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seikilosTitle: Working Out the Kinks
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: This part 1970, 5984 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: Communication occurs at last.
Author's Notes: So I've...kind of had this chapter written since something like last June--I've just had a lot of projects that have continually shoved this down the queue. But considering a lot of you seem to like this one a great deal (to my delight and bemusement), I figure it's probably time to put all of you out of your misery.
Thank you for your patience. <3
There was no better indication of how full, sleepy, and perfectly content he was, Julian decided, than the fact that Garak's Cardassian couch actually felt comfortable. It seemed there really was such a thing as miracles.
This miracle had its origins in the previous week, at one of Commander Sisko's staff parties. Julian had been watching him cook, fascinated as usual, and at one point had commented that he'd never cooked a meal in his life. It wasn't anything unusual, given he'd spent his whole life with a replicator every hundred metres or so, but the Commander had reacted with incredulity spiced with just a hint of pity and had offered on the spot to teach him how to cook. Julian had been caught off guard, but, never being one to turn down an interesting new experience, had agreed—on the condition that beets were not to be involved.
Two days later, he'd had his first cooking lesson and had produced a surprisingly passable chicken stirfry. It was surprising to Commander Sisko as well, judging from the look on his face after he'd taken his first bite and the genuine enthusiasm of the compliments that came after. That had left Julian as proud as if he'd discovered a cure for a rare disease. (Well, almost.)
He'd left Commander Sisko mulling over the possibility of starting a cooking class. Later that week, he'd tried again, and while the results weren't as good as when he'd had supervision, they had still been very edible.
After that, he'd been so thrilled, he'd needed to share the discovery of his new talent. Unfortunately, Chief O'Brien had flat-out refused—his lack of trust was a little insulting, honestly. After a bit, though, Julian managed to persuade Garak to join him instead. It turned out Garak knew how to cook as well, and before he knew it, his dinner invitation had turned into a sort of two-man potluck.
(He'd dug up an old recipe for brownies in Starfleet's archives the day of the dinner, knowing Garak had a large sweet tooth. He'd wanted to surprise him and he'd spent ages on the dessert, but after one taste he'd reclaimed the entire batch. That would have been entirely the wrong kind of surprise.)
"Careful, Doctor." Garak's low, amused voice slipped into his drifting thoughts. "You look as though you're about to fall asleep on my couch."
Julian blinked open his eyes and smiled at Garak, who was watching him from his chair. Was it just him or did his friend actually look fond? "I feel as though I'm about to fall asleep on your couch. I have no idea how I'm going to move when it's time to go."
His full stomach wasn't the only thing making him lethargic. He'd asked the Chief to tinker with the environmental controls in Garak's quarters, too, which he had. Now, the dim lighting was making his body think it was bedtime and the heat of the room had settled into his bones.
Really, it should have seemed a little odd, how comfortable he was in Garak's quarters—after all, this was his first time here in a non-medical capacity. He supposed the way he was always simultaneously relaxed and alert in Garak's company had simply transferred itself to the man's living space, even if the environment had taken care of the "alert" end of things.
Garak hummed. "I hope you aren't in a hurry to depart."
"Not unless you'd like me gone."
"Not at all. Stay as long as you like."
He chuckled. "Well, I assume you'd like to go to bed sometime this evening."
Garak didn't respond, which struck him as being a bit odd: after all, getting the last word was one of his friend's greatest pleasures in life. Being so sleepy, however, he didn't spend too much time wondering at his silence, and it was only with vague curiosity that he watched Garak rise from his chair and step around the couch.
A moment later, he felt comfortably cool hands settle on the bare skin of his shoulders and he shivered. That evening, he was wearing a top Garak had made for him—lately, his friend had taken to putting together the occasional extra piece on top of the commissions Julian ordered for his holosuite games. It was really very generous of him, and the least Julian could do was wear the gifts (even if the neckline was rather wider than his usual). Garak had seemed pleased to see him in one of his creations when he had arrived for supper, and that had pleased Julian in turn.
Even more pleasant was the way Garak's hands had begun to move on his shoulders with strong and sure movements, pulling from him the residual tension of his previous day in the infirmary.
He groaned softly. "Garak, if your plan is to ensure I really do fall asleep here, I can tell you it's succeeding already."
"Mm . . . not quite."
Julian's eyes had fallen closed and he'd started to droop. But before he could sink into slumber, at the crook of his neck, he felt the deliberate press of a kiss.
He jerked upright so fast he nearly cracked his head against his friend's. "Garak, what—?"
There probably should have been more of a question than that, but Julian was boggling too hard to piece one together. Had that . . . really just happened?
Evidently it had, because the first kiss was followed by another placed farther up his neck, one he felt straight down his spine.
"I'm only clarifying my intent. It seems to have gotten lost in translation." Another kiss a little higher still as Garak continued to work at his shoulders. It completely failed to occur to Julian to tell him to stop. "I had been under the impression that massages were nearly as much of a seduction to Humans as they are to Cardassians, but apparently I was mistaken."
The next kiss was placed behind his ear. The sound Julian made was embarrassingly needy, and that was what broke him out of the moment. He leaned forward and twisted around; Garak let him pull away and brought his hands to rest neatly on the back of the couch.
Once he was facing Garak, however, he found himself at a loss. He bought some time by standing so he wouldn't get a crick in his neck staring up at Garak, and no, he still had no idea what to say.
He simply had never thought of Garak in terms of anything other than a very good friend. He knew Garak was an attractive man, had known for ages, but—he wasn't attractive in the usual definition of the word. He was the sort of person who caught and held your attention, the sort of person who was hard to look away from because they were just so fascinating. It was the way Garak was. It didn't have anything to do with Julian being attracted to him in the standard sense of the word.
. . . That was something he was suddenly much less sure about.
"Forgive me, Doctor, if I crossed a line just now. I promise you—" Garak began, and Julian wasn't having any of that, wasn't letting him close himself off or feel regret when his own feelings about what had just happened were anything but solid.
"There's nothing to forgive," Julian interrupted. (He had to get around this damned couch—he was probably making Garak think he was hiding from him.) "I was only a bit, um, startled. You weren't wrong about the meaning of massages. They simply can mean a . . . number of things to a Human."
"So I guessed from your story about massage chains in Starfleet." Garak widened his eyes. "Unless, of course, you learn some very different lessons there than most people would expect."
Julian laughed. "I'm afraid not."
It was good to share a joke with Garak; it put him significantly more at his ease. The question remained, though: What should he do? And what did he want to do? This was only the second time he'd been interested in a man and he wasn't even certain he wanted to act on the option Garak had suddenly provided him. Did he really want to add another dimension to their friendship? It wasn't the sort of decision he could make on the spot, and nor should he. They both deserved better.
He made certain to meet Garak's eyes when he spoke. "I'm going to need some time before I give you an answer about—well, this. It's not something I've really thought about."
Knowing Garak as well as he did, he was able to catch the flick of disappointment that touched his features and slipped into his body language before the other man made it all disappear. The sight left him feeling mildly guilty, but this really was the best course of action. He was certain Garak understood.
"Of course. Take as much time as you need." A half-smile. "I won't be going anywhere."
That expression was hard to look at, but Julian didn't let his eyes slip away. Instead, he made sure his own smile was a better one. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
Now would be a good time to leave. It was a natural place to part, without too much awkwardness. But he just couldn't stop looking at Garak, his startlingly blue eyes, the faint residual smile that never did leave his face, the way his lower lip only just didn't match up with the upper. It was Garak being attractive-but-not-attractive all over again, except . . . now, he realised, both senses of the word applied.
He should leave. He didn't want to make things more difficult for either of them. He wanted to be able to consider the situation with a clear head.
He took two steps forward and kissed Garak.
He'd intended it to be brief, a goodbye gesture. But the texture of Garak's lips beneath his was completely different from anyone else he had kissed, dry and unusually smooth, and when his hand came up on its own and found Garak's hair, "brief" became altogether impossible.
It was Garak who ended the kiss, by setting both hands on his shoulders and easing him back. Julian was so lost to sensation and the need to really know the differences of their mouths that he unconsciously pressed forward again, seeking that lost contact.
Garak held firm. "I think it would be best if you went back to your quarters, Doctor. Otherwise I might find it difficult to give you the time you need."
Julian raised his gaze from Garak's mouth, and oh, if he'd thought Garak's eyes had been compelling before. . . .
He swallowed past his dry mouth and tried a chuckle. "Yes, I . . . think that would be a good idea. I'll just, ah, go now, then." His lips pulled into an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"Oh, there's no need to apologise." The hands on his shoulders turned into an arm as Garak guided him to the door. "But I doubt this is what you meant by 'needing time to think.'"
"It isn't, no, not really." He paused in the doorway. This probably wasn't the best of ideas, but: "See you at lunch tomorrow?"
The smile Garak gave him made the jumbled, humiliating mess he was going to be worth it already. "I wouldn't miss it for any world."
Julian really did leave then, a muddled but happy man. He doubted he was going to be getting much rest tonight with all the pros and cons and potential consequences he was going to be weighing before lunch tomorrow—but at the same time, he couldn't help thinking he'd already found his answer.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: This part 1970, 5984 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: Communication occurs at last.
Author's Notes: So I've...kind of had this chapter written since something like last June--I've just had a lot of projects that have continually shoved this down the queue. But considering a lot of you seem to like this one a great deal (to my delight and bemusement), I figure it's probably time to put all of you out of your misery.
Thank you for your patience. <3
There was no better indication of how full, sleepy, and perfectly content he was, Julian decided, than the fact that Garak's Cardassian couch actually felt comfortable. It seemed there really was such a thing as miracles.
This miracle had its origins in the previous week, at one of Commander Sisko's staff parties. Julian had been watching him cook, fascinated as usual, and at one point had commented that he'd never cooked a meal in his life. It wasn't anything unusual, given he'd spent his whole life with a replicator every hundred metres or so, but the Commander had reacted with incredulity spiced with just a hint of pity and had offered on the spot to teach him how to cook. Julian had been caught off guard, but, never being one to turn down an interesting new experience, had agreed—on the condition that beets were not to be involved.
Two days later, he'd had his first cooking lesson and had produced a surprisingly passable chicken stirfry. It was surprising to Commander Sisko as well, judging from the look on his face after he'd taken his first bite and the genuine enthusiasm of the compliments that came after. That had left Julian as proud as if he'd discovered a cure for a rare disease. (Well, almost.)
He'd left Commander Sisko mulling over the possibility of starting a cooking class. Later that week, he'd tried again, and while the results weren't as good as when he'd had supervision, they had still been very edible.
After that, he'd been so thrilled, he'd needed to share the discovery of his new talent. Unfortunately, Chief O'Brien had flat-out refused—his lack of trust was a little insulting, honestly. After a bit, though, Julian managed to persuade Garak to join him instead. It turned out Garak knew how to cook as well, and before he knew it, his dinner invitation had turned into a sort of two-man potluck.
(He'd dug up an old recipe for brownies in Starfleet's archives the day of the dinner, knowing Garak had a large sweet tooth. He'd wanted to surprise him and he'd spent ages on the dessert, but after one taste he'd reclaimed the entire batch. That would have been entirely the wrong kind of surprise.)
"Careful, Doctor." Garak's low, amused voice slipped into his drifting thoughts. "You look as though you're about to fall asleep on my couch."
Julian blinked open his eyes and smiled at Garak, who was watching him from his chair. Was it just him or did his friend actually look fond? "I feel as though I'm about to fall asleep on your couch. I have no idea how I'm going to move when it's time to go."
His full stomach wasn't the only thing making him lethargic. He'd asked the Chief to tinker with the environmental controls in Garak's quarters, too, which he had. Now, the dim lighting was making his body think it was bedtime and the heat of the room had settled into his bones.
Really, it should have seemed a little odd, how comfortable he was in Garak's quarters—after all, this was his first time here in a non-medical capacity. He supposed the way he was always simultaneously relaxed and alert in Garak's company had simply transferred itself to the man's living space, even if the environment had taken care of the "alert" end of things.
Garak hummed. "I hope you aren't in a hurry to depart."
"Not unless you'd like me gone."
"Not at all. Stay as long as you like."
He chuckled. "Well, I assume you'd like to go to bed sometime this evening."
Garak didn't respond, which struck him as being a bit odd: after all, getting the last word was one of his friend's greatest pleasures in life. Being so sleepy, however, he didn't spend too much time wondering at his silence, and it was only with vague curiosity that he watched Garak rise from his chair and step around the couch.
A moment later, he felt comfortably cool hands settle on the bare skin of his shoulders and he shivered. That evening, he was wearing a top Garak had made for him—lately, his friend had taken to putting together the occasional extra piece on top of the commissions Julian ordered for his holosuite games. It was really very generous of him, and the least Julian could do was wear the gifts (even if the neckline was rather wider than his usual). Garak had seemed pleased to see him in one of his creations when he had arrived for supper, and that had pleased Julian in turn.
Even more pleasant was the way Garak's hands had begun to move on his shoulders with strong and sure movements, pulling from him the residual tension of his previous day in the infirmary.
He groaned softly. "Garak, if your plan is to ensure I really do fall asleep here, I can tell you it's succeeding already."
"Mm . . . not quite."
Julian's eyes had fallen closed and he'd started to droop. But before he could sink into slumber, at the crook of his neck, he felt the deliberate press of a kiss.
He jerked upright so fast he nearly cracked his head against his friend's. "Garak, what—?"
There probably should have been more of a question than that, but Julian was boggling too hard to piece one together. Had that . . . really just happened?
Evidently it had, because the first kiss was followed by another placed farther up his neck, one he felt straight down his spine.
"I'm only clarifying my intent. It seems to have gotten lost in translation." Another kiss a little higher still as Garak continued to work at his shoulders. It completely failed to occur to Julian to tell him to stop. "I had been under the impression that massages were nearly as much of a seduction to Humans as they are to Cardassians, but apparently I was mistaken."
The next kiss was placed behind his ear. The sound Julian made was embarrassingly needy, and that was what broke him out of the moment. He leaned forward and twisted around; Garak let him pull away and brought his hands to rest neatly on the back of the couch.
Once he was facing Garak, however, he found himself at a loss. He bought some time by standing so he wouldn't get a crick in his neck staring up at Garak, and no, he still had no idea what to say.
He simply had never thought of Garak in terms of anything other than a very good friend. He knew Garak was an attractive man, had known for ages, but—he wasn't attractive in the usual definition of the word. He was the sort of person who caught and held your attention, the sort of person who was hard to look away from because they were just so fascinating. It was the way Garak was. It didn't have anything to do with Julian being attracted to him in the standard sense of the word.
. . . That was something he was suddenly much less sure about.
"Forgive me, Doctor, if I crossed a line just now. I promise you—" Garak began, and Julian wasn't having any of that, wasn't letting him close himself off or feel regret when his own feelings about what had just happened were anything but solid.
"There's nothing to forgive," Julian interrupted. (He had to get around this damned couch—he was probably making Garak think he was hiding from him.) "I was only a bit, um, startled. You weren't wrong about the meaning of massages. They simply can mean a . . . number of things to a Human."
"So I guessed from your story about massage chains in Starfleet." Garak widened his eyes. "Unless, of course, you learn some very different lessons there than most people would expect."
Julian laughed. "I'm afraid not."
It was good to share a joke with Garak; it put him significantly more at his ease. The question remained, though: What should he do? And what did he want to do? This was only the second time he'd been interested in a man and he wasn't even certain he wanted to act on the option Garak had suddenly provided him. Did he really want to add another dimension to their friendship? It wasn't the sort of decision he could make on the spot, and nor should he. They both deserved better.
He made certain to meet Garak's eyes when he spoke. "I'm going to need some time before I give you an answer about—well, this. It's not something I've really thought about."
Knowing Garak as well as he did, he was able to catch the flick of disappointment that touched his features and slipped into his body language before the other man made it all disappear. The sight left him feeling mildly guilty, but this really was the best course of action. He was certain Garak understood.
"Of course. Take as much time as you need." A half-smile. "I won't be going anywhere."
That expression was hard to look at, but Julian didn't let his eyes slip away. Instead, he made sure his own smile was a better one. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
Now would be a good time to leave. It was a natural place to part, without too much awkwardness. But he just couldn't stop looking at Garak, his startlingly blue eyes, the faint residual smile that never did leave his face, the way his lower lip only just didn't match up with the upper. It was Garak being attractive-but-not-attractive all over again, except . . . now, he realised, both senses of the word applied.
He should leave. He didn't want to make things more difficult for either of them. He wanted to be able to consider the situation with a clear head.
He took two steps forward and kissed Garak.
He'd intended it to be brief, a goodbye gesture. But the texture of Garak's lips beneath his was completely different from anyone else he had kissed, dry and unusually smooth, and when his hand came up on its own and found Garak's hair, "brief" became altogether impossible.
It was Garak who ended the kiss, by setting both hands on his shoulders and easing him back. Julian was so lost to sensation and the need to really know the differences of their mouths that he unconsciously pressed forward again, seeking that lost contact.
Garak held firm. "I think it would be best if you went back to your quarters, Doctor. Otherwise I might find it difficult to give you the time you need."
Julian raised his gaze from Garak's mouth, and oh, if he'd thought Garak's eyes had been compelling before. . . .
He swallowed past his dry mouth and tried a chuckle. "Yes, I . . . think that would be a good idea. I'll just, ah, go now, then." His lips pulled into an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"Oh, there's no need to apologise." The hands on his shoulders turned into an arm as Garak guided him to the door. "But I doubt this is what you meant by 'needing time to think.'"
"It isn't, no, not really." He paused in the doorway. This probably wasn't the best of ideas, but: "See you at lunch tomorrow?"
The smile Garak gave him made the jumbled, humiliating mess he was going to be worth it already. "I wouldn't miss it for any world."
Julian really did leave then, a muddled but happy man. He doubted he was going to be getting much rest tonight with all the pros and cons and potential consequences he was going to be weighing before lunch tomorrow—but at the same time, he couldn't help thinking he'd already found his answer.
