, but he only cares about that for a moment as his dick juts out and Bashir swallows it.

The pleasure is so intense that Quark cries out, shouting with the intensity of it, as Bashir’s mouth closes so hot and so tight. Quark can’t hold back. He thrusts in deep, holding Bashir by the hair, fucking into his throat. “Take it,” he snarls, low in his throat. “Take it all, bitch.” And he feels a bolt of desire shoot through him.

Bashir is drooling around Quark’s dick, making a strange gurgling noise, but he does not try to pull back. He only sucks harder. Quark can feel the heat of it in his toes, in his scalp, in his ears.

It takes moments, barely any time at all. Quark’s entire brain shuts down. He is lost, unconscious in pure white pleasure, wave after wave. The sweet buzzing sound in his ears, louder and louder,

He opens his eyes lying on his back. He sits up. His pants are ripped and he is covered in sticky fluid. He looks over at Garak. His mind feels finally clear. He is himself. It was simple, really. He doesn’t know why he put it off so long.

Bashir is sitting up too. He is in a far worse state than Quark. Naked with his mouth swollen and red. His cock is still hard, but he looks more lucid, than he has for hours. Perhaps that was all it took, Quark thinks. All that was needed for both of them.

Bashir looks at Garak. “Do you have the antidote?”

“We don’t need—” Quark says, thinking they have found another solution, clearly. He feels much better. And Bashir is in control of himself again.

But he is cut off by Bashir moaning as he falls down onto his back, arching up off the mattress, crying out, “No, no, please.”

“I fear,” the Cardassian says, “What you did only gave the doctor some temporary relief. That act will not be enough for him even if it is for you.”

Bashir sobs. He rolls over to look at the Cardassian. “Please, Garak, help me please.”

“I am helping,” the Cardassian says in his ever-present emotionless tone. “Quark, you need to penetrate the doctor.”

“No,” Quark snaps back at the Cardassian. “Why don’t you do it?”

The Cardassian shakes his big reptilian head sadly. “Oh, I would love to help you. But sadly I have to ensure I do not get infected. Then where would we be?”

“Why isn’t it affecting Quark?” Bashir babbles, like he’s forgotten Quark’s dick choking him. “Did he take the antidote?”

The Cardassian says, “Your physiology is different. You know that, Doctor. You just need a little more.”

Bashir groans and runs his hands down his body. He wraps a hand around his hard dick and starts to jerk it. Gasping. Quark watches, thinking that if jerking off fixes this he’s going to hit someone.

Bashir ejaculates in his hand, white seed splattering over himself. But as soon as his climax is over he makes a long drawn out sob of sheer frustration. “I can’t,” he whines. “I can’t… I don’t…”

He rolls off the mattress onto his belly, then hauls himself up onto all fours. His mouth hangs open, wet with drool. It’s a bizarre sight, like watching a zoo animal. He is crawling over to Quark, where he sits on the floor. “Please, Quark,” he is saying, almost like he is chanting a religious mantra. “Please, please. I need it. I need you to fuck me.”

And Quark cannot say he does not want to. Even with his head clear his feelings are mixed and strange. But... “I can’t. I just. No.” He gestures down at his limp dick. Meanwhile Bashir is stretching out naked just before his feet, lying on his back, knees up and spread wide, still moaning, “Please. Please.”

“Actually,” the Cardassian says from his position, leaning against the wall next to the doorway. “I think the notoriously short Ferengi refractory period will be even shorter thanks to your recent exposure to Laphraxia.”

Quark swallows. He’s trying not to look at Bashir, but he can’t avoid it when Bashir moans like he’s dying and spreads himself to offer his hole. He swallows heavy and glances down. One of Bashir’s hands is trailing over his hole. Pressing at it.

Quark realises he is getting hard again. He’s been hard the whole time he’s been here. But the reprieve after he came down Bashir’s eager throat, makes the return of his erection a vile sensation. Tight and painful.

Is this still the Laphraxia, or just desire? It cannot be all him, can it? Desire for a human male rolling on the floor debasing himself and begging?

Bashir slides a finger into himself, fucking in an out, eyes locked on Quark, chanting, “Please. Please.”

Quark looks at the Cardassian again.

The Cardassian raises an eyebrow.

“Will he die if I don’t?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“How long until the antidote arrives?”

The Cardassian sucks his bottom lip for a moment. “I suppose… a few more days.”

Bashir will not survive it. And if he dies, down here, like this, there will be questions. It’s in Quark’s own interests to fix this. It makes practical sense to…

Quark kneels up and moves over Bashir. Bashir is so out of it he barely seems to notice. But he whines as Quark moves his fingers away from his hole. And says again, breathily, “Please.” He looks up at Quark, but seems to look right through him.

Quark takes his dick in his hand. He positions himself between Bashir’s spread, shaking thighs. He can taste how much he wants this. His whole body is humming like an engine. He spits on his palm and coats his dick, then spits onto Bashir’s hole for good measure.

Bashir moans as Quark slides into him, right to the hilt. It is transcendent. Hotter, tighter than Bashir’s throat. And then, as soon as Quark is as deep as he can go, Bashir ejaculates, coming over his hairy belly with a desperate moan.

His eyes snap open, as if he is, in that moment, realising where he is and what is happening. He looks at Quark with an expression of pure terror on his face. Quark feels his belly seize. Is Bashir going to demand he stop? He doesn’t know if he can. He holds still inside Bashir, although all he wants to do is pull back and thrust back in far harder.

Bashir says softly, “Keep going, please.”

Quark nods. He pulls back so only the tip of his dick is inside Bashir. And thrusts back in with a grunt. He groans with pleasure. Nothing has ever felt this good.

He fucks Bashir hard. Bashir moaning under him. Bashir spreads his legs wider, as if desperate for more.

“Harder,” Bashir grunts. “Please, harder.” He’s pawing at himself, as if trying to grasp his own stiffening dick, but lacking the co-ordination to do it. “Harder,” he says again—knees open so wide they almost touch the flor on either side of him—part desperate begging, part a snarled command.

“Shut up,” Quark grunts. “Fucking shut up.”

He closes his eyes. Pleasure fighting with the horror of this.

Beneath him, Bashir moans something else. Quark opens his eyes and Bashir moans again. He opens his mouth wide.

Softly, from over by the door, the Cardassian says, “Spit in his mouth. He needs it.”

Quark stares at Bashir’s open mouth. For a moment, Quark resists the urge, but he can’t for long. He’s getting close, a few more moments of friction from his own orgasm. He takes a breath and spits into Bashir’s mouth.

Bashir cries out, almost screaming as his dick jerks again, spilling more semen into the puddle already drying on his belly.

Quark gasps to see it. He thrusts into Bashir as deep and hard as he can, and feels his own orgasm take him.

***

Julian’s haze lifts. He doesn’t know where he is for some long moments.

And then…

He is naked and lying on the floor of Garak’s storeroom. He sits up.

Quark is staring at him. Quark? Quark staring at him with his pants ripped open at the crotch.

Julian’s head is throbbing. He has semen leaking out of him and more splattered across his belly.

Laphraxia.

So, they did not find the antidote. So they…

They…

He looks at Quark again. Quark is staring at him in blind horror.

“Are we done?” Julian says. His throat feels stiff and painful.

Quark nods across the storeroom. Julian turns. Garak is standing there. Watching them both. “Well,” Julian says to him. “Are we?”

“It appears so.”

“And you didn’t get the antidote?”

Garak smiles a familiar smile. “Oh, I did. Why? Did it not work?”