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seikilosTitle: Working Out The Kinks
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (extremely light references to sex)
Words: This part 1905, ?? 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. This chapter: Turnabout is fair play.
Author's Notes: This is the chapter where I took a close look at what I'd written, as well as some common fandom tropes, and decided to turn everything on its head. I also took my experience as the daughter of a medical professional and put it to good use. I was very fortunate to be taught a large number of scientific names for the various parts of my body at a young age, although this probably weirded out some of the people around me. I am pretty sure I was the only kid in my Grade 1 class who would complain about being itchy by her scapula (shoulder blade), for example.
Just as a heads-up, but after this I'll be taking a bit of a posting hiatus to get caught up on all my proofreading. I'm getting seriously bogged down, so this is the last thing you'll see from me for a little while. I may get something posted next week, but if I do, it won't be for this fandom. So yeah, I hope you enjoy this and I'll be back with something else in a couple of weeks. <3
(2)
"Hello, Garak, ready for lunch?" Julian called out, savoring the breeze his quick walk made in the very warm tailor's shop. As he moved inside, he felt as though he were almost physically pushing against the heat—had Garak found a way to make it even warmer since the last time he had been here?
He quickly picked out his friend from where he was bent over a Bajoran security officer's uniform at his worktable, and . . . ah. That was not the look of a man who was enjoying his work.
Garak arched his neck with a grimace, confirming the diagnosis. "More than. If I see one more beige uniform right now, I won't be responsible for the consequences. I'm beginning to wonder if Constable Odo is having his staff practice their knife-fighting—with their uniforms as targets."
Julian chuckled as he hopped up on the corner of Garak's desk to wait for him to shut down his sewing machine. "I doubt it. Though, knowing the Constable, he might have them using each other. . . ."
He was joking, of course—or at least, he thought he was. Sometimes it could be a little hard to tell with Odo.
"Thereby making a tremendous amount of work for both of us." Garak let out a sigh and sat back in his chair for a moment before pushing himself out of it with far less grace and far more heft than Julian was used to seeing from him. That hadn't been a very comfortable sound he'd made, either.
"Garak? Are you all right?"
Garak took in a long breath through his nose. "Quite fine, Doctor. A little stiff from hunching over these uniforms, but it's nothing a little time won't cure."
Julian had already been leaning in. Now he slid off the desk to stand in front of Garak. "You look more than 'a little stiff' to me—how long have you been at this?"
"Only since the morning." Garak's eyes flicked left and right, but short of going over the desk or retreating entirely, there was no escape.
"And before that?" he pressed.
"A couple of days, I believe. Time does tend to run together after a while."
Julian shook his head. "You need to look after your body better. It won't last forever, you know."
"Thank you for that wise insight," Garak said, and oh, the sarcasm was going full force today. "Now why don't we adjourn to the replimat, where you can share more of your counsel with me?"
Julian stood firm. After knowing Garak for as long as he had, it took more than a few prickly remarks to make him give up. "Of course. But first, I thought you might appreciate a shoulder rub to get rid of some of that tension."
Garak went still. It was an impressive sight—most humanoids could pull off "unmoving," but not the way Cardassians could. Garak had this way of holding himself that, in conjunction with his comparatively lower rate of blinking, gave the impression he'd never been capable of movement in the first place. Even when he spoke, slowly and with care, the illusion remained intact. "I'm . . . not so certain that's prudent."
"If you're worried about anatomical difficulties, don't be." Julian clapped a hand to his shoulder blade and watched Garak wince. And he'd said he was fine. "I'm well aware of how sensitive Cardassian neck ridges are. I promise I'll be careful."
It made him feel rather smug to see Garak blink at him—three times in a row, even—his mouth fallen just slightly open. ". . . You're aware of that?"
"Of course." He smiled. "Garak, I'm your doctor. I wouldn't be a very good one if I didn't know the basic facts of your biology."
"Quite . . . so." Garak took in a breath, blinked once more, then said, "Well, if you're entirely sure—"
"I am."
"—then I suppose it would only be fair of me to allow you to return the favour."
Gingerly, Garak sank back into his seat again. Julian came to stand behind him and let his hands drape over Garak's shoulders. He then called to mind charts of muscle groups to help him evaluate where to begin. He didn't want to waste time and thereby use up all their lunch break on this, no matter how much Garak needed it. Eating was rather a necessity as well.
Hmm. . . . Garak was right-handed, so he would be doing most of the reaching with his sewing machine on that side. Presumably, that was where he needed to focus. Taking into account the thicker skin Cardassians had. . . .
As a test, he squeezed around the ridge partially located above Garak's trapezius in a sort of pincer grasp, looking to avoid the main ridge itself—and heard him take in a sharp breath.
"All right there?" he asked, reducing the pressure.
He couldn't see Garak's face, but he could hear the delicacy in the other man's voice as he answered, "I find I'm a little . . . tender in that area."
"Very well, then. I'll move on," he said easily and slipped his hands down to Garak's upper back. "Lean forward a bit?"
Garak did so, folding his arms to rest them against the table, and as he did, Julian couldn't help but smile. In the years he'd been DS9's Chief Medical Officer, he'd dealt with sexual models ranging from the familiar Human to budding and beyond. If that area was "tender," he'd simply avoid it. He was a medical professional; he should be able to administer treatment without making Garak uncomfortable. If not, he'd stop. He'd pay attention and be brisk and hopefully bring his friend real relief from that pain of his.
Locating the line of Garak's scapula wasn't difficult, even through his thick clothes. Julian pressed his thumbs next to it, adding somewhat more strength than usual to compensate for the protective macroscales that fanned out from his spine.
"How's that?"
"A little harder, if you could."
He complied and received a soft groan in response: the sound of tension being released and pain going right along with it. He pressed harder still and could feel the bunch of Garak's muscle skitter away from his touch. Time to chase that down and work it out.
It was actually rather satisfying, the physicality of the work. He'd even call it pleasant. There was something simple and rewarding about locating all the knots in Garak's muscles—and there were many; bad job, Garak—then easing them into suppleness. He worked around his neck ridges with care but without being tentative about it, and as time passed, Garak actually forgot himself enough to lower his head onto his arms.
"You have very strong hands," Garak mumbled at one point, his voice drowsy, low, a little rough. It was an unfamiliar sound, but . . . nice to listen to.
"They're not too strong, are they?" he checked. It was harder to measure out his strength on Garak; Cardassians were famous for being tough to hurt.
"Not at all. They're perfect," Garak answered, then made an odd sort of sound. Funny—he hadn't been working on any knots at that time. Had Garak pulled something on top of all of the tension twisting up his back?
He pressed his fingertips delicately against the back of Garak's neck, taking special care since he was getting close to his left ridge. When he received no further reaction, he picked up where he had left off. It must have been something else, then.
As he worked, he couldn't stop himself from a light brush or two of his fingertips against the scales at the back of Garak's neck, taking in their unexpected smoothness and stiff edges. He'd been curious about them almost since the two of them had met. Maybe it was a little unfair, taking advantage of the moment to satisfy himself, but Garak didn't seem to mind. He shivered a little once, probably surprised at the change in contact, but made no comment.
"We used to do this at Starfleet Medical," he remarked after a bit. "One of our professors spent a class or two teaching us the basics of how not to make things worse, more or less. Then she let us practice on each other in a long chain at the start of every Friday morning class, provided we were willing. Most of the Vulcans and a few of us Humans weren't, but I enjoyed it. It was just the thing after a long week." He smiled in remembered pride. "I was a popular partner, actually."
"So I would believe," Garak said, then added a little louder: "You certainly seem to know what you're doing."
Julian's smile just about doubled in size. Simple compliments from Garak were rare—almost as rare as ones from the Chief. That made them something to be treasured. "Thank you, Garak."
"No, thank you. I feel quite. . . ." He took in a breath, let it out in a sigh. "Quite refreshed."
"Good," he said, the fondness in his voice plain even to him. There really was nothing like setting a friend to rights. "I've just about done all I can do, actually."
Just a little more here, and. . . . He let his fingertips rest on the back of his neck again, just at the base of his skull. "I can try working at the muscles located below your ridges, but if not, then I'd say I'm finished here."
Garak hesitated for a long moment. When he answered, he sounded regretful. "I'm afraid that under the circumstances, it wouldn't be wise. But thank you, Doctor—you've given me a great deal of . . . relief."
"I'm just glad I could help." It was a shame he couldn't do anything about the muscles located beneath and supporting Garak's ridges, but he was hardly about to molest his friend when Garak could pop down to the clinic later for a little hands-free treatment.
He gave Garak's upper arm a pat. "Now let's go see about that lunch. I finished the book you loaned me and I've been looking forward to discussing it with you."
"Ah, I'll be along presently," Garak said quickly, his head still pillowed on his arms. "I find myself needing a moment or two to—recover."
Julian chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean. Massages always send me right to sleep—that was always the downside to having them before class. Take your time. I'll be waiting at our usual spot at the replimat."
"Thank you. I'll try not to keep you waiting too terribly long."
. . . It was the strangest thing. Just before he moved away from the back of Garak's chair, he was struck with the urge to run a hand over Garak's fine hair, to smooth it down for him. He didn't, of course—Garak would have all kinds of things to say if he gave into impulse, he felt very sure. He supposed the satisfaction of one piece of curiosity, concerning Garak's neck scales, had simply sparked another.
Whatever the reason, the thought was soon lost as he exited Garak's shop and left his friend behind. Now it was time to consider whether he wanted to discuss the plot of Garak's book chronologically, thematically, or by what had interested him the most. The question took up all his attention until Garak joined him and they settled into their very comfortable routine.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (extremely light references to sex)
Words: This part 1905, ?? 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. This chapter: Turnabout is fair play.
Author's Notes: This is the chapter where I took a close look at what I'd written, as well as some common fandom tropes, and decided to turn everything on its head. I also took my experience as the daughter of a medical professional and put it to good use. I was very fortunate to be taught a large number of scientific names for the various parts of my body at a young age, although this probably weirded out some of the people around me. I am pretty sure I was the only kid in my Grade 1 class who would complain about being itchy by her scapula (shoulder blade), for example.
Just as a heads-up, but after this I'll be taking a bit of a posting hiatus to get caught up on all my proofreading. I'm getting seriously bogged down, so this is the last thing you'll see from me for a little while. I may get something posted next week, but if I do, it won't be for this fandom. So yeah, I hope you enjoy this and I'll be back with something else in a couple of weeks. <3
"Hello, Garak, ready for lunch?" Julian called out, savoring the breeze his quick walk made in the very warm tailor's shop. As he moved inside, he felt as though he were almost physically pushing against the heat—had Garak found a way to make it even warmer since the last time he had been here?
He quickly picked out his friend from where he was bent over a Bajoran security officer's uniform at his worktable, and . . . ah. That was not the look of a man who was enjoying his work.
Garak arched his neck with a grimace, confirming the diagnosis. "More than. If I see one more beige uniform right now, I won't be responsible for the consequences. I'm beginning to wonder if Constable Odo is having his staff practice their knife-fighting—with their uniforms as targets."
Julian chuckled as he hopped up on the corner of Garak's desk to wait for him to shut down his sewing machine. "I doubt it. Though, knowing the Constable, he might have them using each other. . . ."
He was joking, of course—or at least, he thought he was. Sometimes it could be a little hard to tell with Odo.
"Thereby making a tremendous amount of work for both of us." Garak let out a sigh and sat back in his chair for a moment before pushing himself out of it with far less grace and far more heft than Julian was used to seeing from him. That hadn't been a very comfortable sound he'd made, either.
"Garak? Are you all right?"
Garak took in a long breath through his nose. "Quite fine, Doctor. A little stiff from hunching over these uniforms, but it's nothing a little time won't cure."
Julian had already been leaning in. Now he slid off the desk to stand in front of Garak. "You look more than 'a little stiff' to me—how long have you been at this?"
"Only since the morning." Garak's eyes flicked left and right, but short of going over the desk or retreating entirely, there was no escape.
"And before that?" he pressed.
"A couple of days, I believe. Time does tend to run together after a while."
Julian shook his head. "You need to look after your body better. It won't last forever, you know."
"Thank you for that wise insight," Garak said, and oh, the sarcasm was going full force today. "Now why don't we adjourn to the replimat, where you can share more of your counsel with me?"
Julian stood firm. After knowing Garak for as long as he had, it took more than a few prickly remarks to make him give up. "Of course. But first, I thought you might appreciate a shoulder rub to get rid of some of that tension."
Garak went still. It was an impressive sight—most humanoids could pull off "unmoving," but not the way Cardassians could. Garak had this way of holding himself that, in conjunction with his comparatively lower rate of blinking, gave the impression he'd never been capable of movement in the first place. Even when he spoke, slowly and with care, the illusion remained intact. "I'm . . . not so certain that's prudent."
"If you're worried about anatomical difficulties, don't be." Julian clapped a hand to his shoulder blade and watched Garak wince. And he'd said he was fine. "I'm well aware of how sensitive Cardassian neck ridges are. I promise I'll be careful."
It made him feel rather smug to see Garak blink at him—three times in a row, even—his mouth fallen just slightly open. ". . . You're aware of that?"
"Of course." He smiled. "Garak, I'm your doctor. I wouldn't be a very good one if I didn't know the basic facts of your biology."
"Quite . . . so." Garak took in a breath, blinked once more, then said, "Well, if you're entirely sure—"
"I am."
"—then I suppose it would only be fair of me to allow you to return the favour."
Gingerly, Garak sank back into his seat again. Julian came to stand behind him and let his hands drape over Garak's shoulders. He then called to mind charts of muscle groups to help him evaluate where to begin. He didn't want to waste time and thereby use up all their lunch break on this, no matter how much Garak needed it. Eating was rather a necessity as well.
Hmm. . . . Garak was right-handed, so he would be doing most of the reaching with his sewing machine on that side. Presumably, that was where he needed to focus. Taking into account the thicker skin Cardassians had. . . .
As a test, he squeezed around the ridge partially located above Garak's trapezius in a sort of pincer grasp, looking to avoid the main ridge itself—and heard him take in a sharp breath.
"All right there?" he asked, reducing the pressure.
He couldn't see Garak's face, but he could hear the delicacy in the other man's voice as he answered, "I find I'm a little . . . tender in that area."
"Very well, then. I'll move on," he said easily and slipped his hands down to Garak's upper back. "Lean forward a bit?"
Garak did so, folding his arms to rest them against the table, and as he did, Julian couldn't help but smile. In the years he'd been DS9's Chief Medical Officer, he'd dealt with sexual models ranging from the familiar Human to budding and beyond. If that area was "tender," he'd simply avoid it. He was a medical professional; he should be able to administer treatment without making Garak uncomfortable. If not, he'd stop. He'd pay attention and be brisk and hopefully bring his friend real relief from that pain of his.
Locating the line of Garak's scapula wasn't difficult, even through his thick clothes. Julian pressed his thumbs next to it, adding somewhat more strength than usual to compensate for the protective macroscales that fanned out from his spine.
"How's that?"
"A little harder, if you could."
He complied and received a soft groan in response: the sound of tension being released and pain going right along with it. He pressed harder still and could feel the bunch of Garak's muscle skitter away from his touch. Time to chase that down and work it out.
It was actually rather satisfying, the physicality of the work. He'd even call it pleasant. There was something simple and rewarding about locating all the knots in Garak's muscles—and there were many; bad job, Garak—then easing them into suppleness. He worked around his neck ridges with care but without being tentative about it, and as time passed, Garak actually forgot himself enough to lower his head onto his arms.
"You have very strong hands," Garak mumbled at one point, his voice drowsy, low, a little rough. It was an unfamiliar sound, but . . . nice to listen to.
"They're not too strong, are they?" he checked. It was harder to measure out his strength on Garak; Cardassians were famous for being tough to hurt.
"Not at all. They're perfect," Garak answered, then made an odd sort of sound. Funny—he hadn't been working on any knots at that time. Had Garak pulled something on top of all of the tension twisting up his back?
He pressed his fingertips delicately against the back of Garak's neck, taking special care since he was getting close to his left ridge. When he received no further reaction, he picked up where he had left off. It must have been something else, then.
As he worked, he couldn't stop himself from a light brush or two of his fingertips against the scales at the back of Garak's neck, taking in their unexpected smoothness and stiff edges. He'd been curious about them almost since the two of them had met. Maybe it was a little unfair, taking advantage of the moment to satisfy himself, but Garak didn't seem to mind. He shivered a little once, probably surprised at the change in contact, but made no comment.
"We used to do this at Starfleet Medical," he remarked after a bit. "One of our professors spent a class or two teaching us the basics of how not to make things worse, more or less. Then she let us practice on each other in a long chain at the start of every Friday morning class, provided we were willing. Most of the Vulcans and a few of us Humans weren't, but I enjoyed it. It was just the thing after a long week." He smiled in remembered pride. "I was a popular partner, actually."
"So I would believe," Garak said, then added a little louder: "You certainly seem to know what you're doing."
Julian's smile just about doubled in size. Simple compliments from Garak were rare—almost as rare as ones from the Chief. That made them something to be treasured. "Thank you, Garak."
"No, thank you. I feel quite. . . ." He took in a breath, let it out in a sigh. "Quite refreshed."
"Good," he said, the fondness in his voice plain even to him. There really was nothing like setting a friend to rights. "I've just about done all I can do, actually."
Just a little more here, and. . . . He let his fingertips rest on the back of his neck again, just at the base of his skull. "I can try working at the muscles located below your ridges, but if not, then I'd say I'm finished here."
Garak hesitated for a long moment. When he answered, he sounded regretful. "I'm afraid that under the circumstances, it wouldn't be wise. But thank you, Doctor—you've given me a great deal of . . . relief."
"I'm just glad I could help." It was a shame he couldn't do anything about the muscles located beneath and supporting Garak's ridges, but he was hardly about to molest his friend when Garak could pop down to the clinic later for a little hands-free treatment.
He gave Garak's upper arm a pat. "Now let's go see about that lunch. I finished the book you loaned me and I've been looking forward to discussing it with you."
"Ah, I'll be along presently," Garak said quickly, his head still pillowed on his arms. "I find myself needing a moment or two to—recover."
Julian chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean. Massages always send me right to sleep—that was always the downside to having them before class. Take your time. I'll be waiting at our usual spot at the replimat."
"Thank you. I'll try not to keep you waiting too terribly long."
. . . It was the strangest thing. Just before he moved away from the back of Garak's chair, he was struck with the urge to run a hand over Garak's fine hair, to smooth it down for him. He didn't, of course—Garak would have all kinds of things to say if he gave into impulse, he felt very sure. He supposed the satisfaction of one piece of curiosity, concerning Garak's neck scales, had simply sparked another.
Whatever the reason, the thought was soon lost as he exited Garak's shop and left his friend behind. Now it was time to consider whether he wanted to discuss the plot of Garak's book chronologically, thematically, or by what had interested him the most. The question took up all his attention until Garak joined him and they settled into their very comfortable routine.
