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It had started so innocently, from an honest desire to display friendship in a way that meant something to Garak. Julian had walked back with him to his shop one day after lunch, not wanting to end a debate he was clearly winning. When they had reached the shop entrance, Garak noticed that, for once, they were entirely alone in the hallway.
So Garak had held his hand up, palm out, fingers spread.
A simple cardassian farewell between friends, he had said. When Julian had lifted his own hand, Garak had pressed their palms together and—
Oh, the warmth of him. His fingers were slightly longer than Garak’s so they curled ever so slightly over Garak’s fingertips.
Like this? Julian had said.
Exactly so, Garak had replied.
And from then on, whenever they were alone, Garak would offer his hand in farewell. To Garak’s surprise and delight, Julian would sometimes offer his hand without prompting. It was innocent. It was a gesture of closeness between friends, exactly as Garak had told him. But then one day, three months ago, Garak had been so cold, and Julian was so warm, and his smile was so sweet, and Garak had…Garak had…
Garak had kissed him.
His thumb had slid forward to nestle in the web between Julian’s thumb and forefinger. And Julian, innocent and ignorant, had wrapped his own thumb over Garak’s. His expression had been expectant, but Garak had smiled and fled, offering no explanation for this sudden change.
Never again, he’d berated himself. Never, ever again.
Except the next time they’d had lunch, Julian had followed him right into the shop, offered his hand, and kissed him back.
No. Had not kissed him back. Julian had engaged in a friendly cardassian gesture expressing platonic affection. Garak had opened his mouth to confess and…hadn’t.
How downright cardassian of you, doctor.
A shy, sweet smile.
I learn quickly.
They began to spend more time together. Weekly lunches became almost every other day. Drinks at Quark after work. Movie nights in Julian’s quarters.
And always, in a thousand different ways, Julian would kiss him. Fingertips brushing. Little fingers pressed side by side. Once, Julian had put his hand directly on top of Garak’s and Garak had barely been able to breath for the remainder of the evening.
Garak has done many terrible things in his lifetime, but all of them were done in the name of the State. One man sins so many others may flourish. For the good of Cardassia. Ends justify the means.
He has no such excuse for this. Again and again, he does not tell Julian. Again and again, he takes this little comfort. There is no way for Julian to find out the truth, as there are no cardassians on the station. Garak is safe.
Until he isn’t.
“I am not saying he isn’t a good writer, in his own way, I’m saying I don’t approve of the combination of high and low humor.”
“That’s what makes Shakespear such a genius!”
“It makes him indecisive.”
They pause at the door to Garak’s shop. Julian shakes his head at him.
“You’re being impossible on purpose.”
“Me? Perish the thought.”
Julian offers his hand, and Garak kisses him goodbye.
“See you tonight,” Julian says, letting the touch linger before he leaves. Garak watches him leave, the usual tangle of warmth and guilt fighting in his chest.
“Well, well,” says the voice of the second-to-last cardassian Garak would ever wish to see at that moment. “Isn’t this a surprise.”
“Gul Dukat,” Garak says, turning and giving the man a warm smile. “I wasn’t aware you were on the station today.”
“Clearly not.”
“Is there something I can do for you, or did you simply desire a little conversation?”
“My wife’s birthday is coming up,” Dukat said smoothly, glancing at the shop. “I thought I might buy her something.”
So Dukat has no intention of putting Garak on public display. He always did prefer to torment in private, where there was no escape.
Garak bows his head and gestures for Dukat to enter first. Dukat swaggers in and Garak keeps his face pleasant and neutral, hiding the way his heart is dissolving in his stomach. For a few minutes, Dukat pretends to debate over a series of silk scarves. Dragging out the moment, leaving Garak in anticipatory dread.
“I wasn’t aware you and the doctor were so intimate,” Dukat says at last.
“Well, it is hard to keep an ear out for station gossip from so far away,” Garak says mildly.
“Is the doctor aware that you and he are so intimate?”
Garak cocks his head.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Well, cardassian displays of affection are so different from most other species’,” Dukat says, turning to look at Garak. “I doubt most humans would recognize them.”
“The doctor is very intelligent,” Garak says.
“Is that a yes?” Dukat asks.
Garak should lie. But he can’t lie. If he does, Dukat may call his bluff and go ask Julian directly and that…that would be more humiliating than any other possibility.
“Forgive my bluntness, but I do not believe my romantic life is any of your concern,” Garak says. Dukat grins, wide and sharp.
“That sounds like a no to me, Garak.” He tuts, shaking his head. “Very naughty of you. Taking advantage of the poor doctor this way! Why, it’s downright shameful.”
It doesn’t matter that Dukat has done far, far worse. Hypocrisy has never held the man back before; it certainly won’t get in his way of the chance to torment Garak, of all people.
Garak is hollow with humiliation in a way that he has not felt since the early days of his exile. He can taste the bile in the back of his throat, but there is nothing he can say or do and his helplessness only makes him feel weak, his limbs and eyelids heavy. There isn’t even anywhere he can run.
“Garak, I forgot to tell you I have a late—Oh.”
Dukat turns towards the door and Garak takes a moment to close his eyes against the fresh wave of misery. Not Julian. Not now.
Not like this.
“Dr. Bashir! We were just talking about you.” Dukat’s glee is palpable.
“Were you now,” Julian says, his tone cool and his expression wary. He knows it is never a good thing when Dukat is happy.
“I am afraid Garak has been misleading you, Doctor.”
“That’d be a first,” Julian says dryly. He looks at Garak and raises an eyebrow. Garak smiles painfully. Dukat, smelling blood in the water, presses his advantage.
“I think you may be missing a few…cultural nuances of cardassian courtship. It would be remiss of me, as ambassador to the Federation, not to enlighten you.”
The slightest wrinkle of Julian’s nose appears and then fades.
“I appreciate the thought, but I’m pretty sure I understand all the relevant cultural nuances of kissing my boyfriend.”
“What?” Dukat says.
“What?” Garak says.
“Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I don’t understand that courtship rituals vary across cultures,” Julian says. He crosses the room and catches Garak’s hand, palm against palm. “I’m not an idiot. I know what this means.”
Dukat glares at Garak.
“You didn’t think—”
Garak is so giddy he thinks he might faint, but he keeps himself steady and cocks his head ever so slightly to one side, eyes wide and innocent.
“What didn’t I think?”
Oh, it’s a beautiful moment. Julian’s hand is warm against his; Julian is willingly, knowingly kissing him; and Dukat thinks Garak has been playing him this entire conversation. For a few seconds, it looks like Dukat might actually have an apoplexy from sheer rage. Tragically, no moment can be truly perfect, so instead the gul turns on his heel and storms out of the store without another word.
“One of these days, he’s going to shoot you,” Julian says.
Garak takes Julian’s chin in his hand and kisses him – with his lips, the human way.
The process of leaning into Julian’s face is very awkward, and Garak doesn’t like it. On the other hand, the actual feeling of mouth against mouth is not all that bad. Julian’s lips are warm, as all of him is warm. There is also the way Julian melts slightly, and the soft little noise Julian makes in the back of his throat sends a shiver across Garak’s skin.
After what Garak hopes is a suitable length of time, he pulls away again. Julian is grinning, big and slightly dopey.
“I should have done that sooner,” Garak says. “I think this relationship of ours has been a little one-sided.”
He should tell Julian the truth, that he thought he was taking advantage of his ignorance all this time. Intent matters, even if the harm was not actually being done. Julian deserves to know and Garak will tell him.
On his deathbed. That was the purpose of the shri-tal.
“I don’t mind,” Julian says, still grinning. “It’s not how you do things.”
“But it is how you do things. Unless,” Garak says, voice serious but eyes bright, “you would rather I not kiss you the human way?”
Julian pulls Garak’s hand away from his chin so he can lean in and kiss Garak himself. The sight of Julian’s face approaching his is even more unsettling but the kiss is…nice. It’s nice, and it makes Julian happy, which makes the kiss even nicer.
Suddenly Julian interlaces their fingers and squeezes hard; a jolt runs up Garak’s arm and right down to the pit of his stomach. He jerks back, almost stumbling, and stares open-mouthed at Julian.
Who, slowly and very deliberately, places his other palm against the back of Garak’s hand so that Garak is pinned on both sides in the warm embrace. Garak’s heart is slamming into his ribcage as Julian lifts Garak’s hand towards his mouth. It all feels so unreal, like Garak has wandered into a waking dream.
“I looked this one up myself,” Julian murmurs, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and nips at Garak’s fingertip.
Garak yelps and yanks his hand away from Julian’s mouth. He can’t get his hand free, not with their fingers so tangled together. Garak is pinned, helpless, trapped in Julian’s kiss and it makes his head spin.
“Doctor!” he hisses, “we are in public.”
“Barely,” Julian protests. He steps to the side and turns them so Garak’s back is to the shop front, hiding their hands from view. “How about now?”
“Where is this coming from?” Garak demands. It feels too coincidental that only after he learns Julian knows what Garak has been doing does Julian become so…passionate.
“You kissed me,” Julian says. “My way, I mean. I figure that’s an indication you’re ready to move beyond chaste kisses in the hallway when no one is looking. Unless,” he says, throwing Garak’s own words back at him, “you would rather I not make out with you the Cardassian way.”
Keeping Garak’s fingers trapped in his, he begins to trail his fingers gently over the back of Garak’s hand. Garak’s free hand latches on to Julian’s hip as he struggles to keep his breathing even. Once more, Julian lifts Garak’s hand to his mouth. Garak’s eyelids flutter shut as Julian nips at each of his fingertips.
At last, Julian has mercy on him and loosens his grip so Garak’s hand can slide free of his. Garak clutches the table, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of the kiss. Julian makes a noise of interest.
“Funny,” he says. “It’s one thing to know that’s kissing, and another thing to see you react to it.”
“Mm,” Garak says, eyes still shut, trying to pull himself together and regain something like dignity.
Julian presses first his body and then his lips against Garak’s. It feels nice, but it isn’t the same as a real kiss. Although, Garak realizes, that must be how Julian has been feeling.
I’m pretty sure I understand all the relevant cultural nuances of kissing my boyfriend.
Kissing him goodbye more often than he didn’t, lunches going from weekly to nearly every day…
Garak had thought he was being selfish, and in a way, he has been. A proper lover – ‘boyfriend’, what a word, he would need to tell Julian not to use such a juvenile term – would have been returning the favor of cultural understanding. Garak thinks of what he has seen of courting humans and tentatively opens his mouth.
It is a very, very strange sensation, having two tongues in your mouth. Garak focuses instead on the way Julian’s breathing comes faster and the way his hands clutch hungrily at Garak’s clothes. Julian breaks the kiss with evident difficulty and looks at Garak with eyes gone very dark.
“You’re wrinkling my shirt,” Garak says, chidingly. Julian grins, loosens his grip, and slides his hands down Garak’s chest with far more attention that if he was just smoothing out the fabric.
Julian leans forward again, but this time, he doesn’t kiss him: he presses his forehead to Garak’s. The jolt that goes through Garak this time is a thousand times stronger than before. He gasps – too sharply, because Julian begins to pull away. Barely thinking, Garak moves with him to prevent the connection from breaking, grabbing Julian’s elbows and holding him in place. Garak barely dares to breathe, lest the moment end too soon.
“I didn’t realize you knew so much about Cardassian courtship,” he whispers at last.
“I did some research,” Julian murmurs.
He knows what this means, he knows what this means, he knows what this means…
He knows what it all means. Garak’s self-recriminations have been suitable punishment for his foolishness, but as there was no actual harm done, Garak sees no point in chastising himself further. All is well.
All is more than well.
Garak presses his lips to Julian’s again, but keeps them closed. Hopefully, he’ll get used to the tongue thing - eventually.
Three Months Earlier
“Quark,” Bashir says, sliding onto a bar stool and leaning forward, “you know a lot about Cardassians, don’t you?”
Quark slows in his wiping of the bar.
“That depends,” he says, “on where this conversation is going.”
“What does it mean when a Cardassian does this?”
Bashir holds up both hands. He presses them together, palm to palm, fingers spread. Quark relaxes and shrugs.
“Oh, that. It’s a way to say goodbye to a close friend.”
“Right. What about if they do this?”
Bashir slides his right thumb so it is hooked over the web between the index finger and thumb of his left hand.
Quark smirks.
“Now that is a little bit more than friendly.”
Bashir lowers his hands, leaning forward slightly.
“How much more than friendly?” he asks with what Quark immediately clocks as hope.
“Let me put it this way: this,” Quark holds up his own hands, palm to palm, and laces the fingers together, “is the cardassian equivalent of that.”
He jerks his head to indicate a pair of Human ensigns in a not-quite-dark-enough corner, who are twined around each other like vines, devouring each other’s mouths.
Bashir’s eyes go wide. He looks at his hands again, at the thumbs still crossed against each other. A smile begins to spread over his face.
“Oh,” he says happily. Then, “I don’t suppose you know anything else about cardassian kissing?”
“Not for free,” Quark says immediately. “And not without acknowledgement that everything I know is mostly from secondhand observation.”
“Right,” Bashir says, reaching into a pocket. He pauses. “…Mostly?”
Quark’s stomach clenches and he glares at the doctor.
“Do you want to know how to get in the tailor’s pants or not?”