Slow Burn--Part II
Dec. 8th, 2009 05:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dark_sinestraPart II: Touching of Hearts
Julian
The Infirmary
Julian found himself once again losing track of his update of the medical records. In a fit of pique, he shut down the display and sat back heavily against his chair back. It had been nearly two weeks since he had journeyed to Arawath Colony to obtain the information that would save Garak's life from the malfunctioning implant in his skull. Since then Garak had seemed content to act as though nothing at all had happened, as glib and infuriatingly smug as ever. Their lunch meetings continued on schedule, their conversations about literature and politics, everything. Yet, nothing was the same, not for the young doctor.
His cheeks flamed with embarrassment when he thought of how he held Garak's hand and listened so eagerly and earnestly to every tale he spun him from his hospital bed and how gleefully Enabran Tain disabused him of any notion he had that Garak trusted him with the simple revelation that the mysterious Elim was not Garak's friend or cohort, but Garak himself. Elim Garak, he thought, shaking his head and frowning deeply. Did you enjoy playing me? Did you feast on every concerned look and touch with secret amusement at my expense? Don't you realize how much that hurts?
There was the crux of the issue, the sting that went so much deeper than his skin. When Garak had been dying, Julian thought that at last the Cardassian trusted him and realized that he was important to him. Why else had Garak so carefully cultivated his association if not to reach out in his loneliness and form a bond of friendship? Dax had warned him in her annoyingly superior way that Garak didn't truly see him as a friend. If it was so blatantly obvious to her from the distance she maintained from the tailor, why had it not been obvious to him? After all this time, how could he still have blind spots in regard to the mysterious Cardassian? Wouldn't he be better off just writing him off the way the rest of them did, making use of him as needed and staying away from him most of the time?
He glanced at the time and set his jaw. Garak would be expecting him for lunch any moment. He was tired of answering to the tailor's exacting expectations and receiving nothing in return but hidden barbs, obfuscations, and that bland smile that could mean anything at all. He didn't care if Garak felt no real gratitude for his saving his life. As a doctor, he'd save his worst enemy and think nothing of it. What bothered him tremendously was how one sided it seemed their association really was, how all that time he thought they had something real when, in fact, it was likely as illusory as Garak's fanciful tales of “Elim”.
“Sir?” one of the Bajoran nurses stuck her head into his office. “It's almost lunch time.”
“I know,” he said, bringing the display of medical record updates back online. “I'm not particularly hungry right now. I'll grab something later. Why don't you go ahead? I'll man the fort.”
“All right,” she agreed and left him to his work.
He didn't care that he was more successful at pretending to work for the rest of the afternoon than actually accomplishing anything. It was a slow day, which was just as well. He wasn't sure what good he would do a patient with anything but the most basic of problems in his state of mind. He had tried his best to put the thought of all of Garak's lies out of his head to no avail. The thought festered and fed his anger and resentment at being played. He had long known that Garak never said all that he meant. The thought that he had continued playing that game even on what he believed to be his deathbed spoke volumes to Julian about how he must really feel. Such contempt you have for me, he thought bitterly.
He left the infirmary late in the afternoon. Noticing Garak locking up for the evening, he hurried toward the turbolift in the hopes that he hadn't been spotted. Garak caught up to him effortlessly and fell into step with him at his side. “I missed you at lunch today, Doctor,” he said. “Busy day?”
“Yes,” Julian said curtly, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. He could feel Garak's eyes on him without even having to glance his way. The assessment felt like pressure at his side. He determined not to give him a centimeter of feedback, setting his face to as neutral of an expression as he could manage in his black mood.
“It must have been draining. You look tense,” Garak continued. “Perhaps we could get a drink at Quark's.”
“I'm not tense,” he snapped. He stopped to wait for the turbolift, lacing both hands at the small of his back and spreading his feet in a wide stance.
Garak's eyes widened slightly. “If you say so,” he said.
“I do.”
“Noted.”
“Stop that. Stop sneaking in the last word. It's annoying,” Julian huffed.
“Sneaking?” Garak's eyes twinkled. “When do I ever sneak? I was being quite blatant about it, I thought.”
The turbolift arrived. To his chagrin, Garak stepped in with him. As the lift began to rise, Julian folded his arms across his chest and looked up at the ceiling. It was the only way he could avoid having the Cardassian in his peripheral vision without turning his back altogether.
“I get the distinct impression you're not happy with me,” Garak said.
“I can't imagine why you'd think that,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.
“There,” he replied, undaunted. “That tone in your voice, your refusal to look at me, your body language, everything about you at the moment is telling me that you're angry. Would you care to tell me what it is I'm supposed to have done so that I can apologize, and we can put the whole thing behind us?”
He looked at him then. As usual, there was nothing to be read in the carefully crafted demeanor except what Garak wanted him to see, in this case somewhat condescending solicitousness. “You really do think it's that easy, don't you?” he said heatedly. “Whatever you've done this time, you'll mouth a few platitudes, I'll swallow it whole like a particularly fat and stupid fish with a hooked worm, and we can go about our business pretending to be friends so you can avoid complete boredom in a place you clearly loathe.”
“Is this about what I said to you when you first got me into the infirmary?” he asked, frowning slightly. “I hope you understand I wasn't myself when I said those unkind things. I enjoy our lunches and our conversations very much.”
“That's just it, Garak,” Julian enunciated every word precisely. “When are you yourself? At our lunches? I strongly doubt it. When you come to me in the middle of the night demanding I procure us a runabout so that you can play games with others' lives? When you think you're on your deathbed? When? I'd dearly love to know...Elim.”
To his surprise, Garak flinched very slightly at the sound of his name coming from Julian's mouth in that tone of voice. “I see,” he said heavily, a complex look fleeting behind his blue eyes. “You think that because I don't tell you things the way you'd prefer to hear them that I care nothing for you or our friendship.”
“Computer, stop lift,” the doctor barked out. “Don't you dare even try to turn this around and play the wounded party. I'd think that after all I've done for you, I deserve better than that.” As soon as he said it, he regretted the way he had phrased it, but it was too late to take it back.
“Ah,” Garak said mildly. “I knew you Federation doctors weren't as altruistic as you claim. So tell me, Doctor, what do I owe you for all you've done? I'll assume that you mean my life, of course, but what else? Tolerating my company for almost two years? Slogging through literature you think is far inferior to your own preferred reading, and it must be so, because anything that doesn't promulgate Federation ideals and Terran culture is inherently of lesser value. Helping me get to the bottom of a ploy that could have undermined the foundations of my home-world government? I've racked up quite the debt queue. Where shall we start?”
He looked into the now icy blue eyes and sighed. “That's not what I meant,” he said.
“Isn't it? Please, don't insult my intelligence. I'm a much better liar than you. You think that simply because I lied to you that night that there was no truth in the moments we shared.” He glanced up and to the side, saying, “Computer, start lift.”
They continued their ascent. “What am I supposed to think?” Julian asked, frustrated.
“Well, I'm sure you can think whatever you like,” he answered with offhand sarcasm. “I'm not your keeper.”
“No, you're not, but I naively hoped that you were at least my friend. Dax tried to warn me. I didn't listen to her. I didn't want to believe it.” If he hadn't held such tight control of himself, he realized to his horror that he'd be close to tears. That was something he could never allow the implacable Cardassian to see if he hoped to retain any self-respect.
“Oh, Dax,” Garak spat. “I suppose you consider Dax a good friend, even though she treats you like a boy instead of a man and shunts aside your every move the way you might swat a fly? Is that the Dax you mean, or is there some other Dax of which I'm not aware?”
“At least she's honest with me,” he retorted. “She doesn't string me along feigning affection while feeling contempt. I suppose I've been very entertaining for you these past two years, the naïve, idealistic Starfleet officer who hangs on your every word and sticks his neck out more than he ought to. You've been having quite the laugh behind my back, I'd wager.”
“Computer, stop lift,” Garak said as soon as they reached a floor where he could disembark. He stepped out and whirled back to face Julian. “Don't flatter yourself,” he sneered. “You're mildly entertaining at best, hardly worth a good laugh. You needn't worry that I'll waste any more of my time with you.”
“You're assuming I'd let you,” Julian retorted in kind. Only when the lift had resumed and taken him out of Garak's view did he lift shaking hands and run them down his face. They had verbally sparred plenty of times over lunch, but aside from his wire induced erratic behavior, Garak had never attacked him like that before. It wasn't fair or right, either, as far as he was concerned. Regardless of how Garak tried to twist it, Julian was the wounded party in this. Garak could either come to that realization and apologize, or he could find out the real meaning of being alone on the station. A small part of him protested that he was taking it too far based only on part of the picture, but he was too angry to listen to that part. He stalked to his room for a long sonic shower and did his best to set the entire thing aside. He wasn't going to solve anything by stewing over it.
Garak
Private Quarters
Garak sagged against the door after it shut behind him. The argument with the doctor had him conflicted. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Julian was furious with him, and he knew that from the way the doctor viewed the world, he had a right to be. From his own perspective, the verbal jousting was as stimulating as it was irritating. There was no way the doctor could possibly know that what had transpired in the turbolift would be considered foreplay on Cardassia, and there was no way he intended to tell him.
He inhaled deeply a few times, calming himself and exorcising the pent sexual tension. It wouldn't serve to do anything but to cloud his mind when he needed to be able to think clearly. How could he possibly mend this tear in the fabric of their friendship when the doctor understood him so little? How could the man not know what a tremendous act of trust it was for Garak to allow him to see him and stay with him at his most vulnerable? So what if he hadn't given him exact details? There were worlds of truth in the subtext of everything he had told him. Julian was an intelligent man. Why didn't he use that mind of his more often?
“What am I supposed to do, present everything to him on a gold pressed latinum platter?” he snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. “What, Tain tells you one thing about me when you've been in his company all of twenty minutes, and you find him more credible than me after almost two years? It never occurs to you that he may have ulterior motives? So you play right into his hands and help him to isolate me further.”
He paced as he spoke, feeling the build of another one of his migraines. Stubbornly, he avoided taking any of the pills the doctor had given him just for that purpose, instead resorting to his old stand by, a bottle of well aged kanar. He consumed the entire bottle in the space of an hour and another before three hours had passed.
The entire time he talked to himself, more precisely, to Julian who wasn't there. He railed and accused; he apologized and begged forgiveness, and then he returned to railing. How dare he? How dare he take him to task for being who he was, who Tain had made him? How dare he accept Tain's word as gospel when it came to all things Elim Garak and discard Garak's own words as worthless just because they didn't conform to his narrow, unimaginative definition of truth? There was more truth in his little finger than Tain possessed in his entire bloated body.
For the second time since he had met him, Garak left his quarters more full of kanar than sober sense to give Julian a piece of his mind. This time, he didn't hesitate once he reached the doctor's door. He hailed him several times in rapid succession.
“Hold on! Just a minute!” came Julian's irritated voice through the comm. He opened the door and immediately put an arm up against the frame to prevent Garak from coming inside. “What do you want?” he demanded angrily. “I thought you said you were done with me.”
Garak eyed him blearily and shoved past him with force.
“Hey!” Julian yelped, quickly following him and grasping his shoulder. “What do you think you're doing, barging into my quarters?” As he turned him, he pulled a face. “You've been drinking,” he said. “I don't want you here drunk. Go home and sleep it off.”
“I'll leave in a minute,” Garak said, “but not before I've said what I have to say.”
“You said enough in the turbolift,” the doctor retorted. “More than enough.”
“You're an idiot,” Garak snarled.
“Oh, brilliant! Thank you so very much for that. You walked all the way down here and invited yourself in just to say that? Let me guess. Tomorrow, you'll try to claim it was the kanar talking.”
“If you'll shut up for five seconds, I'll finish that thought,” he said through gritted teeth. “After all the time we've spent together, I thought you'd know,” he said. “I thought you'd see that if I didn't trust you to a greater degree than I've allowed myself to trust anyone in a very long time, I never would have let you near me when the wire started to malfunction. I'd sooner die than let one of those damned Bajorans or even most of you Starfleeters touch me in a state like that. You held my hand. How could you not know?” He felt all of his long sorrow and loneliness bubbling up, loosened by the liberal dosage of kanar and the genuine hurt he felt due to the doctor's assumptions. He'd be damned if he intended to let the man see it, his eyes hard.
The doctor searched his gaze, clearly wary. “Garak, how could I know? All of those things you told me, none of them true. Do you have any idea how much it stung standing in front of that horrid man and having him laugh at me because you pulled one over on me?”
“So it's about your pride,” Garak said, turning away and further hurt. “I should have realized.”
“No,” Julian replied, grasping his shoulder and attempting to turn him back toward him. “It's about how I feel and how it doesn't seem to matter to you, not even a little bit.”
He allowed him to turn him. “How can you say that? Have you seen me seek anyone else out on this station on a regular basis in all the time you've known me? Do you truly believe that I would share the literature I love best with someone like Chief O'Brien or Odo? Would I read whatever they gave me, no matter how dreadful, just so we'd have something safe to discuss over lunch?” It took him a split second to realize what he had said with his drink loosened tongue and less time than that for Julian to pounce on it.
“Something safe?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “Garak, in all of our dealings, have I ever seriously pried into anything I knew you didn't want me to know? Do you honestly believe that I hope to obtain state secrets from you for Starfleet?”
He closed his eyes briefly in relief. The man had no idea what he had just said. Let him think it was about that. Even that was safer than what was almost revealed. “Isn't that what you think I'm doing with you for Cardassia?”
Julian's brown eyes narrowed, not angrily, but thoughtfully. “I don't doubt you would if I were to let something slip,” he said. “That's not what you were talking about, though. I can tell. You meant something else.”
“Don't change the subject,” Garak chided him, his heart racing faster.
“What are you talking about?” he asked with a puzzled expression.
“You were talking about how you feel,” he said, raising his voice to sound more challenging, “and my supposed callousness toward you. Well, here I am, Doctor,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “I'm completely at your disposal. Tell me all about how you feel.”
“You're mocking me,” Julian said, turning away. “If that's what you came here to do, you can turn yourself right around again and sod off. I don't have to take this in my own quarters.”
Garak laughed. “I'm not sure the universal translator handled what you just said adequately. I could almost swear you just told me to strip turf.”
When the man turned back to face him again, he wasn't laughing. His cheeks were hotly flushed, his fists balled. “I said sod off. It means leave. I really think you should.”
“Or what, Doctor? Are you going to hit me? Do you think that would be wise?” He was becoming aroused again despite himself. It didn't matter that Julian didn't intend it. It was an instinctive response to the increasingly heated exchange.
“That would give you tremendous satisfaction, to know that you had provoked me so thoroughly that I lost my temper and my common decency. No, I have no intention of hitting you, but I'm very angry with you, and...and I'm hurt, Garak. There, I've said it. Are you happy now? It's what you intended, isn't it?”
He felt much of the heat drain out of him at the confession. He hadn't anticipated that the man would say any such thing. Of course he had been deliberately hurtful to deflect from his slip of the tongue. Hearing it come directly from him was an experience he had never had with another Cardassian, much less a human. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he tried to play it safe and say nothing at all.
“Oh, come on. I'm disappointed,” Julian sneered. “No gloating at your point scored? What would Tain say to your sudden loss of stomach for the game?”
“Tain would be delighted that we're at odds,” he answered quietly. “It's what he intended in telling you my name and exposing what I had told you as a fabrication. He can't stand the thought that I may have found some comfort here in my exile. Oh, yes, Doctor, don't look so surprised. If I could go home, don't you think that I would've by now?”
“Am I really a comfort?” Julian asked, dropping his voice to match Garak's volume.
Garak nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yes, very much so,” he said. His heart had started to race again, this time for a different reason. He was no longer aroused, but he was nervous at this turn in the conversation. It hit too close to home for comfort. “If you truly believe I care nothing for you, say so. I'll leave, and I swear to you I won't bother you again.”
Julian hesitantly stepped closer, his hands relaxing from their tight clench. “I don't know what to believe,” he said. “I want to think we're friends. I want to believe that the...affection...I feel for you is mutual.”
“Affection?” Garak murmured, hazarding a glance at the man's dark, liquid eyes.
“Yes,” he said more loudly. “Affection. I'm fond of all of my friends, Garak, including you.”
“Of course,” Garak said rather stiffly, feeling like an old fool. What did he possibly have to offer this young man other than what he already provided, guidance in becoming more observant and cynical and stimulating lunch conversation? Why had he let his need run away with him to such a large degree? He knew that he had better leave soon if he didn't want to turn this reconciliation into a complete fiasco. He was too intoxicated to trust himself, even if he wasn't showing it much outwardly.
“What is it?” Julian stepped closer yet, trying to get Garak to meet his gaze again. “What did I say?”
“Nothing, Doctor,” Garak rallied. “Nothing wrong, that is. I'm glad to know you feel that way, and I'm sorry I haven't made it more obvious that it's mutual. I regret that my lack of demonstrativeness led us to this point of misunderstanding. Now that it's cleared up, I should be getting back to my quarters. As you said, I'm too intoxicated for polite company.”
He took a few steps toward the door but stopped when he felt Julian's warm hand clasp over his shoulder. “Garak...Elim...stop. Please,” the doctor said so gently it made him want to weep.
Please, don't give me pity, he thought desperately, turning and dreading what he might find in those dark eyes. It was a conflicted look, one not easy to read, but whatever it was, it wasn't pity. He held his breath, willing the man to say something to break the unbearable tension of the moment.
“I know I'm missing something,” he said. “I can tell. Just this once, help me? Tell me what it is. I don't want to be at odds with you. I don't like fighting with you. It ties my stomach in knots.”
Garak smiled a bit sadly, also immensely relieved. He could take just about anything from this man except pity. “We're not at odds anymore,” he assured him. “I'm not angry, but I am tired. I think I should get to bed and sleep this kanar off.”
“If you're sure,” Bashir said. He looked even younger than usual in his uncertainty, a crease forming between his brows.
Garak felt the irrational impulse to kiss it away. It is definitely time to go, he told himself firmly. “I'm positive,” he said, forcing a smile. “Don't think any more of it, Doctor. I'll see you next week for lunch?”
Bashir nodded, still grasping his shoulder. When Garak glanced questioningly at his hand, he dropped it back to his side. “Yes,” he said. “I'm sorry about today. It was petty of me not to just tell you I was hurt.”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed, a teasing twinkle coming back into his gaze. “Fortunately for you, I'm not one to let such things lie. Good night, Doctor.”
“Good night...Elim,” Bashir said right before his door closed and shut the Cardassian out.
Garak shivered and swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth. He had ridden the ragged edge of disaster and barely kept himself in check. He decided he couldn't trust himself drunk around such a tempting target again. He hadn't lied when he told the doctor that he cared for him. No matter how starved he was for physical affection, however, he was determined that he wouldn't allow his need and desire to overshadow what the human obviously viewed as a platonic friendship. He didn't think the doctor would appreciate the irony that he held Garak in the same position in which Dax held him. Not quite the same, Elim, a wry part of his consciousness informed him. You haven't told him how you really feel. “Nor do I intend to,” he muttered aloud, walking swiftly back the way he had come. The more distance he put between himself and the doctor in the mood he was in, the safer it was for both of them and the survival of what he had miraculously managed to mend.
Julian
Private Quarters
Long after Garak had left that night, Julian wracked his brain trying to figure out what it was that he was missing when it came to their conversation. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that Garak seemed nervous about something ever since...yes, ever since the comment he made about having something safe to talk about over lunch. Naturally, Julian had assumed he was referring to secrets from his past or of his government, but was he? What other dangerous subjects could they possibly cover? He went to bed with the question tumbling around in his mind like a loose rock, hoping that maybe after a full night's sleep, he'd be alert enough to come up with an answer.
He awoke to the sensation of his covers slowly slipping down his bare chest. When had he undressed? “Computer, lights,” he said in a sleep muzzy voice. The system didn't respond. By then the covers had reached his waist. “Computer!” he tried again to no avail. “Who's there?” he called out and tried to grab for the edge of the fabric. At the last instant, it was whisked away from him, leaving him exposed.
“Answer me!” he demanded.
An answer of sorts came in the form of cool hands sliding up his thighs with firm, even pressure. Instead of shying away, he found himself pressing into the touch. He laid his head back on his pillow and gasped aloud, unafraid. “That feels good,” he murmured. The hands stroked and teased, fingertips cupping over his tender inner thighs and dancing upward. The palms pressed over the cusps of his hip bones, slipped higher over the soft expanse of his flat belly, his rib cage, and then his chest. As they slid back downward, nails raked his skin now gone to goose flesh and flicked over his dusky nipples, hard as pebbles. He arched his back and moaned, twisting over his thin mattress.
Warm breath caressed the lower curve of his belly. He felt himself harden so fully it was almost painful. Reaching downward he found his mystery assailant with both hands. His fingers sifted into soft, thick hair, silky smooth and positively luxurious to the touch. Delving deeper, he raked his nails over scalp and felt a distinctive pattern of ridges beneath each hand. “G—Garak?” he asked in shock, his heart skipping a beat and starting to race.
He tried to sit up, but the gentle hands turned implacable, pushing him back down into the bed with insistent pressure. He felt his legs pinned by stronger legs. Although he bucked and twisted, he could find no advantage and no purchase to gain one. The Cardassian's skin was hard, cool scale, well armored for such endeavors. He pushed uselessly at broad shoulders and tugged even more uselessly at the thick hair. His struggles died the moment he felt a warm, wet, impossibly long tongue wrap languidly about his manhood and begin to do to him things he had never known a tongue could do.
Within moments, he reached fever pitch. He still bucked beneath the heavier man, but not to throw him off. He arched his hips upward and pressed down with both hands on Garak's head, driving himself as deeply into the maddening mouth as he possibly could. He felt Garak's nose grinding into his thick thatch of pubic hair. “Yes,” he panted. “Oh, God, yes. Please, don't stop. I'm so close...”
He came so hard that the base of his balls ached and throbbed. The sensation jolted him wide awake. His covers were a tangled mess in more ways than one, and sweat had soaked clean through his pajamas. “Oh, God,” he gasped, still twitching and juddering from the most intense orgasm he could ever recall. “Computer, lights!” he said quickly. Bright light stabbed into his skull. He blinked back sudden tears, his gaze darting blearily around his room. There was no sign of the Cardassian. “Computer,” he said, “where is Garak?”
“Garak is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” the emotionless female voice intoned.
“How long has he been there?” he asked, unable to believe that such a vivid dream came out of nowhere.
“Garak has been in Chamber 901 for four hours, thirty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds,” came the response.
“Was there any transporter activity in my room tonight?” he asked, scrubbing his hands vigorously down his cheeks.
“Negative.”
“Any intruders?”
“Negative.”
He sighed and threw his feet over the side of the bed so that he could clean up and change into another set of pajamas. Every time his mind trod even close to the contents of the dream, he felt himself go hot all over, burning with shame and something else, an echo of desire. What in the world would Garak think of him if he found out he had such a dream? How would he be able to hide the fact from the frighteningly observant man? Even if he didn't come out and say specifically what had happened, the Cardassian would know something had changed. He'd read it in his eyes. “How can I face him?” he asked.
“Rephrase the question,” the computer droned.
“No, computer,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I'm done with my inquiries for now.” Think, Julian, he thought as he stripped from his damp pj's and stepped into the sonic shower. What did you learn in those two psychology classes they made you take at Academy? “Dreams are almost never literal,” he said aloud. His skin tingled pleasantly from the shower as his sweat and his seed were shaken away. So what did it mean? He wondered. “Dreams of sex can indicate a desire to be closer to someone,” he recalled. “It's not even uncommon for parents and older children to have sexual dreams of one another. They don't indicate a latent attraction or perversion, just a deep seated desire for more emotional intimacy with the subject.”
He felt better with that rationalization, particularly in the context of their recent argument. Stepping from the shower, he shrugged into his fresh pajamas. His body still basked in the afterglow of the intense release. Instead of going straight back to bed, he replicated himself a cup of tea and curled up on his couch with the Enigma Tale Garak had saddled him with for their weekly reading. If anything could remove the last traces of erotic craving from his mind, it would be the convoluted murder mystery where everyone was guilty and he had to figure out how and of what. Cardassian intrigue was positively exhausting. He fell asleep with his head resting against the back of his sofa at an awkward angle and awoke with a horrible crick in his neck. “Lovely,” he muttered.
He dressed himself quickly and headed in to work, expecting another slow day. By lunch time, he had finished with the updates to the records. Although he felt accomplished, he also felt sore and stiff. He could barely turn his head to the right, with the left only marginally better. He was about to stand when a familiar voice at the door to his office froze him in place. Even though Garak hadn't spoken to him in his dream, the smooth voice cut through him and awakened unexpected desire. “I'm sorry for interrupting you,” the tailor said. “The nurse said it was fine for me to come back to you. I wanted to catch you before you left for lunch.”
With his heart racing, Julian tried to calm himself. This is ridiculous, he thought. It was a dream. Get hold of yourself! He tried to turn to look at Garak and found he had to use his whole chair to do it, wincing from the aborted attempt to turn his head.
Garak's brow ridges dipped in concern, and he crossed the threshold into the small room. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Did you somehow hurt yourself after I retired last evening?”
“No,” he brushed off his concern. “I just slept wrong, so I have a crick in my neck.”
“Oh, that is most unpleasant,” Garak sympathized. “It doesn't often happen to us Cardassians, but when it does, you can imagine the difficulty it causes. I've been told I have a decent touch for such things. Would you like for me to help you?” he asked, stepping closer.
“No!” he said too quickly and too loudly by far. “I mean, it's really nothing, Garak. I wouldn't want you to put yourself out on my behalf.”
Garak's eyes narrowed slightly, and Julian felt himself squirm under the intense scrutiny. “I came to offer to buy you lunch at Quark's, my way of apologizing for yesterday's unpleasantness and barging into your quarters uninvited. I believed that we had smoothed over that difficulty. Was I mistaken?”
“No,” he answered. “No, you weren't mistaken. Lunch at Quark's sounds splendid. Thank you.” He forced a smile and resisted the impulse to wipe his damp palms on his uniform trousers.
“Turn around,” Garak insisted. “As much as you've helped me, this is the least I can do for you in return. It won't take long.” Brooking no argument, Garak turned his chair for him and settled both hands to the back of his neck. Julian braced himself, expecting the Cardassian to dig his fingers painfully into the muscle right away. He didn't, instead beginning with long, gentle strokes of fingers and palms, starting at the base of his skull up into his hairline and sweeping downward over his shoulders and to mid-back. “Too many people don't relax the outer layer of muscle first,” he explained in a clinical voice. “They squeeze and push too hard at the outset, doing more harm than good.”
“Mnh,” he said, fighting a shiver. The Cardassian's hands felt almost just as they had in his dream, only slightly rougher in texture, his palms coated with scales as fine as those of a small lizard's. The doctor tucked his sweat damp hands beneath his thighs and tipped his head forward as much as he could against the stiffness.
“No need to round your back like that,” Garak said, seizing his shoulders and giving an expert shake to loosen him. “Just relax and let me do all the work, hmm?”
“All right,” he said. He wondered if Garak would hear the hint of breathlessness in his voice.
“That's better, Doctor,” the tailor said serenely. It didn't take him long to hone in on the problem areas. With each squeeze, prod, and stroke of his hands, he kneaded more deeply into the cramped muscles. Julian almost groaned aloud when he felt the heel of Garak's palm circling into the tight knot between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck loosened in response. In less time than he would've believed possible, Garak had him pain free. Had it not been for the memory of the dream so vivid in his mind, he would have been far more relaxed. “Turn your neck for me,” Garak instructed.
He did so, astonished to discover he had regained his full range of motion without so much as a twinge of discomfort. “How did you learn to do that?” he asked, looking up at the man over his shoulder and extremely aware of the hands still lightly resting to either side of his neck.
“You learn all sorts of things as a tailor,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Better now? Any lingering tension?”
You have no idea, he thought ruefully. “No, no more tension,” he said, unable to meet the inquisitive blue gaze.
Garak removed his hands from Julian's shoulders and turned his chair again so the doctor was facing him. “Doctor,” he said. “I have a distinct...talent...for sensing discomfort. You can tell me. Did you somehow hurt yourself last night? There's no need to be embarrassed.”
“I didn't hurt myself,” he insisted and turned the chair away. He waited a few beats before pushing to his feet. It wouldn't do for Garak to see any trace of his lingering, unintended effect on him. He imagined the older man would be horrified, possibly even offended. He, himself, had no idea what to do with the intrusive new thoughts and feelings. He had never been attracted to men on any level beyond experimenting superficially in his early academy years, his few fumbling forays across the line facilitated by too much drink and never going very far. This was very different. This was someone he genuinely cared about and respected. How could he possibly jeopardize that? Garak was standing too close. He wanted to put some distance between them but couldn't figure out how to do it without being obvious. “About lunch,” he said brightly. “Does the offer still stand?”
Garak eyed him a long moment before nodding. “Yes, of course,” he said. As he turned toward the door, Julian thought he caught a flash of hurt and disappointment cross the man's craggy features.
“Garak, wait,” he said. He felt light headed with the thought of what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of the tailor's believing that there was lingering acrimony on his part or an excess of mistrust. “Computer, close and lock door,” he said. The door hissed into place.
Frowning, Garak pivoted to face him. “Doctor?” he asked, a brow ridge raised and his expression demanding of an explanation.
He swallowed thickly and wiped his hands down his trousers. “I...I had a dream last night,” he said. Blood pounded in his ears with a steady, throbbing whoosh. He felt heat rising from his neck to his hairline, and he continued in a rush before he could lose his nerve. “It was about you. It was...it was confusing.”
Garak stood as still as stone, his eyes fixed unblinking on Julian's. “Confusing how?” he asked mildly. “What happened in the dream? Did it frighten you?”
“It didn't frighten me in the dream,” he answered truthfully, “but once I was awake, yes. I felt very disconcerted.”
“Was it violent?” he asked. “Did I harm you in some way? The fight was upsetting. It could easily explain such a thing, you know.”
“It wasn't violent. You were...you were forceful, but you didn't hurt me,” he said, swallowing again. “It was...” his voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze. “It was a sexual dream, Garak. I thought I'd have more time before I saw you to get it out of my head. I...I don't see you that way,” he tried to assure him. “At least, I didn't. Now...well, would you say something? I'm floundering all over the place, and I want to get this straightened out so that it doesn't ruin our friendship. You have to know I'd never do anything like that to you. It's bad enough that I've chased after Dax all this time like a love sick puppy. When I think of doing it to you...”
Garak cut him off. “You'd never pursue me sexually?” he asked sharply.
“N—no! I respect you too much for that,” he said, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.
“So you only sexually pursue people you don't respect?” he asked tartly. “What would Lieutenant Dax think of that, I wonder, or any of the number of other women I've seen you chasing over the past two years?”
“You're twisting my words,” Julian said desperately. “I can see that I've offended you, and that's exactly what I wanted to avoid. I didn't want to tell you about the dream at all!”
“Then why did you?” the tailor demanded.
“Because you could see that something wasn't right, and I've never been any good at lying to you. I didn't want you thinking I was still angry with you or hiding things from you because I didn't trust you.”
“You trust me?” Garak snorted. “After all this time, I honestly thought I was making progress with you. I'm sorely disappointed. You should know better than that by now.” Garak's eyes glittered dangerously in the ambient office light.
Julian stared at him, horribly frustrated. “I could tell it upset you. Don't try to pretend it didn't. I can't win in this situation, can I? You would've been hurt had I said nothing, and you're completely offended now that I have.”
“You're so certain it's your dream that has offended me?” Garak snapped. Julian could see that his hands were balled into tight fists.
“Well, yes, what else could it...could it be?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer. His breath caught in his throat, and he distanced himself from his emotional upset to really look at Garak. Oh, Julian, you idiot, he thought, his gaze softening. “Garak,” he said, reaching for the other man's hand, but Garak was having none of it, jerking back forcefully.
“Don't,” he said tightly. “Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare feel sorry for me! Unlock this door. Unlock it at once!”
“Feel sorry for you?” he gaped at him. “Is that what you think? Look at me, Elim. Stop being so damned stubborn, and look at me!”
He almost staggered from the weight and heat of the other man's gaze. Garak's blue eyes had gone from ice to fire in an instant. His voice came thickly, the words in a swift tumble. “Don't toy with me,” he said. “I won't stand for it. I'm not some naïve child you can charm with your stories of Academy, and I won't be satisfied with some passing dalliance you'll set aside as soon as something more attractive comes along. If you want me, you had better mean it, Julian,” he warned.
For once he believed the man was being completely truthful with him. He had never seen Garak like this before, unmasked and fighting for himself and his needs no holds barred. It thrilled him in a secret corner of his heart he rarely, if ever, let anyone touch to know that this man, this magnificent, proud, complex man was telling him that he was more to him than a passing fancy, that he fully expected that if Julian acted on his attraction, it would be more than a one time thing, more than a fling. At the same time, he felt trepidation. He knew beyond any doubt that all it would take would be one perceived act of betrayal on his part for Garak to cut him out of his heart forever. This was not the sort of man who gave second chances. In fact he rarely gave first ones.
Tentatively, he closed the short distance between them, only having to look down slightly to keep eye contact. If he thought the look Gul Dukat had given Garak was intense, it was nothing compared to the naked challenge he faced now. The look seemed to dare him to make a move, or perhaps dared him not to. He lifted slightly trembling hands and cupped Garak's ridged jawline in each, the middle finger tips of both settling naturally into the clefts formed close to the base of the Cardassian's ears where the ridge diverged into two.
Garak stiffened, the flared ridges of his neck widening. For the first time, Julian saw a pulse there, close to the base of the broad scales, and it was racing. “I'd never toy with you,” he said earnestly, stroking a thumb over Garak's cheek. It felt like his palm, slightly rough. Experimentally, he shifted the direction of the stroke downward. Now it felt incredibly smooth and silky. Warmth spread in his belly and radiated in all directions through his body. He couldn't believe what he was doing, yet he had no desire to stop. “I care for you. You know that.”
He slipped his hands further back, his fingers delving into the sleek thickness of that straight, black hair. It wasn't as soft as in his dream, but it had weight to it, giving him something to grasp and hold. Lowering his head, he nuzzled his cheek against Garak's and let his breath spill over the curve of the man's ear. He heard Garak inhale sharply through his nose and felt the tension in him coil. “Elim,” he whispered, “you can touch me, you know. You don't have to stand there like that and just take it.”
“No, Julian,” the tailor's voice came low, ragged and hoarse. With what seemed like supreme effort, he reached up and gently disentangled himself from the doctor's hold. His grasp of both of Julian's wrists tightened painfully before releasing. Hurt and confused, Julian drew a breath to question him, but Garak stilled it with a finger to his lips. “Not here. If I start with you, I don't trust myself to stop. The infirmary is no place for this, and I don't want to be interrupted.”
The warmth in his belly flared to intense heat, and he felt himself stiffening fully erect with that tremulous confession. He couldn't argue with the logic of what Garak said, and he couldn't just abandon his post for the day because he suddenly wanted to more than anything. “You're right,” he said, surprised to find the shakiness had now infected his voice as well. “Tonight then?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” the Cardassian hissed. “Tonight. Now, if you value your office and my sanity at all, please unlock the door.”
“Garak?” he said.
“What? Doctor?” Garak asked, over enunciating every syllable and fixing him with a glassy stare.
“My place, or yours?”
Julian
The Infirmary
Julian found himself once again losing track of his update of the medical records. In a fit of pique, he shut down the display and sat back heavily against his chair back. It had been nearly two weeks since he had journeyed to Arawath Colony to obtain the information that would save Garak's life from the malfunctioning implant in his skull. Since then Garak had seemed content to act as though nothing at all had happened, as glib and infuriatingly smug as ever. Their lunch meetings continued on schedule, their conversations about literature and politics, everything. Yet, nothing was the same, not for the young doctor.
His cheeks flamed with embarrassment when he thought of how he held Garak's hand and listened so eagerly and earnestly to every tale he spun him from his hospital bed and how gleefully Enabran Tain disabused him of any notion he had that Garak trusted him with the simple revelation that the mysterious Elim was not Garak's friend or cohort, but Garak himself. Elim Garak, he thought, shaking his head and frowning deeply. Did you enjoy playing me? Did you feast on every concerned look and touch with secret amusement at my expense? Don't you realize how much that hurts?
There was the crux of the issue, the sting that went so much deeper than his skin. When Garak had been dying, Julian thought that at last the Cardassian trusted him and realized that he was important to him. Why else had Garak so carefully cultivated his association if not to reach out in his loneliness and form a bond of friendship? Dax had warned him in her annoyingly superior way that Garak didn't truly see him as a friend. If it was so blatantly obvious to her from the distance she maintained from the tailor, why had it not been obvious to him? After all this time, how could he still have blind spots in regard to the mysterious Cardassian? Wouldn't he be better off just writing him off the way the rest of them did, making use of him as needed and staying away from him most of the time?
He glanced at the time and set his jaw. Garak would be expecting him for lunch any moment. He was tired of answering to the tailor's exacting expectations and receiving nothing in return but hidden barbs, obfuscations, and that bland smile that could mean anything at all. He didn't care if Garak felt no real gratitude for his saving his life. As a doctor, he'd save his worst enemy and think nothing of it. What bothered him tremendously was how one sided it seemed their association really was, how all that time he thought they had something real when, in fact, it was likely as illusory as Garak's fanciful tales of “Elim”.
“Sir?” one of the Bajoran nurses stuck her head into his office. “It's almost lunch time.”
“I know,” he said, bringing the display of medical record updates back online. “I'm not particularly hungry right now. I'll grab something later. Why don't you go ahead? I'll man the fort.”
“All right,” she agreed and left him to his work.
He didn't care that he was more successful at pretending to work for the rest of the afternoon than actually accomplishing anything. It was a slow day, which was just as well. He wasn't sure what good he would do a patient with anything but the most basic of problems in his state of mind. He had tried his best to put the thought of all of Garak's lies out of his head to no avail. The thought festered and fed his anger and resentment at being played. He had long known that Garak never said all that he meant. The thought that he had continued playing that game even on what he believed to be his deathbed spoke volumes to Julian about how he must really feel. Such contempt you have for me, he thought bitterly.
He left the infirmary late in the afternoon. Noticing Garak locking up for the evening, he hurried toward the turbolift in the hopes that he hadn't been spotted. Garak caught up to him effortlessly and fell into step with him at his side. “I missed you at lunch today, Doctor,” he said. “Busy day?”
“Yes,” Julian said curtly, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. He could feel Garak's eyes on him without even having to glance his way. The assessment felt like pressure at his side. He determined not to give him a centimeter of feedback, setting his face to as neutral of an expression as he could manage in his black mood.
“It must have been draining. You look tense,” Garak continued. “Perhaps we could get a drink at Quark's.”
“I'm not tense,” he snapped. He stopped to wait for the turbolift, lacing both hands at the small of his back and spreading his feet in a wide stance.
Garak's eyes widened slightly. “If you say so,” he said.
“I do.”
“Noted.”
“Stop that. Stop sneaking in the last word. It's annoying,” Julian huffed.
“Sneaking?” Garak's eyes twinkled. “When do I ever sneak? I was being quite blatant about it, I thought.”
The turbolift arrived. To his chagrin, Garak stepped in with him. As the lift began to rise, Julian folded his arms across his chest and looked up at the ceiling. It was the only way he could avoid having the Cardassian in his peripheral vision without turning his back altogether.
“I get the distinct impression you're not happy with me,” Garak said.
“I can't imagine why you'd think that,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.
“There,” he replied, undaunted. “That tone in your voice, your refusal to look at me, your body language, everything about you at the moment is telling me that you're angry. Would you care to tell me what it is I'm supposed to have done so that I can apologize, and we can put the whole thing behind us?”
He looked at him then. As usual, there was nothing to be read in the carefully crafted demeanor except what Garak wanted him to see, in this case somewhat condescending solicitousness. “You really do think it's that easy, don't you?” he said heatedly. “Whatever you've done this time, you'll mouth a few platitudes, I'll swallow it whole like a particularly fat and stupid fish with a hooked worm, and we can go about our business pretending to be friends so you can avoid complete boredom in a place you clearly loathe.”
“Is this about what I said to you when you first got me into the infirmary?” he asked, frowning slightly. “I hope you understand I wasn't myself when I said those unkind things. I enjoy our lunches and our conversations very much.”
“That's just it, Garak,” Julian enunciated every word precisely. “When are you yourself? At our lunches? I strongly doubt it. When you come to me in the middle of the night demanding I procure us a runabout so that you can play games with others' lives? When you think you're on your deathbed? When? I'd dearly love to know...Elim.”
To his surprise, Garak flinched very slightly at the sound of his name coming from Julian's mouth in that tone of voice. “I see,” he said heavily, a complex look fleeting behind his blue eyes. “You think that because I don't tell you things the way you'd prefer to hear them that I care nothing for you or our friendship.”
“Computer, stop lift,” the doctor barked out. “Don't you dare even try to turn this around and play the wounded party. I'd think that after all I've done for you, I deserve better than that.” As soon as he said it, he regretted the way he had phrased it, but it was too late to take it back.
“Ah,” Garak said mildly. “I knew you Federation doctors weren't as altruistic as you claim. So tell me, Doctor, what do I owe you for all you've done? I'll assume that you mean my life, of course, but what else? Tolerating my company for almost two years? Slogging through literature you think is far inferior to your own preferred reading, and it must be so, because anything that doesn't promulgate Federation ideals and Terran culture is inherently of lesser value. Helping me get to the bottom of a ploy that could have undermined the foundations of my home-world government? I've racked up quite the debt queue. Where shall we start?”
He looked into the now icy blue eyes and sighed. “That's not what I meant,” he said.
“Isn't it? Please, don't insult my intelligence. I'm a much better liar than you. You think that simply because I lied to you that night that there was no truth in the moments we shared.” He glanced up and to the side, saying, “Computer, start lift.”
They continued their ascent. “What am I supposed to think?” Julian asked, frustrated.
“Well, I'm sure you can think whatever you like,” he answered with offhand sarcasm. “I'm not your keeper.”
“No, you're not, but I naively hoped that you were at least my friend. Dax tried to warn me. I didn't listen to her. I didn't want to believe it.” If he hadn't held such tight control of himself, he realized to his horror that he'd be close to tears. That was something he could never allow the implacable Cardassian to see if he hoped to retain any self-respect.
“Oh, Dax,” Garak spat. “I suppose you consider Dax a good friend, even though she treats you like a boy instead of a man and shunts aside your every move the way you might swat a fly? Is that the Dax you mean, or is there some other Dax of which I'm not aware?”
“At least she's honest with me,” he retorted. “She doesn't string me along feigning affection while feeling contempt. I suppose I've been very entertaining for you these past two years, the naïve, idealistic Starfleet officer who hangs on your every word and sticks his neck out more than he ought to. You've been having quite the laugh behind my back, I'd wager.”
“Computer, stop lift,” Garak said as soon as they reached a floor where he could disembark. He stepped out and whirled back to face Julian. “Don't flatter yourself,” he sneered. “You're mildly entertaining at best, hardly worth a good laugh. You needn't worry that I'll waste any more of my time with you.”
“You're assuming I'd let you,” Julian retorted in kind. Only when the lift had resumed and taken him out of Garak's view did he lift shaking hands and run them down his face. They had verbally sparred plenty of times over lunch, but aside from his wire induced erratic behavior, Garak had never attacked him like that before. It wasn't fair or right, either, as far as he was concerned. Regardless of how Garak tried to twist it, Julian was the wounded party in this. Garak could either come to that realization and apologize, or he could find out the real meaning of being alone on the station. A small part of him protested that he was taking it too far based only on part of the picture, but he was too angry to listen to that part. He stalked to his room for a long sonic shower and did his best to set the entire thing aside. He wasn't going to solve anything by stewing over it.
Garak
Private Quarters
Garak sagged against the door after it shut behind him. The argument with the doctor had him conflicted. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Julian was furious with him, and he knew that from the way the doctor viewed the world, he had a right to be. From his own perspective, the verbal jousting was as stimulating as it was irritating. There was no way the doctor could possibly know that what had transpired in the turbolift would be considered foreplay on Cardassia, and there was no way he intended to tell him.
He inhaled deeply a few times, calming himself and exorcising the pent sexual tension. It wouldn't serve to do anything but to cloud his mind when he needed to be able to think clearly. How could he possibly mend this tear in the fabric of their friendship when the doctor understood him so little? How could the man not know what a tremendous act of trust it was for Garak to allow him to see him and stay with him at his most vulnerable? So what if he hadn't given him exact details? There were worlds of truth in the subtext of everything he had told him. Julian was an intelligent man. Why didn't he use that mind of his more often?
“What am I supposed to do, present everything to him on a gold pressed latinum platter?” he snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. “What, Tain tells you one thing about me when you've been in his company all of twenty minutes, and you find him more credible than me after almost two years? It never occurs to you that he may have ulterior motives? So you play right into his hands and help him to isolate me further.”
He paced as he spoke, feeling the build of another one of his migraines. Stubbornly, he avoided taking any of the pills the doctor had given him just for that purpose, instead resorting to his old stand by, a bottle of well aged kanar. He consumed the entire bottle in the space of an hour and another before three hours had passed.
The entire time he talked to himself, more precisely, to Julian who wasn't there. He railed and accused; he apologized and begged forgiveness, and then he returned to railing. How dare he? How dare he take him to task for being who he was, who Tain had made him? How dare he accept Tain's word as gospel when it came to all things Elim Garak and discard Garak's own words as worthless just because they didn't conform to his narrow, unimaginative definition of truth? There was more truth in his little finger than Tain possessed in his entire bloated body.
For the second time since he had met him, Garak left his quarters more full of kanar than sober sense to give Julian a piece of his mind. This time, he didn't hesitate once he reached the doctor's door. He hailed him several times in rapid succession.
“Hold on! Just a minute!” came Julian's irritated voice through the comm. He opened the door and immediately put an arm up against the frame to prevent Garak from coming inside. “What do you want?” he demanded angrily. “I thought you said you were done with me.”
Garak eyed him blearily and shoved past him with force.
“Hey!” Julian yelped, quickly following him and grasping his shoulder. “What do you think you're doing, barging into my quarters?” As he turned him, he pulled a face. “You've been drinking,” he said. “I don't want you here drunk. Go home and sleep it off.”
“I'll leave in a minute,” Garak said, “but not before I've said what I have to say.”
“You said enough in the turbolift,” the doctor retorted. “More than enough.”
“You're an idiot,” Garak snarled.
“Oh, brilliant! Thank you so very much for that. You walked all the way down here and invited yourself in just to say that? Let me guess. Tomorrow, you'll try to claim it was the kanar talking.”
“If you'll shut up for five seconds, I'll finish that thought,” he said through gritted teeth. “After all the time we've spent together, I thought you'd know,” he said. “I thought you'd see that if I didn't trust you to a greater degree than I've allowed myself to trust anyone in a very long time, I never would have let you near me when the wire started to malfunction. I'd sooner die than let one of those damned Bajorans or even most of you Starfleeters touch me in a state like that. You held my hand. How could you not know?” He felt all of his long sorrow and loneliness bubbling up, loosened by the liberal dosage of kanar and the genuine hurt he felt due to the doctor's assumptions. He'd be damned if he intended to let the man see it, his eyes hard.
The doctor searched his gaze, clearly wary. “Garak, how could I know? All of those things you told me, none of them true. Do you have any idea how much it stung standing in front of that horrid man and having him laugh at me because you pulled one over on me?”
“So it's about your pride,” Garak said, turning away and further hurt. “I should have realized.”
“No,” Julian replied, grasping his shoulder and attempting to turn him back toward him. “It's about how I feel and how it doesn't seem to matter to you, not even a little bit.”
He allowed him to turn him. “How can you say that? Have you seen me seek anyone else out on this station on a regular basis in all the time you've known me? Do you truly believe that I would share the literature I love best with someone like Chief O'Brien or Odo? Would I read whatever they gave me, no matter how dreadful, just so we'd have something safe to discuss over lunch?” It took him a split second to realize what he had said with his drink loosened tongue and less time than that for Julian to pounce on it.
“Something safe?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “Garak, in all of our dealings, have I ever seriously pried into anything I knew you didn't want me to know? Do you honestly believe that I hope to obtain state secrets from you for Starfleet?”
He closed his eyes briefly in relief. The man had no idea what he had just said. Let him think it was about that. Even that was safer than what was almost revealed. “Isn't that what you think I'm doing with you for Cardassia?”
Julian's brown eyes narrowed, not angrily, but thoughtfully. “I don't doubt you would if I were to let something slip,” he said. “That's not what you were talking about, though. I can tell. You meant something else.”
“Don't change the subject,” Garak chided him, his heart racing faster.
“What are you talking about?” he asked with a puzzled expression.
“You were talking about how you feel,” he said, raising his voice to sound more challenging, “and my supposed callousness toward you. Well, here I am, Doctor,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “I'm completely at your disposal. Tell me all about how you feel.”
“You're mocking me,” Julian said, turning away. “If that's what you came here to do, you can turn yourself right around again and sod off. I don't have to take this in my own quarters.”
Garak laughed. “I'm not sure the universal translator handled what you just said adequately. I could almost swear you just told me to strip turf.”
When the man turned back to face him again, he wasn't laughing. His cheeks were hotly flushed, his fists balled. “I said sod off. It means leave. I really think you should.”
“Or what, Doctor? Are you going to hit me? Do you think that would be wise?” He was becoming aroused again despite himself. It didn't matter that Julian didn't intend it. It was an instinctive response to the increasingly heated exchange.
“That would give you tremendous satisfaction, to know that you had provoked me so thoroughly that I lost my temper and my common decency. No, I have no intention of hitting you, but I'm very angry with you, and...and I'm hurt, Garak. There, I've said it. Are you happy now? It's what you intended, isn't it?”
He felt much of the heat drain out of him at the confession. He hadn't anticipated that the man would say any such thing. Of course he had been deliberately hurtful to deflect from his slip of the tongue. Hearing it come directly from him was an experience he had never had with another Cardassian, much less a human. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he tried to play it safe and say nothing at all.
“Oh, come on. I'm disappointed,” Julian sneered. “No gloating at your point scored? What would Tain say to your sudden loss of stomach for the game?”
“Tain would be delighted that we're at odds,” he answered quietly. “It's what he intended in telling you my name and exposing what I had told you as a fabrication. He can't stand the thought that I may have found some comfort here in my exile. Oh, yes, Doctor, don't look so surprised. If I could go home, don't you think that I would've by now?”
“Am I really a comfort?” Julian asked, dropping his voice to match Garak's volume.
Garak nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yes, very much so,” he said. His heart had started to race again, this time for a different reason. He was no longer aroused, but he was nervous at this turn in the conversation. It hit too close to home for comfort. “If you truly believe I care nothing for you, say so. I'll leave, and I swear to you I won't bother you again.”
Julian hesitantly stepped closer, his hands relaxing from their tight clench. “I don't know what to believe,” he said. “I want to think we're friends. I want to believe that the...affection...I feel for you is mutual.”
“Affection?” Garak murmured, hazarding a glance at the man's dark, liquid eyes.
“Yes,” he said more loudly. “Affection. I'm fond of all of my friends, Garak, including you.”
“Of course,” Garak said rather stiffly, feeling like an old fool. What did he possibly have to offer this young man other than what he already provided, guidance in becoming more observant and cynical and stimulating lunch conversation? Why had he let his need run away with him to such a large degree? He knew that he had better leave soon if he didn't want to turn this reconciliation into a complete fiasco. He was too intoxicated to trust himself, even if he wasn't showing it much outwardly.
“What is it?” Julian stepped closer yet, trying to get Garak to meet his gaze again. “What did I say?”
“Nothing, Doctor,” Garak rallied. “Nothing wrong, that is. I'm glad to know you feel that way, and I'm sorry I haven't made it more obvious that it's mutual. I regret that my lack of demonstrativeness led us to this point of misunderstanding. Now that it's cleared up, I should be getting back to my quarters. As you said, I'm too intoxicated for polite company.”
He took a few steps toward the door but stopped when he felt Julian's warm hand clasp over his shoulder. “Garak...Elim...stop. Please,” the doctor said so gently it made him want to weep.
Please, don't give me pity, he thought desperately, turning and dreading what he might find in those dark eyes. It was a conflicted look, one not easy to read, but whatever it was, it wasn't pity. He held his breath, willing the man to say something to break the unbearable tension of the moment.
“I know I'm missing something,” he said. “I can tell. Just this once, help me? Tell me what it is. I don't want to be at odds with you. I don't like fighting with you. It ties my stomach in knots.”
Garak smiled a bit sadly, also immensely relieved. He could take just about anything from this man except pity. “We're not at odds anymore,” he assured him. “I'm not angry, but I am tired. I think I should get to bed and sleep this kanar off.”
“If you're sure,” Bashir said. He looked even younger than usual in his uncertainty, a crease forming between his brows.
Garak felt the irrational impulse to kiss it away. It is definitely time to go, he told himself firmly. “I'm positive,” he said, forcing a smile. “Don't think any more of it, Doctor. I'll see you next week for lunch?”
Bashir nodded, still grasping his shoulder. When Garak glanced questioningly at his hand, he dropped it back to his side. “Yes,” he said. “I'm sorry about today. It was petty of me not to just tell you I was hurt.”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed, a teasing twinkle coming back into his gaze. “Fortunately for you, I'm not one to let such things lie. Good night, Doctor.”
“Good night...Elim,” Bashir said right before his door closed and shut the Cardassian out.
Garak shivered and swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth. He had ridden the ragged edge of disaster and barely kept himself in check. He decided he couldn't trust himself drunk around such a tempting target again. He hadn't lied when he told the doctor that he cared for him. No matter how starved he was for physical affection, however, he was determined that he wouldn't allow his need and desire to overshadow what the human obviously viewed as a platonic friendship. He didn't think the doctor would appreciate the irony that he held Garak in the same position in which Dax held him. Not quite the same, Elim, a wry part of his consciousness informed him. You haven't told him how you really feel. “Nor do I intend to,” he muttered aloud, walking swiftly back the way he had come. The more distance he put between himself and the doctor in the mood he was in, the safer it was for both of them and the survival of what he had miraculously managed to mend.
Julian
Private Quarters
Long after Garak had left that night, Julian wracked his brain trying to figure out what it was that he was missing when it came to their conversation. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that Garak seemed nervous about something ever since...yes, ever since the comment he made about having something safe to talk about over lunch. Naturally, Julian had assumed he was referring to secrets from his past or of his government, but was he? What other dangerous subjects could they possibly cover? He went to bed with the question tumbling around in his mind like a loose rock, hoping that maybe after a full night's sleep, he'd be alert enough to come up with an answer.
He awoke to the sensation of his covers slowly slipping down his bare chest. When had he undressed? “Computer, lights,” he said in a sleep muzzy voice. The system didn't respond. By then the covers had reached his waist. “Computer!” he tried again to no avail. “Who's there?” he called out and tried to grab for the edge of the fabric. At the last instant, it was whisked away from him, leaving him exposed.
“Answer me!” he demanded.
An answer of sorts came in the form of cool hands sliding up his thighs with firm, even pressure. Instead of shying away, he found himself pressing into the touch. He laid his head back on his pillow and gasped aloud, unafraid. “That feels good,” he murmured. The hands stroked and teased, fingertips cupping over his tender inner thighs and dancing upward. The palms pressed over the cusps of his hip bones, slipped higher over the soft expanse of his flat belly, his rib cage, and then his chest. As they slid back downward, nails raked his skin now gone to goose flesh and flicked over his dusky nipples, hard as pebbles. He arched his back and moaned, twisting over his thin mattress.
Warm breath caressed the lower curve of his belly. He felt himself harden so fully it was almost painful. Reaching downward he found his mystery assailant with both hands. His fingers sifted into soft, thick hair, silky smooth and positively luxurious to the touch. Delving deeper, he raked his nails over scalp and felt a distinctive pattern of ridges beneath each hand. “G—Garak?” he asked in shock, his heart skipping a beat and starting to race.
He tried to sit up, but the gentle hands turned implacable, pushing him back down into the bed with insistent pressure. He felt his legs pinned by stronger legs. Although he bucked and twisted, he could find no advantage and no purchase to gain one. The Cardassian's skin was hard, cool scale, well armored for such endeavors. He pushed uselessly at broad shoulders and tugged even more uselessly at the thick hair. His struggles died the moment he felt a warm, wet, impossibly long tongue wrap languidly about his manhood and begin to do to him things he had never known a tongue could do.
Within moments, he reached fever pitch. He still bucked beneath the heavier man, but not to throw him off. He arched his hips upward and pressed down with both hands on Garak's head, driving himself as deeply into the maddening mouth as he possibly could. He felt Garak's nose grinding into his thick thatch of pubic hair. “Yes,” he panted. “Oh, God, yes. Please, don't stop. I'm so close...”
He came so hard that the base of his balls ached and throbbed. The sensation jolted him wide awake. His covers were a tangled mess in more ways than one, and sweat had soaked clean through his pajamas. “Oh, God,” he gasped, still twitching and juddering from the most intense orgasm he could ever recall. “Computer, lights!” he said quickly. Bright light stabbed into his skull. He blinked back sudden tears, his gaze darting blearily around his room. There was no sign of the Cardassian. “Computer,” he said, “where is Garak?”
“Garak is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” the emotionless female voice intoned.
“How long has he been there?” he asked, unable to believe that such a vivid dream came out of nowhere.
“Garak has been in Chamber 901 for four hours, thirty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds,” came the response.
“Was there any transporter activity in my room tonight?” he asked, scrubbing his hands vigorously down his cheeks.
“Negative.”
“Any intruders?”
“Negative.”
He sighed and threw his feet over the side of the bed so that he could clean up and change into another set of pajamas. Every time his mind trod even close to the contents of the dream, he felt himself go hot all over, burning with shame and something else, an echo of desire. What in the world would Garak think of him if he found out he had such a dream? How would he be able to hide the fact from the frighteningly observant man? Even if he didn't come out and say specifically what had happened, the Cardassian would know something had changed. He'd read it in his eyes. “How can I face him?” he asked.
“Rephrase the question,” the computer droned.
“No, computer,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I'm done with my inquiries for now.” Think, Julian, he thought as he stripped from his damp pj's and stepped into the sonic shower. What did you learn in those two psychology classes they made you take at Academy? “Dreams are almost never literal,” he said aloud. His skin tingled pleasantly from the shower as his sweat and his seed were shaken away. So what did it mean? He wondered. “Dreams of sex can indicate a desire to be closer to someone,” he recalled. “It's not even uncommon for parents and older children to have sexual dreams of one another. They don't indicate a latent attraction or perversion, just a deep seated desire for more emotional intimacy with the subject.”
He felt better with that rationalization, particularly in the context of their recent argument. Stepping from the shower, he shrugged into his fresh pajamas. His body still basked in the afterglow of the intense release. Instead of going straight back to bed, he replicated himself a cup of tea and curled up on his couch with the Enigma Tale Garak had saddled him with for their weekly reading. If anything could remove the last traces of erotic craving from his mind, it would be the convoluted murder mystery where everyone was guilty and he had to figure out how and of what. Cardassian intrigue was positively exhausting. He fell asleep with his head resting against the back of his sofa at an awkward angle and awoke with a horrible crick in his neck. “Lovely,” he muttered.
He dressed himself quickly and headed in to work, expecting another slow day. By lunch time, he had finished with the updates to the records. Although he felt accomplished, he also felt sore and stiff. He could barely turn his head to the right, with the left only marginally better. He was about to stand when a familiar voice at the door to his office froze him in place. Even though Garak hadn't spoken to him in his dream, the smooth voice cut through him and awakened unexpected desire. “I'm sorry for interrupting you,” the tailor said. “The nurse said it was fine for me to come back to you. I wanted to catch you before you left for lunch.”
With his heart racing, Julian tried to calm himself. This is ridiculous, he thought. It was a dream. Get hold of yourself! He tried to turn to look at Garak and found he had to use his whole chair to do it, wincing from the aborted attempt to turn his head.
Garak's brow ridges dipped in concern, and he crossed the threshold into the small room. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Did you somehow hurt yourself after I retired last evening?”
“No,” he brushed off his concern. “I just slept wrong, so I have a crick in my neck.”
“Oh, that is most unpleasant,” Garak sympathized. “It doesn't often happen to us Cardassians, but when it does, you can imagine the difficulty it causes. I've been told I have a decent touch for such things. Would you like for me to help you?” he asked, stepping closer.
“No!” he said too quickly and too loudly by far. “I mean, it's really nothing, Garak. I wouldn't want you to put yourself out on my behalf.”
Garak's eyes narrowed slightly, and Julian felt himself squirm under the intense scrutiny. “I came to offer to buy you lunch at Quark's, my way of apologizing for yesterday's unpleasantness and barging into your quarters uninvited. I believed that we had smoothed over that difficulty. Was I mistaken?”
“No,” he answered. “No, you weren't mistaken. Lunch at Quark's sounds splendid. Thank you.” He forced a smile and resisted the impulse to wipe his damp palms on his uniform trousers.
“Turn around,” Garak insisted. “As much as you've helped me, this is the least I can do for you in return. It won't take long.” Brooking no argument, Garak turned his chair for him and settled both hands to the back of his neck. Julian braced himself, expecting the Cardassian to dig his fingers painfully into the muscle right away. He didn't, instead beginning with long, gentle strokes of fingers and palms, starting at the base of his skull up into his hairline and sweeping downward over his shoulders and to mid-back. “Too many people don't relax the outer layer of muscle first,” he explained in a clinical voice. “They squeeze and push too hard at the outset, doing more harm than good.”
“Mnh,” he said, fighting a shiver. The Cardassian's hands felt almost just as they had in his dream, only slightly rougher in texture, his palms coated with scales as fine as those of a small lizard's. The doctor tucked his sweat damp hands beneath his thighs and tipped his head forward as much as he could against the stiffness.
“No need to round your back like that,” Garak said, seizing his shoulders and giving an expert shake to loosen him. “Just relax and let me do all the work, hmm?”
“All right,” he said. He wondered if Garak would hear the hint of breathlessness in his voice.
“That's better, Doctor,” the tailor said serenely. It didn't take him long to hone in on the problem areas. With each squeeze, prod, and stroke of his hands, he kneaded more deeply into the cramped muscles. Julian almost groaned aloud when he felt the heel of Garak's palm circling into the tight knot between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck loosened in response. In less time than he would've believed possible, Garak had him pain free. Had it not been for the memory of the dream so vivid in his mind, he would have been far more relaxed. “Turn your neck for me,” Garak instructed.
He did so, astonished to discover he had regained his full range of motion without so much as a twinge of discomfort. “How did you learn to do that?” he asked, looking up at the man over his shoulder and extremely aware of the hands still lightly resting to either side of his neck.
“You learn all sorts of things as a tailor,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Better now? Any lingering tension?”
You have no idea, he thought ruefully. “No, no more tension,” he said, unable to meet the inquisitive blue gaze.
Garak removed his hands from Julian's shoulders and turned his chair again so the doctor was facing him. “Doctor,” he said. “I have a distinct...talent...for sensing discomfort. You can tell me. Did you somehow hurt yourself last night? There's no need to be embarrassed.”
“I didn't hurt myself,” he insisted and turned the chair away. He waited a few beats before pushing to his feet. It wouldn't do for Garak to see any trace of his lingering, unintended effect on him. He imagined the older man would be horrified, possibly even offended. He, himself, had no idea what to do with the intrusive new thoughts and feelings. He had never been attracted to men on any level beyond experimenting superficially in his early academy years, his few fumbling forays across the line facilitated by too much drink and never going very far. This was very different. This was someone he genuinely cared about and respected. How could he possibly jeopardize that? Garak was standing too close. He wanted to put some distance between them but couldn't figure out how to do it without being obvious. “About lunch,” he said brightly. “Does the offer still stand?”
Garak eyed him a long moment before nodding. “Yes, of course,” he said. As he turned toward the door, Julian thought he caught a flash of hurt and disappointment cross the man's craggy features.
“Garak, wait,” he said. He felt light headed with the thought of what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of the tailor's believing that there was lingering acrimony on his part or an excess of mistrust. “Computer, close and lock door,” he said. The door hissed into place.
Frowning, Garak pivoted to face him. “Doctor?” he asked, a brow ridge raised and his expression demanding of an explanation.
He swallowed thickly and wiped his hands down his trousers. “I...I had a dream last night,” he said. Blood pounded in his ears with a steady, throbbing whoosh. He felt heat rising from his neck to his hairline, and he continued in a rush before he could lose his nerve. “It was about you. It was...it was confusing.”
Garak stood as still as stone, his eyes fixed unblinking on Julian's. “Confusing how?” he asked mildly. “What happened in the dream? Did it frighten you?”
“It didn't frighten me in the dream,” he answered truthfully, “but once I was awake, yes. I felt very disconcerted.”
“Was it violent?” he asked. “Did I harm you in some way? The fight was upsetting. It could easily explain such a thing, you know.”
“It wasn't violent. You were...you were forceful, but you didn't hurt me,” he said, swallowing again. “It was...” his voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze. “It was a sexual dream, Garak. I thought I'd have more time before I saw you to get it out of my head. I...I don't see you that way,” he tried to assure him. “At least, I didn't. Now...well, would you say something? I'm floundering all over the place, and I want to get this straightened out so that it doesn't ruin our friendship. You have to know I'd never do anything like that to you. It's bad enough that I've chased after Dax all this time like a love sick puppy. When I think of doing it to you...”
Garak cut him off. “You'd never pursue me sexually?” he asked sharply.
“N—no! I respect you too much for that,” he said, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.
“So you only sexually pursue people you don't respect?” he asked tartly. “What would Lieutenant Dax think of that, I wonder, or any of the number of other women I've seen you chasing over the past two years?”
“You're twisting my words,” Julian said desperately. “I can see that I've offended you, and that's exactly what I wanted to avoid. I didn't want to tell you about the dream at all!”
“Then why did you?” the tailor demanded.
“Because you could see that something wasn't right, and I've never been any good at lying to you. I didn't want you thinking I was still angry with you or hiding things from you because I didn't trust you.”
“You trust me?” Garak snorted. “After all this time, I honestly thought I was making progress with you. I'm sorely disappointed. You should know better than that by now.” Garak's eyes glittered dangerously in the ambient office light.
Julian stared at him, horribly frustrated. “I could tell it upset you. Don't try to pretend it didn't. I can't win in this situation, can I? You would've been hurt had I said nothing, and you're completely offended now that I have.”
“You're so certain it's your dream that has offended me?” Garak snapped. Julian could see that his hands were balled into tight fists.
“Well, yes, what else could it...could it be?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer. His breath caught in his throat, and he distanced himself from his emotional upset to really look at Garak. Oh, Julian, you idiot, he thought, his gaze softening. “Garak,” he said, reaching for the other man's hand, but Garak was having none of it, jerking back forcefully.
“Don't,” he said tightly. “Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare feel sorry for me! Unlock this door. Unlock it at once!”
“Feel sorry for you?” he gaped at him. “Is that what you think? Look at me, Elim. Stop being so damned stubborn, and look at me!”
He almost staggered from the weight and heat of the other man's gaze. Garak's blue eyes had gone from ice to fire in an instant. His voice came thickly, the words in a swift tumble. “Don't toy with me,” he said. “I won't stand for it. I'm not some naïve child you can charm with your stories of Academy, and I won't be satisfied with some passing dalliance you'll set aside as soon as something more attractive comes along. If you want me, you had better mean it, Julian,” he warned.
For once he believed the man was being completely truthful with him. He had never seen Garak like this before, unmasked and fighting for himself and his needs no holds barred. It thrilled him in a secret corner of his heart he rarely, if ever, let anyone touch to know that this man, this magnificent, proud, complex man was telling him that he was more to him than a passing fancy, that he fully expected that if Julian acted on his attraction, it would be more than a one time thing, more than a fling. At the same time, he felt trepidation. He knew beyond any doubt that all it would take would be one perceived act of betrayal on his part for Garak to cut him out of his heart forever. This was not the sort of man who gave second chances. In fact he rarely gave first ones.
Tentatively, he closed the short distance between them, only having to look down slightly to keep eye contact. If he thought the look Gul Dukat had given Garak was intense, it was nothing compared to the naked challenge he faced now. The look seemed to dare him to make a move, or perhaps dared him not to. He lifted slightly trembling hands and cupped Garak's ridged jawline in each, the middle finger tips of both settling naturally into the clefts formed close to the base of the Cardassian's ears where the ridge diverged into two.
Garak stiffened, the flared ridges of his neck widening. For the first time, Julian saw a pulse there, close to the base of the broad scales, and it was racing. “I'd never toy with you,” he said earnestly, stroking a thumb over Garak's cheek. It felt like his palm, slightly rough. Experimentally, he shifted the direction of the stroke downward. Now it felt incredibly smooth and silky. Warmth spread in his belly and radiated in all directions through his body. He couldn't believe what he was doing, yet he had no desire to stop. “I care for you. You know that.”
He slipped his hands further back, his fingers delving into the sleek thickness of that straight, black hair. It wasn't as soft as in his dream, but it had weight to it, giving him something to grasp and hold. Lowering his head, he nuzzled his cheek against Garak's and let his breath spill over the curve of the man's ear. He heard Garak inhale sharply through his nose and felt the tension in him coil. “Elim,” he whispered, “you can touch me, you know. You don't have to stand there like that and just take it.”
“No, Julian,” the tailor's voice came low, ragged and hoarse. With what seemed like supreme effort, he reached up and gently disentangled himself from the doctor's hold. His grasp of both of Julian's wrists tightened painfully before releasing. Hurt and confused, Julian drew a breath to question him, but Garak stilled it with a finger to his lips. “Not here. If I start with you, I don't trust myself to stop. The infirmary is no place for this, and I don't want to be interrupted.”
The warmth in his belly flared to intense heat, and he felt himself stiffening fully erect with that tremulous confession. He couldn't argue with the logic of what Garak said, and he couldn't just abandon his post for the day because he suddenly wanted to more than anything. “You're right,” he said, surprised to find the shakiness had now infected his voice as well. “Tonight then?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” the Cardassian hissed. “Tonight. Now, if you value your office and my sanity at all, please unlock the door.”
“Garak?” he said.
“What? Doctor?” Garak asked, over enunciating every syllable and fixing him with a glassy stare.
“My place, or yours?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-09 05:16 am (UTC)*epic flail*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-09 09:13 am (UTC)Thank you! I would so hate to be on the receiving end of angry Garak. Wouldn't mind a nice dream, though!