Garak and Bashir make a bet loser has to get a tattoo on their butt ok y'all finish the rest I can’t think ready set GO
Tattooed
“Are you certain you wish to make this wager, Doctor?”
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t serious.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
Garak looked away from his young medical companion and towards the promenade with silent fascination. Lunchtime settled across the station with the same sprightly spirit that many recent afternoons offered. Perhaps that jovial energy was what pushed this little bet of the Doctor’s. No doubt some of his optimism had transformed into a false confidence over the past few hours. Or Doctor Bashir truly believed that he’d be the victor. It hardly mattered. Garak hadn’t toyed with agreeing because he was certain he’d win. Life on the station was staling in this newfound peace and Garak was all but done with it. He needed something to change. Even if that change happened on his own backside, it would be welcome. Though, he hoped for a different outcome.
“Tell me Doctor, what are the odds of you winning this wager of yours?” Garak asked as he looked back towards his lunchtime companion. Their eyes met.
“Is knowing the mathematics going to make you back out?”
“Not at all. In fact, I agree to your terms now. I’m simply curious as to the risk your putting upon yourself.”
“There’s a 62.9 percent chance that it’ll happen and a 37.1 percent chance that it won’t.”
“Well that hardly seems like a fair wager to present, Doctor.”
“You expected fifty, fifty?”
“Oh no, of course not. And if you had presented me with such a wager, I really would have lost all hope for you.”
The Doctor smiled. It was pleasant but there was a newborn mischievousness to it – one that Garak had grown more and more accustomed to over the past few months. He only saw flashes of it, usually lingering in the dimmed light of his quarters when the Doctor payed a late-night visit, but as their relationship progressed, that playful smirk arose more often. It still wasn’t frequent enough, in Garak’s opinion.
“Here they come,” the Doctor said. Garak looked towards the promenade and there, through the sifting crowd, appeared Captain Sisko and Major Kira walking side-by-side, chatting about something in a tone that was far beyond Garak’s hearing range. Pity. Though their words made no difference for their bet. Garak watched as the other Bajorans seemed to make room for their slow walk and they, in turn, didn’t seem to notice. It’d happened far too often, no doubt. From the other side of the shifting sea of figures emerged Constable Odo who stood straight, jagged, hyper-aware. He cut through the crowd and towards the Captain and the Major. He arrived. They all stopped. Conversation centered around the Captain and the Constable. Nods were exchanged. And then the dispersed. The Captain and the Major continued on their slow paced walk and the Constable jaunted off in the direction the two had come from. The encounter was over. Garak looked over at the Doctor. His grave, darkened face said it all.
“I don’t understand,” the Doctor said, “This was supposed to be it.”
“Perhaps an invitation was meant to be extended at another time and place, Doctor,” Garak answered, a mischievous smile of his own pressing onto his lips, “Now, about that tattoo.”
————
The merry mood that resonated through the station really was contagious. Over the next two days, Garak found it more and more difficult to hide a smile or keep from humming during his work – something that he reserved for far more special occasions. He was certain that mood would have carried over to the Doctor under normal circumstances, but Doctor Bashir really did seem to haul his own darkened cloud since he lost their little bet. It would pass in time. It always did.
On the second night after their bet, as Garak prepared to settle down with a rather interesting Cardassian mystery, his door chime went off.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened and his tall, thin Doctor walked in. The frown, furrowed brow, and dropped uniform top told Garak everything. Garak sat on the couch and reached out to his younger companion.
“Let me see it, Doctor.”
Doctor Bashir stalked over to him, though that cloud he carried seemed to dissipate with each step. Garak rested his hands on the Doctor’s hips as soon as he was close enough. He turned the Doctor around and pulled the uniform down enough to reveal the newly etched in black ink on the curve of the man’s left butt cheek. The Cardassian letters were perfect. Brilliantly done. Whomever did the work deserved all the latinum Garak’s heart could give, though the artist wouldn’t see a sliver more than what the good Doctor gave him.
“Are you going to tell me what it says now?” Doctor Bashir asked. Garak was certain the Doctor wanted irritation to pour from the words but the edge wasn’t quite there.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t take the time to figure out these words on your own, Doctor,” Garak said as he rubbed his thumb over the familiar letters.
“I did,” the Doctor said, wriggling a little under Garak’s touch, “I just wanted to hear you say them.”
Ever the romantic. Garak smiled softly and pressed his thumb gently into the marked flesh. The Doctor mewled. It was still sensitive then. It wasn’t a surprise. A post-tattoo dermal re-generator could only do so much.
“Perhaps if you ask nicely,” Garak said. Then he leaned forward and kissed the Cardassian letters one by one, which spelled out, simply, “My Earth Flower”.
OMG IM SPEECHLESS I didn’t expect someone to actually write a ficlet for this but omg this is amazing I can’t believe you managed to turn my dumb drunken thoughts into such a wonderful scenario 💖💖💖💖