Luck O' the Irish (aka Paradise By the Cargo Bay Lights)
by BabyWolverine

It was the second to last thing he’d expected to see when he’d heard Chief O’Brien had moved his latest repair project to a derelict cargo bay. The last thing expected, naturally, was a completely empty cargo bay with no sign of Miles or the visiting aliens’ technology Commander Sisko had promised to fix. Catching Garak in his shop after hours trying on a Bajoran celebration gown seemed more likely.

As it was, even though Julian was delighted to discover the chief was working alone, on something relatively low-priority, and would be doing so for hours (the perfect time for a little chat to stave off boredom), he wasn’t quite sure what to make of what he saw when he stepped through the door.

The reason the chief insisted on working alone today was apparent, at the least. Miles’ bare, pale legs stuck out from beneath the huge bulk of metal and wiring and whatnot resting on elevation pads in the middle of the room, and Julian could hear strings of brogue-tinted curses wafting from the access compartment he’d wedged his upper half into.

Whatever Miles was working on, it was nearly one third the size of a runabout, and unfamiliar to Julian. At his best guess, it might have been a section of a ship’s main computer or warp drive, probably beamed out if it couldn’t be reached due to damage or faulty design in the ship’s layout.

Taking a few tentative steps closer, Julian caught sight of a pair of white briefs, smeared in places with dust and specks of some unknown industrial lubricant. Miles was working in his underwear.

Julian’s boot scraped a grate in the floor as he passed over it, loud and echoing. The disgruntled litany from under the machinery cut short, and Miles started to dislodge himself from his position inside. Once out, he settled on his back, and Julian had the fleeting notion he’d never seen this much of Miles, even during his physicals, as there‘d never been the need; naked to the point he may as well have been wearing a loincloth. Not that Julian was complaining - he couldn’t count the nights he’d spent trying to envision the exact scene that was before him. Except, at night, alone in his bed, it was Julian who was on his back, and Miles...
Julian took another step, positive he was drooling.

The chief, with all indications it was the computer he was worried more about than his current state of undress, raised his hydrocoil spanner in warning and barked, "Stay where you are!"

Julian froze on the spot at the command, abruptly enough that he had to hold his arms out a bit to keep his balance. He kept quiet, too, just in case Miles’ work somehow required silence.

Once he'd done wrestling with a particularly stubborn lug-nut-like part, Miles sighed and let his arms rest. He slid out from under the gutted assemblage just enough to fully look at Julian, whose eyebrows were raised in visually deafening question.

With another sigh, Miles explained. "You're going to have to take off your clothes, too, if you want to get any closer," he said. "Hili'shan circuitry's exceptionally sensitive to static electricity when it's exposed."

The information took a minute to process in Julian‘s head. After a couple of surprised blinks, Julian asked incredulously, "Are you sure? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Oh, I'm sure," Miles grumbled. "Twentieth century computers on Earth used to be this way too, you know. Makes for slow repairs and not much margin for error. On a station like this, the air is rampant with static."

"I see why you chose the cargo bay." Not that Julian was actually looking at their surroundings. There was certainly something to be said for the appeal of simple tighty whities.

"Right," Miles agreed, "Not as much communications equipment sendin' God knows how many frequencies and such flying around."

Miles ducked back under the hunk of machine, leaving Julian to watch and fidget anxiously as the chief's lower half wiggled in tandem with whatever struggle he was having in his repairs. Miles’ beefy calves flexed as he tried to twist to reach something, his hips rotating to find the right angle, giving the blushing doctor quite a view.

Feeling like a peeping tom while Miles worked, Julian could have sworn the bit of bulge inside of the chief’s briefs was just a tad larger than when he’d first walked in... Or was it only his imagination? No, Julian realised a moment later - bulge or not, the most visible change must have been in his own pants; the sight alone was arousing him, and, had Miles bothered to look up from his work, he would no doubt have been able to discern Julian’s erection easily through the layers of his uniform.

Julian’s breathing sped up, not only thanks to his growing condition, but also in response to a new wave of nerves at the thought of how easy it would be to bring up now how much he’d always... appreciated Miles. One compliment, maybe on his physique, would likely be all it would take to get the conversation going. A serious compliment, of course; not the normal witty deprecating they usually tossed around.

Either kind of compliment, though, could also be enough for Miles to kick him out of the bay with a promise never to speak to him again. And, in the case of a serious comment, he’d probably keep that promise.

Maybe it was better to leave the room now, leave things as they were and meet again for darts later. Fully clothed, no hydrocoil spanners. No mentions of nearly nude repair jobs.

And neither of them lying on their back, unwittingly giving the other a show he’s waited years to see.

Julian was already on the verge of panting, but for the fact he’d been trying to keep the sound of his breathing under control. Finally, still lost in thought, his increased need for oxygen forced a gasping gulp from him, startling himself and O’Brien as well.

With a guilty look, Julian met Miles’ eyes. Miles opened his mouth to speak, and Julian braced himself for what he knew was coming. Dawning realisation of why Bashir was so flushed. An indignant yelp, maybe a colourful expletive, and certainly shock and denial over what they both knew had been between them all along, tempered by Keiko’s presence until she left for Bajor, and on the brink of exploding now in her absence. Yes, both men knew full well what that familiar tension was, always buzzing behind everything they said or did, even as they continued to dance around it.

Any moment now. Verbal slap to the face. And, possibly, to the nuts.

Wait for it...

“Look, if there isn’t anything you need, you’re going to have to leave. Your uniform fabric is attracting too many protons. By my readings, the static charge in the air’s increased five percent since you got here, Julian.”

This was said with a dutiful but apologetic tone, and Julian thought he was about ready to pass out from relief.

Maybe, Julian mused, suddenly giddy, maybe there is a chance he’ll still warm up to the idea of ‘us‘...

And the circumstances really were the perfect setup. Cautiously reining in his thoughts, Julian began to strip as casually as possible. If he started out purposely provocative, Miles’ machismo might have gone into fight-or-flight mode. He stopped with one arm halfway out of the undershirt sleeve when he saw he was subject to Miles’ burning stare.

“What are you doing?” Miles asked in a way that suggested he knew the answer.

“It’s my day off, and I have absolutely nothing to do,” Julian reasoned innocently, “Will you at least let me keep you company?” He silently applauded himself for keeping his calm.

Miles bit back his immediate response of ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ and nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said. “But try not to be too distracting. I’ve got to get this done by eighteen hundred hours.”

“It’s only twelve hundred. Surely it won’t take another six hours?” Julian pulled the too-short undershirt over his head, leaving his jumpsuit hanging by its elastic around his waist.

Miles smirked dourly. “Like I said, it’s slow going.”

He was about to disappear beneath the machine again, but found his gaze drawn to Julian’s graceful hands tugging his uniform down off his hips. In what seemed like the longest five seconds of his life, chief Miles O’Brien watched in disbelief as the plain, Starfleet-issue jumpsuit made way for the tightest, greenest thong he’d ever seen a Human wear, complete with metallic seams glinting the colour of lush grass under the harsh cargo bay lights.

Julian resolutely refused to look at Miles as he finished stripping and took his uniform over to the far corner where Miles had tossed his own earlier. Good thing, too, because Julian surely would have lost his resolve at seeing his friend gaping at him so obviously. Miles completely forgot his jaw was hanging open when Julian bent over to add his clothes to the pile, effectually straining the thin green cord that made up the back of the thong, forcing it deeper between his firm, slim buttcheeks than it had already been.

Walking back to the chief, Julian gratefully took note of what was most definitely a larger bulge in Miles’ pants. Knowing the effect he was having seemed to bolster Julian’s confidence, and he strode to Miles’ side with a quiet elegance, fully composed despite his surging hormones. He had the advantage, now that he knew Miles wasn’t going to run away in fear, but he’d still try to take things slowly. The chief could just be paralysed and dumbstruck. Treading carefully would be prudent for the moment.

“What is that?!”

... Or not. Thankfully, Miles had more nerve than Julian gave him credit for. But, of course, that was one of the many reasons that Julian adored the chief, even if he forgot some of those reasons from time to time.

He’d also forgotten what he’d put on this morning underneath his uniform until Miles pointed it out. Or, at least, he’d forgotten the bright colouring; it was hard to ignore something as tight as the thong for an entire day. Come to think of it, no wonder he’d gotten hard so fast.

At that thought, Julian’s eyes darted reflexively to O’Brien’s cock, the cotton-covered outline of the shaft becoming visible as Miles sat up to regard his scantily-clad best friend.

Julian forced himself to look Miles in the eye as he answered steadily, “I thought it best to wear something green, considering the occasion.” That was the truth, after all. He shrugged, the movement stressing and showcasing his elegant clavicles.

“What occasion,” Miles wondered aloud. He swallowed around the dryness in his throat. He didn’t recall anything special that was supposed to be going on today.

Julian raised an eyebrow, amused. Chief O’Brien was the last person he thought would have forgotten this particular holiday. “Chief,” he said pointedly, “It’s Saint Patrick’s Day. You know; luck of the Irish, green synthale, four-leaf clovers?”

“Green synthale,” Miles repeated. “Not green underwear! And... well, I guess I didn‘t realise it was Tuesday already,” he finished, faintly baffled.

It was at that point that it struck Julian how silly he’d been in going about trying to woo Miles. The last time they’d spoken of their mutual attraction, Miles’ wife was still living aboard the station, and since then, it sort of slipped Julian’s mind that they were both adults who were able to talk about these things without throwing a fit, and that they were too close already for it to come between them.

Julian smirked. Miles was a big boy, he could take care of himself. No need to save him from a lusty CMO.

He plopped down next to Miles on the ground, reclining on one elbow so he could face him.

“Aren’t you the one who told me wearing green today would ensure none of my personal belongings got pinched by an angry leprechaun?” he prodded with a hint of flirt in his voice.

“I suppose I did, at that,” Miles conceded. His gaze was roving all over Julian’s richly-hued body, not just the item of clothing in question.

Perfect. Everything was coming together on its own, and Julian couldn’t have been more elated. He was laughing at himself already for having been so nervous.

“Then I guess I’m safe,” Julian said huskily, looking at Miles with longing through the smile he couldn’t suppress.

Miles seemed to consider for a minute, then leaned in, looking pensive, and whispered to Julian conspiratorially, “But, say if I were to pinch your green underwear... you wouldn’t be safe anymore.”

Julian’s soft brown eyes went wide at the implication, then narrowed and darkened as he reached for Miles and said, “Come here, you big, sexy leprechaun, you.”

“Pffffft!” Miles snorted in laughter at the odd imagery. “Julian,” he said, chuckling, “Leprechauns are not sexy.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, Chief,” Julian told him. He ran the palm of his hand playfully from Miles’ strong, furred chest down to where his middle pouched out a little over the edge of his briefs, still healthily rounded as a reminder of Keiko’s cooking in the past. Miles’ breath hitched, and his back arched as he tried to feel more of Julian’s touch. Julian obliged him, scooting in so he was flush against Miles’ side and could stroke all over his chest and belly. Miles leaned back on both elbows and turned his head so they could kiss while Julian went on with his exploratory rubbing.

They kissed in a series of slow, extended pecks, sometimes soft, other times brisker and more insistent, until Julian’s hand eventually made its way up from the sweeping circles it was making over Miles’ stomach. He tweaked a reddened nipple along the way, then slipped his hand behind Miles’ head, where he was able to hold him while he flicked his tongue out and tasted his soon-to-be lover’s lips. The both of them shuddered at the sensation it brought, and Miles in turn licked at Julian’s lips before lying back and urging Julian to straddle him.

Julian moved into position eagerly. He bent over and pressed his forehead to the chief’s, finishing his earlier thought, “You know, I do find leprechauns- Mmmmm,” he moaned as Miles started rubbing their groins together, “...very sexy.”

“Do you, now?” Miles panted. Julian sat up and braced himself so they could increase their pressure and pace, and Miles took the opportunity to reach up and fondle every part of Julian he could get to. The slender body was a marvel, Bashir’s gangly and almost frail appearance contrasting the crushing vice-grip his legs had on either side of O’Brien’s body.

Miles soon found out brushing Julian’s sides was off-limits because he was too ticklish, so, when their thrusting made it impossible for Miles to sustain the more complicated things he’d been doing to the beautiful young man atop him, he slid his hands down to just hold on to Julian’s taut derrière and keep him steady. Soon, Julian slowed down in an effort to make sure neither came too quickly. They exchanged a look, and Julian felt roughened fingers pulling the skimpy string aside, then massaging his opening with a gentle care that was a perfect reflection of the chief’s overall nature.

He was about to tell Miles to stop again so they could prolong this, but right at that moment Miles lost his hold on the thong’s string, and the sudden painful snap against Julian’s arse reduced his request to a startled gasp and a shaky jerk of his hips.

Miles patted the stinging buttcheek in apology. When Julian recovered from the unexpected sensory overload and his eyes refocused, Miles ground out, “Why don’t you take it off. Bloody thing’s blindin’ me.”

“As you wish, Miles,” Julian said, teasingly batting his eyelashes. He hastened to comply, setting himself firmly in his previous spot once he managed to yank the thong down, letting it dangle off one ankle. “Anything else you’d like?“ he asked breathlessly.

A number of requests went through Miles’ head as he regarded Julian’s bare cock for the first time. So many possibilities...

“Yeah,” he nodded toward his own stiff, aching penis, “Get down there and start kissing my blarney stones.”

Julian gave him a lopsided grin in response, along with a sultry, “Yes, sir!” and helped Miles off with his briefs.

And kiss those blarney stones he did.

...And licked, and suckled, and a number of other naughty but delicious things that set Miles wondering just how much experience the eager young doctor had.

By the time Julian pulled away from his throbbing genitals, Miles was too far gone to even consider their next step. He ran his hands frantically over Julian’s body, imploring him through touches and squeezes to just please, get the hell back down there and finish what he started.

Miles had his eyes shut, trying to piece his thoughts together enough so he could ask Julian what it would take to get him to keep sucking, and didn’t notice the movement above him as Julian came to straddle him again.

“Miles?” Julian sucked on Miles’ fingers briefly, then took his lover’s hand and brought it to his own entrance, encouraging Miles to prepare him.

The broader man’s eyes fluttered open, and Julian smiled down at him tenderly, thinking he’d never seen anything so charming. Certainly not during O’Brien’s physicals.

The tip of the first finger went in, and Julian bit his lip. This is it, he thought, and tried to remind himself that this was no dream, no late-night fantasy bound to bring a morning of disappointment. He and Miles had finally broken down the last barrier between them, and it was really happening.

Miles’ first finger went in with ease, and Julian all but begged him to fit in another once the first was in as far as it would go. The second finger brought an alien stretching sensation in addition to the sense Julian had already of being probed by an outside force. It felt amazing in ways it never had when it was just him alone with his imagination. Miles managed to wiggle both fingers all the way inside Julian’s tight hole in a matter of minutes, and gained his lucidity back in that time.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked in concern.

Julian’s smile grew wider at how naturally the endearment came from Miles’ lips. “I’m doing just wonderfully,” he assured. He waited a moment more, then instructed, “Try moving your fingers around?”

It didn’t take long for them to find Julian’s sweet spot. As soon as Julian began writhing and crying out in random, incomprehensible bursts, Miles knew he’d hit it, and repeatedly fingered over the same small area. He kept it up until Julian was quivering, babbling on without making any sense, “Please, Miles, oh that... Yes! That! Right there, oh, don’t... Keep going, exactly, please, mmm...”

He pulled out of Julian mid-sentence (if what he was alternately murmuring and yelling could be called such) and tried to position him for penetration. Julian wasn’t much help until a couple minutes later, seeing as his legs were barely holding him. With some careful manoeuvring and supportive, sweet nothings, Julian lifted his hips and Miles managed to push the swollen tip of his member inside.

If Julian thought this was the most intense time of his life, however, he was mistaken. That point didn’t actually arrive until Miles had fit himself over halfway inside Julian’s limp yet receptive body. Julian, physically overwhelmed, slumped against Miles’ chest as he was slowly filled beyond what he’d known before. Miles found the same spot again without searching, and when the repetitive thrusting began, it was like a symphony plus encore of every pleasure and delight Julian had felt up until then. Especially with their oh-so-convenient posture allowing his cock to slide against Miles’ sweat-slick belly with almost every stroke.

They climaxed together with nearly precise timing, having been so close to the edge already, though Miles was fully capable of holding on until the rhythmic spasming took hold of Julian’s insides. Miles moaned and Julian keened. And, when it was over, they rested exactly as they were; Miles on his back, letting Julian rest on top of him, both of them hugging each other as tight as their tired muscles would allow.

A short while later, Miles was able to slip himself out of Julian, and they continued to cuddle lying on their sides, facing each other.

“Miles?” Julian whispered, not really wanting to break the blissful silence.

“Mh-hm?”

“We didn’t ruin any of the equipment, did we?”

Miles lazily lifted his head to glance at the massive computer. “Not unless we overloaded the air with a sexual charge,” he joked.

“I think we might have,” Julian mumbled into Miles’ shoulder.

They stayed like that for at least an hour, undisturbed, peaceful, together. But, when they did get up with the intention of redressing and catching a quick shower, the pile of clothing in the corner had disappeared.

Mystified, they searched the large room, concluded that leprechauns must indeed have taken their uniforms, and O’Brien arranged a surreptitious site-to-site transport.

And, halfway across the station, in the storeroom of his uncle’s bar, sitting in front of two stolen uniforms, a sneaky little leprechaun laughed.