DD9 - Happy birthday, tinsnip!
Sep. 25th, 2013 07:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: No Wrong Answers
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (Deep Dish Nine AU)
Genre: Fluff
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 1445
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Summary: Once the question of when, exactly, is Garak's birthday pops into Julian's head, he discovers that it's unsurprisingly difficult to answer.
Author's Notes: Written for tinsnip's birthday. ♥ Figuring out what to give you as a gift was amazingly easy, and consequently, you're one of the only birthdays I've been on time for all year. :D;; Thank you for being an absolutely lovely person and a supreme beta, and I hope you have a phenomenal year. ♥♥♥
It had been Worf's surprise birthday that had put the question in Julian's mind.
Given who it was for, the celebration had been half a joke and half sincere. They'd done up a huge pizza with all his favourite toppings, Mr. Sisko had brought in a jug of prune juice, and then right around suppertime when the restaurant had been packed, they'd struck. Jadzia had swapped out their usual background of pop radio for some random opera tracks she'd downloaded from the internet, and when Worf had poked his head out of the kitchen in confusion, they'd all started hollering "Happy Birthday" at him. Worf had tried to vanish back to the safety of his realm, but Jadzia had clamped onto his arm and lugged him into the spotlight and frankly it had been one of the funniest things Julian had seen all week.
It was after everything had settled down, as he'd been waiting for a slice (and trying to determine if his stomach was strong enough to handle a full-on Klingon pizza), that he'd noticed Garak.
For once, Julian had been too caught up in everything to see him come in, but there he was: sitting at a table for two, clearly waiting for him and just as clearly amused by the whole business. He was smiling away, properly, with his eyes as well as his mouth, and his arms were folded on the table. The warmth of the pizza parlor at peak capacity had put colour in his cheeks, and it made him look . . . well, happy.
His first reaction to the sight was that little jump of his stomach that had yet to stop happening even four months into their relationship.
His second reaction another jump of his stomach, this time at the realisation that he had absolutely no idea when Garak's birthday was. Given they'd known each other for the better part of a year, that was simply inexcusable and needed to be fixed as soon as possible.
The only problem was—how the hell was he going to find the answer to his question?
*
He went the obvious route first. Though Garak would no doubt tsk at him for his choice, classes had just started. He could either spend a lot of time being subtle or he could put together something halfway decent for him. There were not enough hours in the day for both.
So he asked Garak directly. For his trouble, he'd spent an entire lunch break being buffeted here, there, and everywhere by the mischievous current of Garak's answers. He'd given up in the end—he really should have known better—and for a few days, he'd abandoned his quest.
When he took it up again, he realized he was stuck. He could try picking Garak's pocket to check his driver's license; he could attempt to dig up his medical records at the hospital; he could hire Odo to do some investigating. The problem was, all those plans were both ridiculous and of dubious legality (except for hiring Odo, which was simply weird). He wasn't about to bring the sorts of repercussions down on his head that would result if he were caught.
Which meant there was only one thing for it.
*
It was difficult to surprise Garak in any way, and so Julian felt the delightful glow of satisfaction when Garak took two steps into his apartment and stopped before he'd even closed the door.
"My dear," Garak said, his eyes not on him but fixed on something else entirely. "What are those for?"
"I should think you would know the function of balloons, Elim," Julian said cheerfully as he reached behind the other man to get the door.
Garak stepped out of the way, moving on automatic. His gaze went from the pair of balloons taped to the wall over the couch (one green, one pink) to the trio that framed the kitchen entryway. It then slid to him. "Tell me you don't have your coworkers hidden away somewhere, ready to serenade me."
He grinned. "I considered it, but no, you're safe. There weren't enough places to hide everyone, so I abandoned the idea. It's just you and me this evening, I'm afraid."
Garak's eyelids lowered, making Julian's stomach jump for a somewhat different reason than pure infatuation. "What a pity." He took a few steps farther into the apartment and, before Julian could unknot his tongue, asked, "So, is today when your investigation told you my birthday was?"
"No, not at all. I picked the day completely at random—or, well, almost at random. I've just handed in two big assignments, so I thought I'd take advantage of the breathing room," he amended, his fingers playing with the too-long hair at the back of his neck. (He desperately needed to make time for a haircut.)
"Good." Garak smiled suddenly. "Because you weren't even close."
"Damn." Well, at least that narrowed it down somewhat. "Now, do you want your cake or your gift first?"
Garak blinked. "You bought a cake?"
"I made a cake, and you can't criticise because it's my first one," Julian informed him—then admitted, "I used a mix and I had to go upstairs in the middle to borrow a cake pan from the O'Briens because I'd forgot I didn't have one, so it probably tastes awful. But you still have to eat it."
Garak's features had softened during his explanation. When Julian was finished, he closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Julian felt his face warm.
"Even if it's a brick of chalk, I'll make the greatest of sacrifices and choke down a slice," Garak assured him solemnly.
It was difficult to feign a stern expression after that, but he tried. He had to at least attempt to pretend he wasn't the sort to be flustered by a single chaste kiss. "Good. I'd hate for all that hair-tearing to go to waste."
His hair-tearing, as it turned out, had not been in vain. The cake wasn't so bad—a little dry, but still edible. Or, well, edible for someone who lived on tinned food and peanut butter. It might have been less so for Garak, but Julian had bought a chocolate mix, and he was banking on that making up for his baking shortfalls.
Regardless, Garak ate his piece without complaint, though he did tease Julian about the wobbly icing letters (he'd also had to run back upstairs for one of those tubes). He stopped in a hurry when Julian threatened to gob some in his hair, though.
Afterward, they went back into the living room and Garak opened his gift: one of those small portable heaters that had luckily been on sale this week in advance of the fall cooldown.
"You probably have three of these," he said after Garak had thanked him. He pulled at his overly long hair some more. "But now you'll have one for each room, I suppose."
"I'll need as many as I can lay my hands on if this winter is even half as cold as the last." Garak made one of those little grimaces that Julian found weirdly adorable.
His hand came back down from the back of his neck after that.
Garak had insisted on plugging it in and trying it out right there, and now Julian was being roasted alive and wondering if there were a way to take off his shirt without giving Garak the wrong signals. (Did those scientists in Antarctica know about these heaters? Was this what it was like in Cardassia all the time?)
Despite the fact that he could already tell he'd sweated through the armpits of his shirt, though, he stayed where he was. Garak seemed to be nearing a state of loose-limbed bliss curled up against him, and that was rare enough that he didn't dare dislodge him and risk dispersing the mood.
"Good birthday?" he asked, feeling his jaw move against Garak's hair.
"Mm." Garak hesitated. His half-shut gaze slipped up to him . . . but then he only said, "You'll have to try again next year. Perhaps you'll be a bit closer to the proper date."
Next year—that was a big thought, too big for the sleepy heat. He let the assumption pass by for another day. "Perhaps I'll be right."
"Perhaps you will. Stranger things have happened."
Julian's hand found Garak's. For once, it wasn't chilled but was actually a comfortable temperature. He slid his slightly damp fingers through Garak's and gave his hand a squeeze to hear the hitch in his breath.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
"Mm. Stranger things have happened."
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (Deep Dish Nine AU)
Genre: Fluff
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 1445
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Summary: Once the question of when, exactly, is Garak's birthday pops into Julian's head, he discovers that it's unsurprisingly difficult to answer.
Author's Notes: Written for tinsnip's birthday. ♥ Figuring out what to give you as a gift was amazingly easy, and consequently, you're one of the only birthdays I've been on time for all year. :D;; Thank you for being an absolutely lovely person and a supreme beta, and I hope you have a phenomenal year. ♥♥♥
It had been Worf's surprise birthday that had put the question in Julian's mind.
Given who it was for, the celebration had been half a joke and half sincere. They'd done up a huge pizza with all his favourite toppings, Mr. Sisko had brought in a jug of prune juice, and then right around suppertime when the restaurant had been packed, they'd struck. Jadzia had swapped out their usual background of pop radio for some random opera tracks she'd downloaded from the internet, and when Worf had poked his head out of the kitchen in confusion, they'd all started hollering "Happy Birthday" at him. Worf had tried to vanish back to the safety of his realm, but Jadzia had clamped onto his arm and lugged him into the spotlight and frankly it had been one of the funniest things Julian had seen all week.
It was after everything had settled down, as he'd been waiting for a slice (and trying to determine if his stomach was strong enough to handle a full-on Klingon pizza), that he'd noticed Garak.
For once, Julian had been too caught up in everything to see him come in, but there he was: sitting at a table for two, clearly waiting for him and just as clearly amused by the whole business. He was smiling away, properly, with his eyes as well as his mouth, and his arms were folded on the table. The warmth of the pizza parlor at peak capacity had put colour in his cheeks, and it made him look . . . well, happy.
His first reaction to the sight was that little jump of his stomach that had yet to stop happening even four months into their relationship.
His second reaction another jump of his stomach, this time at the realisation that he had absolutely no idea when Garak's birthday was. Given they'd known each other for the better part of a year, that was simply inexcusable and needed to be fixed as soon as possible.
The only problem was—how the hell was he going to find the answer to his question?
He went the obvious route first. Though Garak would no doubt tsk at him for his choice, classes had just started. He could either spend a lot of time being subtle or he could put together something halfway decent for him. There were not enough hours in the day for both.
So he asked Garak directly. For his trouble, he'd spent an entire lunch break being buffeted here, there, and everywhere by the mischievous current of Garak's answers. He'd given up in the end—he really should have known better—and for a few days, he'd abandoned his quest.
When he took it up again, he realized he was stuck. He could try picking Garak's pocket to check his driver's license; he could attempt to dig up his medical records at the hospital; he could hire Odo to do some investigating. The problem was, all those plans were both ridiculous and of dubious legality (except for hiring Odo, which was simply weird). He wasn't about to bring the sorts of repercussions down on his head that would result if he were caught.
Which meant there was only one thing for it.
It was difficult to surprise Garak in any way, and so Julian felt the delightful glow of satisfaction when Garak took two steps into his apartment and stopped before he'd even closed the door.
"My dear," Garak said, his eyes not on him but fixed on something else entirely. "What are those for?"
"I should think you would know the function of balloons, Elim," Julian said cheerfully as he reached behind the other man to get the door.
Garak stepped out of the way, moving on automatic. His gaze went from the pair of balloons taped to the wall over the couch (one green, one pink) to the trio that framed the kitchen entryway. It then slid to him. "Tell me you don't have your coworkers hidden away somewhere, ready to serenade me."
He grinned. "I considered it, but no, you're safe. There weren't enough places to hide everyone, so I abandoned the idea. It's just you and me this evening, I'm afraid."
Garak's eyelids lowered, making Julian's stomach jump for a somewhat different reason than pure infatuation. "What a pity." He took a few steps farther into the apartment and, before Julian could unknot his tongue, asked, "So, is today when your investigation told you my birthday was?"
"No, not at all. I picked the day completely at random—or, well, almost at random. I've just handed in two big assignments, so I thought I'd take advantage of the breathing room," he amended, his fingers playing with the too-long hair at the back of his neck. (He desperately needed to make time for a haircut.)
"Good." Garak smiled suddenly. "Because you weren't even close."
"Damn." Well, at least that narrowed it down somewhat. "Now, do you want your cake or your gift first?"
Garak blinked. "You bought a cake?"
"I made a cake, and you can't criticise because it's my first one," Julian informed him—then admitted, "I used a mix and I had to go upstairs in the middle to borrow a cake pan from the O'Briens because I'd forgot I didn't have one, so it probably tastes awful. But you still have to eat it."
Garak's features had softened during his explanation. When Julian was finished, he closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Julian felt his face warm.
"Even if it's a brick of chalk, I'll make the greatest of sacrifices and choke down a slice," Garak assured him solemnly.
It was difficult to feign a stern expression after that, but he tried. He had to at least attempt to pretend he wasn't the sort to be flustered by a single chaste kiss. "Good. I'd hate for all that hair-tearing to go to waste."
His hair-tearing, as it turned out, had not been in vain. The cake wasn't so bad—a little dry, but still edible. Or, well, edible for someone who lived on tinned food and peanut butter. It might have been less so for Garak, but Julian had bought a chocolate mix, and he was banking on that making up for his baking shortfalls.
Regardless, Garak ate his piece without complaint, though he did tease Julian about the wobbly icing letters (he'd also had to run back upstairs for one of those tubes). He stopped in a hurry when Julian threatened to gob some in his hair, though.
Afterward, they went back into the living room and Garak opened his gift: one of those small portable heaters that had luckily been on sale this week in advance of the fall cooldown.
"You probably have three of these," he said after Garak had thanked him. He pulled at his overly long hair some more. "But now you'll have one for each room, I suppose."
"I'll need as many as I can lay my hands on if this winter is even half as cold as the last." Garak made one of those little grimaces that Julian found weirdly adorable.
His hand came back down from the back of his neck after that.
Garak had insisted on plugging it in and trying it out right there, and now Julian was being roasted alive and wondering if there were a way to take off his shirt without giving Garak the wrong signals. (Did those scientists in Antarctica know about these heaters? Was this what it was like in Cardassia all the time?)
Despite the fact that he could already tell he'd sweated through the armpits of his shirt, though, he stayed where he was. Garak seemed to be nearing a state of loose-limbed bliss curled up against him, and that was rare enough that he didn't dare dislodge him and risk dispersing the mood.
"Good birthday?" he asked, feeling his jaw move against Garak's hair.
"Mm." Garak hesitated. His half-shut gaze slipped up to him . . . but then he only said, "You'll have to try again next year. Perhaps you'll be a bit closer to the proper date."
Next year—that was a big thought, too big for the sleepy heat. He let the assumption pass by for another day. "Perhaps I'll be right."
"Perhaps you will. Stranger things have happened."
Julian's hand found Garak's. For once, it wasn't chilled but was actually a comfortable temperature. He slid his slightly damp fingers through Garak's and gave his hand a squeeze to hear the hitch in his breath.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
"Mm. Stranger things have happened."
