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seikilosTitle: Working Out The Kinks
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (innuendo)
Words: This part 2137, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: When it comes to dealing with muscle pain, Julian and Garak find that there's really nothing like physical touch. Featuring a trope played straight, subverted, and then resolved in three acts.
Author's Notes: Long story short, this is me subverting my own fanfic. This was originally another one of my early attempts to pin down the characters of Garak and Bashir. I considered reworking it after reading some discussion online about problematic DS9 tropes and doing some thinking of my own, but then I decided to pull it apart instead.
This chapter features the fic as-is, trope implications and all; the next two will involve me playing around with things. That's not to say, of course, that I didn't have a lot of wicked fun with writing this, so I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as I did. :Db
(1)
Changing the frequency of his lunches with Garak from a weekly to a daily basis had been, Julian reflected, one of the best decisions he had made in a very long time.
Initially, it had been for Garak's sake, not his. After that confession of Garak's, that their time together was the only thing he had to look forward to—well, it would have been cruelty to continue on as if he were still unaware. He'd been as subtle as he could about the whole thing in order to spare Garak's pride, but honestly, Garak almost certainly knew what he was doing. After all, it hardly took the full extent of his uncanny perception to work out Julian's motive.
But after a while, their lunches, which of course had always been enjoyable, had become the highlight of Julian's day, too.
". . . All I can say is, by the time Chief O'Brien is through with making me adjust his pants, it won't be just his ankles feeling the breeze—I promise you, it will be his knees," Garak finished.
Julian laughed, then grimaced at the sharp, slow-fading twinge in his left trapezius. He reached up to rub at the side of his neck, tilting his head as he did, and replied, "You already know he likes his trousers short. I don't see why this is so surprising."
He had been expecting Garak's answer to be something flippant, as usual. He was surprised, then, when it was a sharp, "Doctor, what are you doing?" His formerly relaxed expression had become very focused indeed, right on where Julian's fingertips were pulling and pinching at the taut muscles of his neck.
He blinked at him. What an odd response. "I pulled a muscle right before lunch and I didn't have time to patch myself up. It's this new biomolecular replication experiment I'm running—I'm craning my neck back and forth between the computer screen and the samples all day."
His fingers dug into a knot and he hissed out a breath. Garak's already intense gaze grew still more so. After a long pause, the other man offered slowly, "Perhaps I could help you with that." His tone was jarringly mild in contrast to the strange, slightly unsettling look he'd yet to stop giving him.
"What, with a neck rub?" Julian asked. Even when Garak was in a normal mood and not . . . whenever this was, it was best to check these things.
Garak's eyes flicked up to his, then back to his neck. "Mm. If you'd like."
A smile grew on his face and he let his hand drop to the table. "That would be lovely, Garak, thank you." Technology was wonderful, it was true, but for matters like these, there was no substitute for physical touch.
Finally, Garak held his gaze. "Not right here." He smiled. "Once everyone saw me at work, I'd be afraid they would all be lining up for a neck rub and then I'd never get the Chief's pants shortened to his liking."
Julian grinned as he very carefully rose from his seat. "You're that good, are you?"
Garak's smile grew and took on a satisfied edge as he stood along with him. He leaned across the table to murmur, "My dear doctor, I'm very good. Trust me when I say I'm speaking in all honesty."
"I certainly hope you are, for a change." He glanced about. "Why don't we go to your shop? It is closest."
"A fine idea." Garak stepped around to join him on the other side of the table. "Let's be on our way."
When Julian felt a hand rest at the small of his back just long enough to guide him in the proper direction, he only barely took notice of it. Garak was a tactile man, very much so. It had been a bit startling at first, but over time, he'd grown accustomed to it. Welcomed it, even. And—missed it when it was gone, he found when that hand dropped back to its place at Garak's side. A shame. There was just something so soothing about contact with a friend.
*
Stepping into Garak's shop these days had become very similar to walking into a completely different climate. That had been another change he'd helped with. There had been no sense in Garak being cold all the time, and so he'd wheedled Chief O'Brien into adjusting the parametres on the environmental controls so that Garak could set them to something more suitable for his species.
Ever since, Garak's shop had become rather similar to a treeless rainforest at twilight, or so Julian fancied. It was a little uncomfortably warm and humid, but considering he and Garak always had their lunch on the much cooler promenade, he considered it a fair exchange.
"Sit down, Doctor." Garak crossed the shop with a long stride and whisked a chair from his worktable. "Make yourself comfortable—or, at least, as comfortable as you can."
"I can manage 'not too painful' right now," Julian answered as he attempted to seat himself without moving his neck. "Anything else is up to you."
"Then I'll do my very best to have you feeling nothing less than wonderful by the time I'm finished."
Now that was worth a twinge or two, and Julian turned in his chair to send a grateful smile up at his friend. "Thank you, Garak. This really is kind of you."
"Not at all." Garak returned the expression. "It's my pleasure."
Julian faced forward and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt Garak's first hand settle on his shoulders, finger by finger, followed by the other. It made him smile again—the last time Garak had done anything like that had been when they'd first met. That day, Julian's heart had been beating so hard, it almost seemed ready to leap from his ribcage, because the mysterious spy of DS9 had made contact with him (in more ways than one).
And now, here they were a year later, and that dangerous spy was giving him a neck rub out of nothing more nefarious than thoughtfulness. It was funny how so much could change in such a short period of time.
Garak's hands slid upward, tracing the tight line of his trapezius. When they left the barrier of his uniform, Julian gasped and jerked away slightly (painfully) from his touch.
Garak immediately lifted his hands away. "Is something the matter?"
"No—sorry—your hands are just a bit cold." It made sense and he should have expected as much, given they'd just spent the last hour on the promenade, but the skin-to-skin contact had been . . . startling.
"Let me go warm my hands." He could hear Garak take a step away.
"No, it's fine. It was only a bit unexpected is all."
Garak moved back into place. "If you're certain."
"I am, yes."
Only with his assent did Garak return his hands to Julian's neck. Now that he was prepared, the cool touch was actually a pleasant contrast to the heat of the shop. This time, he let out a soft sigh through his nose as Garak's fingertips fluttered up to just beneath his jaw. For a long breath, they rested there, on the precipice of true touch. Then Garak began a train of slow circles down the length of his neck.
Julian sighed out another breath that turned into a hum as Garak's thumbs pressed into the base of his neck. Of their own accord, his eyes closed again, shutting out a display of formal Bajoran suits and bringing his focus completely onto Garak's warming hands. He leaned back into his touch; Garak responded by too-slightly firming the pressure of his fingertips.
He groaned. "Oh, harder than that, Garak."
Garak's hands stilled on his neck. "If that's what you would like."
"Of course. I'm not some . . . delicate. . . ."
His words drifted away with his thoughts as the other man did as requested. It was only when Garak found a particularly painful knot that he came back a bit, and he groaned again as Garak's fingertips teased out the tension from him.
"You really weren't joking when you said you were good, were you?"
He could hear the shift of Garak's clothes as he leaned in. When he spoke, just centimetres from his ear, his voice was a purr and Julian could smell the not disagreeable scent of red leaf tea on his breath. "Of course not. I don't lie all the time."
"No, just most of it," he answered, but without force. He felt as languid as the strokes of Garak's thumb on his neck, dipping below his collar and soothing him in contrast to the good burn Garak's other hand was pulling from from his steadily relaxing muscles.
His mind wanted to puzzle out why Garak's voice might sound so low, but he soon gave up that piece of curiosity to sink into the sleepy warmth of the room and Garak's incredible touch.
When Garak slid his palms from neck to clothed shoulder and left them there, his "There" was soft, still deep, and brimming with pleasure. Though he knew he should stand up now, Julian simply couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt as though he had new insight as to what it must be like for Odo in his bucket. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so blissfully loose.
"Thank you—" His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. "Ah, thank you, Garak. That was wonderful." He smiled, still with closed eyes. Opening them would bring him out of this peaceful little world they'd made together and he wanted to delay that loss as long as he could. "If you ever get tired of tailoring, you should really consider offering therapeutic massages instead."
Garak chuckled, an unusually rich sound that thrummed through his body. "Thank you, Doctor, but I do believe I'll reserve this particular talent just for you." He gave his shoulder a light squeeze.
"If you're certain. I'm hardly about to complain." He sighed. Time to return to reality.
He opened his eyes to the weak lighting of Garak's shop and pushed off from the chair to stand. It wasn't a particularly comfortable bit of furniture, honestly, but at the moment, he felt as though he'd merged with it.
He rolled his shoulders a little as he turned to face his friend. Garak's hands had been on him for so long that, as with his chair, separating himself from them felt odd. His skin prickled with the lack and he sighed again.
"I suppose I had best return to that experiment." It wasn't an enjoyable prospect—there was going to be an awful lot more neck-craning in his future—but at least he had some potentially interesting results to look forward to.
In the meantime. . . . His lips curved easily into a smile. "Thanks again. I feel even more like a new man than when you gave me that suit."
"Oh, there's no need to thank me." Garak returned his expression, his eyes half-lidded. "Come to me anytime you're having neck trouble. I'd be happy to lend a hand."
"I'll keep that in mind." His smile widened. "Maybe I could even return the favour someday—though I'm afraid I'm not nearly as skilled as you are at this sort of thing."
Garak took in a long breath through his nose before responding. "That's quite all right. Enthusiasm and a willingness to learn are all that are truly necessary." He leaned in, his fingers tight on the back of the chair. "I'll keep your most . . . generous offer in mind.
"Now, I believe it really would be best if you were going." Garak straightened, but remained standing in place behind the chair. "It would be a shame if your samples spoiled, now, wouldn't it?"
He made a face. "That's putting it mildly. Goodbye, Garak." He reached out to set a hand on Garak's shoulder; the other man flinched at the unexpected touch. "See you tomorrow."
"Until then."
As Julian walked out onto the promenade (wincing at its comparatively wintry coolness), he reflected that in all probability, he was going to need to make good on his offer sooner than he had expected. Garak's shoulder had been tight under his hand; even his voice had sounded strained toward the end. Hemming trousers was probably just as bad for one's neck as writing up data, really, so it wasn't surprising.
. . . And speaking of data, it was past time to let go of that lovely interlude and focus on what he had left to accomplish. He'd simply have to return to considering Garak and the state of his body later.
Now, about that aberration in Sample D-34. . . .
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (innuendo)
Words: This part 2137, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: When it comes to dealing with muscle pain, Julian and Garak find that there's really nothing like physical touch. Featuring a trope played straight, subverted, and then resolved in three acts.
Author's Notes: Long story short, this is me subverting my own fanfic. This was originally another one of my early attempts to pin down the characters of Garak and Bashir. I considered reworking it after reading some discussion online about problematic DS9 tropes and doing some thinking of my own, but then I decided to pull it apart instead.
This chapter features the fic as-is, trope implications and all; the next two will involve me playing around with things. That's not to say, of course, that I didn't have a lot of wicked fun with writing this, so I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as I did. :Db
Changing the frequency of his lunches with Garak from a weekly to a daily basis had been, Julian reflected, one of the best decisions he had made in a very long time.
Initially, it had been for Garak's sake, not his. After that confession of Garak's, that their time together was the only thing he had to look forward to—well, it would have been cruelty to continue on as if he were still unaware. He'd been as subtle as he could about the whole thing in order to spare Garak's pride, but honestly, Garak almost certainly knew what he was doing. After all, it hardly took the full extent of his uncanny perception to work out Julian's motive.
But after a while, their lunches, which of course had always been enjoyable, had become the highlight of Julian's day, too.
". . . All I can say is, by the time Chief O'Brien is through with making me adjust his pants, it won't be just his ankles feeling the breeze—I promise you, it will be his knees," Garak finished.
Julian laughed, then grimaced at the sharp, slow-fading twinge in his left trapezius. He reached up to rub at the side of his neck, tilting his head as he did, and replied, "You already know he likes his trousers short. I don't see why this is so surprising."
He had been expecting Garak's answer to be something flippant, as usual. He was surprised, then, when it was a sharp, "Doctor, what are you doing?" His formerly relaxed expression had become very focused indeed, right on where Julian's fingertips were pulling and pinching at the taut muscles of his neck.
He blinked at him. What an odd response. "I pulled a muscle right before lunch and I didn't have time to patch myself up. It's this new biomolecular replication experiment I'm running—I'm craning my neck back and forth between the computer screen and the samples all day."
His fingers dug into a knot and he hissed out a breath. Garak's already intense gaze grew still more so. After a long pause, the other man offered slowly, "Perhaps I could help you with that." His tone was jarringly mild in contrast to the strange, slightly unsettling look he'd yet to stop giving him.
"What, with a neck rub?" Julian asked. Even when Garak was in a normal mood and not . . . whenever this was, it was best to check these things.
Garak's eyes flicked up to his, then back to his neck. "Mm. If you'd like."
A smile grew on his face and he let his hand drop to the table. "That would be lovely, Garak, thank you." Technology was wonderful, it was true, but for matters like these, there was no substitute for physical touch.
Finally, Garak held his gaze. "Not right here." He smiled. "Once everyone saw me at work, I'd be afraid they would all be lining up for a neck rub and then I'd never get the Chief's pants shortened to his liking."
Julian grinned as he very carefully rose from his seat. "You're that good, are you?"
Garak's smile grew and took on a satisfied edge as he stood along with him. He leaned across the table to murmur, "My dear doctor, I'm very good. Trust me when I say I'm speaking in all honesty."
"I certainly hope you are, for a change." He glanced about. "Why don't we go to your shop? It is closest."
"A fine idea." Garak stepped around to join him on the other side of the table. "Let's be on our way."
When Julian felt a hand rest at the small of his back just long enough to guide him in the proper direction, he only barely took notice of it. Garak was a tactile man, very much so. It had been a bit startling at first, but over time, he'd grown accustomed to it. Welcomed it, even. And—missed it when it was gone, he found when that hand dropped back to its place at Garak's side. A shame. There was just something so soothing about contact with a friend.
Stepping into Garak's shop these days had become very similar to walking into a completely different climate. That had been another change he'd helped with. There had been no sense in Garak being cold all the time, and so he'd wheedled Chief O'Brien into adjusting the parametres on the environmental controls so that Garak could set them to something more suitable for his species.
Ever since, Garak's shop had become rather similar to a treeless rainforest at twilight, or so Julian fancied. It was a little uncomfortably warm and humid, but considering he and Garak always had their lunch on the much cooler promenade, he considered it a fair exchange.
"Sit down, Doctor." Garak crossed the shop with a long stride and whisked a chair from his worktable. "Make yourself comfortable—or, at least, as comfortable as you can."
"I can manage 'not too painful' right now," Julian answered as he attempted to seat himself without moving his neck. "Anything else is up to you."
"Then I'll do my very best to have you feeling nothing less than wonderful by the time I'm finished."
Now that was worth a twinge or two, and Julian turned in his chair to send a grateful smile up at his friend. "Thank you, Garak. This really is kind of you."
"Not at all." Garak returned the expression. "It's my pleasure."
Julian faced forward and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt Garak's first hand settle on his shoulders, finger by finger, followed by the other. It made him smile again—the last time Garak had done anything like that had been when they'd first met. That day, Julian's heart had been beating so hard, it almost seemed ready to leap from his ribcage, because the mysterious spy of DS9 had made contact with him (in more ways than one).
And now, here they were a year later, and that dangerous spy was giving him a neck rub out of nothing more nefarious than thoughtfulness. It was funny how so much could change in such a short period of time.
Garak's hands slid upward, tracing the tight line of his trapezius. When they left the barrier of his uniform, Julian gasped and jerked away slightly (painfully) from his touch.
Garak immediately lifted his hands away. "Is something the matter?"
"No—sorry—your hands are just a bit cold." It made sense and he should have expected as much, given they'd just spent the last hour on the promenade, but the skin-to-skin contact had been . . . startling.
"Let me go warm my hands." He could hear Garak take a step away.
"No, it's fine. It was only a bit unexpected is all."
Garak moved back into place. "If you're certain."
"I am, yes."
Only with his assent did Garak return his hands to Julian's neck. Now that he was prepared, the cool touch was actually a pleasant contrast to the heat of the shop. This time, he let out a soft sigh through his nose as Garak's fingertips fluttered up to just beneath his jaw. For a long breath, they rested there, on the precipice of true touch. Then Garak began a train of slow circles down the length of his neck.
Julian sighed out another breath that turned into a hum as Garak's thumbs pressed into the base of his neck. Of their own accord, his eyes closed again, shutting out a display of formal Bajoran suits and bringing his focus completely onto Garak's warming hands. He leaned back into his touch; Garak responded by too-slightly firming the pressure of his fingertips.
He groaned. "Oh, harder than that, Garak."
Garak's hands stilled on his neck. "If that's what you would like."
"Of course. I'm not some . . . delicate. . . ."
His words drifted away with his thoughts as the other man did as requested. It was only when Garak found a particularly painful knot that he came back a bit, and he groaned again as Garak's fingertips teased out the tension from him.
"You really weren't joking when you said you were good, were you?"
He could hear the shift of Garak's clothes as he leaned in. When he spoke, just centimetres from his ear, his voice was a purr and Julian could smell the not disagreeable scent of red leaf tea on his breath. "Of course not. I don't lie all the time."
"No, just most of it," he answered, but without force. He felt as languid as the strokes of Garak's thumb on his neck, dipping below his collar and soothing him in contrast to the good burn Garak's other hand was pulling from from his steadily relaxing muscles.
His mind wanted to puzzle out why Garak's voice might sound so low, but he soon gave up that piece of curiosity to sink into the sleepy warmth of the room and Garak's incredible touch.
When Garak slid his palms from neck to clothed shoulder and left them there, his "There" was soft, still deep, and brimming with pleasure. Though he knew he should stand up now, Julian simply couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt as though he had new insight as to what it must be like for Odo in his bucket. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so blissfully loose.
"Thank you—" His voice was rough; he cleared his throat. "Ah, thank you, Garak. That was wonderful." He smiled, still with closed eyes. Opening them would bring him out of this peaceful little world they'd made together and he wanted to delay that loss as long as he could. "If you ever get tired of tailoring, you should really consider offering therapeutic massages instead."
Garak chuckled, an unusually rich sound that thrummed through his body. "Thank you, Doctor, but I do believe I'll reserve this particular talent just for you." He gave his shoulder a light squeeze.
"If you're certain. I'm hardly about to complain." He sighed. Time to return to reality.
He opened his eyes to the weak lighting of Garak's shop and pushed off from the chair to stand. It wasn't a particularly comfortable bit of furniture, honestly, but at the moment, he felt as though he'd merged with it.
He rolled his shoulders a little as he turned to face his friend. Garak's hands had been on him for so long that, as with his chair, separating himself from them felt odd. His skin prickled with the lack and he sighed again.
"I suppose I had best return to that experiment." It wasn't an enjoyable prospect—there was going to be an awful lot more neck-craning in his future—but at least he had some potentially interesting results to look forward to.
In the meantime. . . . His lips curved easily into a smile. "Thanks again. I feel even more like a new man than when you gave me that suit."
"Oh, there's no need to thank me." Garak returned his expression, his eyes half-lidded. "Come to me anytime you're having neck trouble. I'd be happy to lend a hand."
"I'll keep that in mind." His smile widened. "Maybe I could even return the favour someday—though I'm afraid I'm not nearly as skilled as you are at this sort of thing."
Garak took in a long breath through his nose before responding. "That's quite all right. Enthusiasm and a willingness to learn are all that are truly necessary." He leaned in, his fingers tight on the back of the chair. "I'll keep your most . . . generous offer in mind.
"Now, I believe it really would be best if you were going." Garak straightened, but remained standing in place behind the chair. "It would be a shame if your samples spoiled, now, wouldn't it?"
He made a face. "That's putting it mildly. Goodbye, Garak." He reached out to set a hand on Garak's shoulder; the other man flinched at the unexpected touch. "See you tomorrow."
"Until then."
As Julian walked out onto the promenade (wincing at its comparatively wintry coolness), he reflected that in all probability, he was going to need to make good on his offer sooner than he had expected. Garak's shoulder had been tight under his hand; even his voice had sounded strained toward the end. Hemming trousers was probably just as bad for one's neck as writing up data, really, so it wasn't surprising.
. . . And speaking of data, it was past time to let go of that lovely interlude and focus on what he had left to accomplish. He'd simply have to return to considering Garak and the state of his body later.
Now, about that aberration in Sample D-34. . . .
