Garak glanced down at his lover, lying in his arms. "I thought you might be avoiding this evening."
"No, I'm ready, but I'm also in the middle of a chapter and you were early."
"Only an hour."
"I'll be finished sooner than that *if* you let me read in peace, Elim."
When Garak had drawn the doctor into his arms on the couch, he'd hoped one thing would lead to another very swiftly but that had not been the case. Bashir had simply stretched out in his arms and continued reading. Not that the tailor objected, it was pleasant to hold this creature, even if he was being ignored. "And what is so interesting about this novel? Is it Terran?"
"No, it's translated from Vulcan..."
"Pre-reform? That might be interesting. Some of their legends are quite violent and passionate."
"No, it's not pre-reform, it was published only a month ago."
"A modern Vulcan novel hardly seems possible. What use do they have for fiction?"
Julian sighed, marked his place and paged to the author's bio. "It was written in Vulcan but the author is not Vulcan, although he was 'educated on Vulcan and writes mainly poetry, nine volumes, and one play, _Skolta_, in that language. SaLing has 41 novels to his credit, the most recent in Klingonese...'"
"Ah, now there's a language for novels." Garak rolled his eyes.
Bashir ignored the sarcasm. "'...but also in Standard and Mnririan...'"
"A linguist."
"'His early works were primarily erotic and violent..."
"Why don't we read one of those?"
"'...SaLing has progressively moved his writings toward more philosophical and metaphysical subjects over his 110 year career. He lives on Dhrgestera with his spouse, they have three sons.'" Bashir returned to his reading.
Garak ran his fingers through his patient darling's hair and bent to kiss his forehead. 'A stubborn darling when you want to be, aren't you, Julian?' Nothing to do but wait it out. "And what is your fascinating Vulcan novel about, my dear?" Garak asked when Bashir clicked his reader off.
The doctor pulled him down for a kiss.
Garak broke the kiss and looked serious: "Now that you've tried to distract me, I'm very interested."
"You'll scoff."
"If so, I will do it discreetly."
"Very well." Bashir sat up. "It's about a group of Terran monks - Rishis, they were called - who left Terra in the last century to fast and pray in the forests of Xria 8."
"And what happens to them?"
"Well, the story is only about one of them, Rishi Baba, who attains such a high level of enlightenment that he becomes unmoored in his spatial reality and starts to have experiences in other realities. The premise being that reality is branching off and progressing into uncountable possibilities every moment of existence. So, perhaps in another reality, I'm not sitting here, next to you..."
"Perhaps we're already in bed in another reality?"
"Are you in a rush?"
"No, Julian, finish your story. Please."
"So, Rishi Baba has all these bizarre and terrible and wonderful experiences and dreams, as far as I've read, but his mind is fixed on the one reality of god so everything is the same for him, because he's surrendered and experiences everything as god."
Garak paused to think about this for a moment. "What an utter waste of time."
"Reading this?"
"No, finding all experience the same. Why have any experiences if you've no discrimination, no contrast, no rewarding sensation. This is obviously one of the dangers of undertaking a spiritual life; it wreaks havoc on your palate."
"I don't think that's the point..."
"Then what is the point?"
"I'm not sure yet. It's a very complex story. I'll lend it to you when I'm done, perhaps you'll understand it better."
"I shall look forward to it. As I have been looking forward to something else..."
Bashir rose from his couch, took Garak by the hand and led him into his bedroom. "Then wait no longer," he said, deftly undoing his lover's clothing.
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