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Cross	By : CyreliaJ Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 1139 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek Deep Space Nine or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money

Chapter List
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Notes: Getting a bit dirtier, a bit more intrigue and boy am I having fun. I really liked toying with some alien biology and cultural concepts. I want to give a massive shout out to all my fellow writers and lovers of the G/B (and P?) fandom for your inspiration and encouragement. A few possibly goofy headcanons about Parmak that hopefully don't clash too badly with anyone else's but hey, that's half the fun! Thank everyone for reading and C&C is always welcome!
   Kelas Parmak hates him. Julian is certain that has to be the case. There is no other reason that he can possibly think of the for heated look of fury to be so poignantly directed at him from across the small space separating the two of them. There’s an intensity to those blue eyes, as he holds that look, a frown deepening his face that makes Julian uneasy. It also makes him feel chastised like a child when after that searching expression, Parmak returns to the scroll the both of them are examining, as if Julian’s confused look back wasn’t what he was looking for. It’s starting to become tiresome. Julian listens as Parmak explains, as his finger follows along with the line that he quotes, how Julian’s conclusion on the efficacy of the rose cactus salve in treating the wasting consumption is flawed and poorly researched. Admittedly, somewhere between his mention of Julian’s studies and some nitpick about his syntax for translation purposes, Julian tunes him out, instead making a study of the dark flush of the ridges of his neck and the fall of that loose careless shirt as he leans in.
“I’m sorry if I’m not explaining myself clearly. You look like you’re confused. If there’s a point of clarification that you need of course I’d be happy to give you more detail. I had hoped you would understand without my needing to simplify the language but…”
   Parmak leaves that last cutting little remark hanging. Of course it isn’t spoken snidely, it’s an earnest thoughtful trail off as if there’s some genuine consideration to be had there. But then again, they’ve all been like that and Julian is still questioning whether or not he’s imagining it. He mentally replays the last twenty minutes as his jaw tightens and he resists the urge to roll that scroll back up and smack him with it. Parmak had politely invited him inside, given him one of those warm, just a little too warming smiles apologizing for the mess. Mess, of course, didn’t begin to do the interior of the vast tent justice. Julian’s eye first caught the voluminous crates all along the back wall full of scrolls, books, jars, and whatever else he could imagine. That was followed by scrolls spilling out of ornate clay pots, various anatomical representations of a variety of materials, and lastly the stacks of books dwarfing the tent posts themselves, and quite possibly holding up the fabric should the poles collapse. He imagined there must have at one point been a cot, and he thought he could make it out beneath another pile of books and scrolls. There really seemed to be nothing more than a carefully maintained path on the rug and a fiercely guarded circular free space that was in danger of being encroached upon at any time by the living clutter.
   Parmak had directed him to sit remarking that he wasn’t certain of the flexibility of humans to which Julian had cheerfully assured him that it wouldn’t be an issue. From there Julian had imagined the two of them might engage in some interesting dialogue, a little banter a little…. Well in any case, he hadn’t envisioned the odd comments or those frequent stares. Parmak had continued to make odd little insinuations about the books he’d read, “Are you familiar with Vorak? He’s a bit abstract so likely not, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I made that assumption,” his leisure activities, “It might be fun to play Kotra sometimes. I’m admittedly awful against skilled players but we might have a spirited game,” down to his ignorance of art as he’d showed him one of his latest acquisitions, “I don’t see why you wouldn’t appreciate the subtleties of the open space here, usually children prefer the brighter colors of say Ghanar but I didn’t think… Mmm I might not have anything here that you’d find interesting.” Julian had begun to feel as he was back with Miles O’Brien barely hiding a complete loathing of his company.
   It was nothing like the afternoon full of those cheerful smiles and touches to his shoulders. Not that Parmak was rude; nothing he’d done could theoretically be considered rude or anything particularly exceptional, really. And given that, Julian had been polite at first, keeping the grin pasted stupidly onto his face until they came to the heart of his visit. That was when he found that the longer he held that civility, the more pointed Parmak was becoming with his criticisms, subtle though they still remained. And as Julian can feel his teeth grinding wondering just what he could have possibly done that was so egregious as to- Did he just ask about the courses the academy teaches on communications between foreign races?Are they required?! Alright, that does it, so help me-
   “Enough!” Julian doesn’t yell but he’s damn close as he interrupts Parmak only now realizing just how much his respirations have increased, just how quickly his heart is beating with that rush of adrenaline. “Look, I’ve tried to be polite, I’ve gone out of my way in fact not to get into a pointless shouting match with you but this cannot continue.”
“I completely agree, Julian!” Parmak’s enthusiastic affirmation completely puzzles him as do those two hands suddenly on his shoulders. “You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear that, as you can see, I’m not particularly skilled in the formalities of… ah… right... So… we understand each other then? I was afraid that I’d misread your intentions this afternoon. When you hadn’t responded to any of my overtures I thought you might not have understood my invitation. You… did understand right?” Julian almost thinks that another one of those weird remarks, except for the fact that Parmak catches his eyes looking like he might faint if Julian answers him incorrectly. Really, Julian is about to tell him that he thought he understood quite clearly until these last twenty minutes that he’s been completely convinced that Parmak would like nothing better than for him to leave along with the proverbial horse that he rode in on. And he’s about to say as much as well when he has an odd memory that he’s frankly appalled to have forgotten given the relevance to his current situation.
   A few years ago there was a group of Cardassian scientists visiting the capital as part of an exchange from the previous Central Command of the Cardassian Union. Miles O’Brien had been tasked with playing host to the three women that had arrived in the capital in spite of his strenuous objections. His Majesty had thought it to be a good way to show friendship between the two countries and there was no one better qualified. Of course, as Julian recalls, the one scientist Gilora Rejal had spent the entire trip arguing with nearly every point he’d presented; Julian had to hear those complaints often enough when he’d asked how things were going. As it turned out, much to Julian’s amusement and O’Brien’s complete mortification, the entire debacle had been one grand misunderstanding that came to a head when she’d asked him back to his room and became indignant at his spluttering rejection. Julian almost laughs, but it occurs to him also going by that same experience that’s only the second worse possible response- especially since, unlike Miles O’Brien, Julian wants painfully, achingly badly to follow through with that attractive proposition.
   That longing had started earlier in the day from a small anxious flip of his stomach to the arresting heat that he’d felt when he’d glimpsed Parmak standing in the open flap of the tent. And that’s only grown to this moment now, reading that desire with perfect clarity for what it is. Julian licks his lips and finds himself almost shaking as he nods, just imaging his mouth on that neck, tongue dipping into that sensitive little divot to see if he can make him hiss just like- Just like no one, Julian. Just like you don’t need to think about him right now.
“Oh yes… Yes I understand very much but ah… what I don’t understand is that I thought that earlier… I thought that you had adopted a more human approach to your overtures.”
“In public, of course.” Parmak agrees. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate to be seen courting you so openly.” Julian refrained from pointing out that to every non Cardassian it was likely obvious, but again he remembers that Parmak had given nearly equal attention to everyone present, differing only in his eager acceptance of Julian’s invitation. “But you know I think I prefer your human way of interacting. I’ve always appreciated the feel of the body in motion. It’s fascinating to feel muscles move, to see life moving.” He illustrates that point quite nicely when he starts slowly running his hands over Julian’s shoulders.
   Even through the weave of the cotton shirt draped over him- he’d carefully folded his cloak and decided to go bareheaded- Julian can feel the warm touch of Parmak’s hands like the lick of flames. He watches as Parmak’s eyes drop, watching his own motions, studying the faint tremor of Julian’s body in response as he slides hands down to triceps, letting his fingers register every tensing of muscles with a small satisfied smile. Julian watches that mouth, the faint gray moist, thoughtful, looking terribly soft. He leans in just a little with a slight, slow turn of his head.
“I’ve never been very good with words. I suppose that makes me a pretty poor Cardassian, doesn’t it?” Another rueful smile and Julian allows himself to reach up and touch Parmak’s hair.
“I don’t think you’re a poor anything.”
“Perhaps I was merely fishing for compliments,” Parmak teases a little breathlessly. Julian expects the slick oil sheen but instead finds that hair untouched by more than that knotted cloth. He doesn’t know why that makes his groin stir fiercely. He’s not quite sure what he’s even doing right now but-
“Is it okay if I-“ They speak the words at the same time, Parmak’s hands having trailed to Julian’s left hand, Julian’s fingers resting on the tie.
   Parmak laughs softly and their faces seem so close together that Julian doesn’t dare move as their breaths marry in the rapidly heating air. Julian hasn’t had time to stop and process that self recrimination, that oath to his father as fast as the moment is moving. Julian isn’t sure that he’s ever felt such a fast fierce kismet with anyone not even… Not even the man he isn’t going to think of. That thought passes fleeting like it was never there when Parmak whispers in that shadowed space, “I want to know every bit of your body, Julian.” His hands, sand dust softly swirl two thumbs dancing over the back of Julian’s hand, fingers teasing the underside of his palm. That motion tickles. It also makes his nerves vibrate all the way up his arm until he feels that link right to his chest, to his pulse picking up hot, needy as those fingers massage his hand. Julian’s grip feels weak as he tries to clasp that tie, the both of them proceeding hesitantly with that unspoken permission to keep going. Somehow their knees are nearly touching and Julian barely notices the tingle of his legs from that kneeling position as he learns forward to awkwardly unbind the cloth tying Parmak’s hair. Julian doesn’t resist when his other hand is raised and brought to Parmak’s face, brought to his mouth, those lips brushing just the tips of his fingers.
   Julian can feel the knot between his fingers as he traces the path and finds the end of that tie to tug to release it. But he pauses, body locking down tight when it’s Parmak’s tongue that teases around the pads of his fingers. They’re slightly rough, calloused things that he never would have imagined to still be so sensitive, but they are. Parmak holds his wrist, lightly stroking his pulse as he licks slowly, softly, Julian’s fingers, starting with the index moving in slowly to the small pinky. Each intersection of sensitive webbing is lightly stroked between those torrid transitions until Julian can feel his legs quivering beneath him, thighs squeezing painfully together. That tie snaps with a sudden unconscious tug revealing that strength he keeps carefully at bay. An apology for that indiscretion dies in his throat as his vocal chords wobble, a strangled sound caught in his throat as he feels one of Parmak’s hands- which he can’t even be certain- drop like the flutter of a leaf to his groin, palming that hardness tenting even that loose fabric nearly taut. He swallows words. He’s aware that his hand is weirdly wet but somehow his mind transposes the strong slurping draw in of his hand to his cock as Parmak allows the tip of Julian’s index finger to lightly graze the back of his throat, each of those brief choking brushes playing with the counterpoint of his palm pressing, pressing until Julian thinks he’s going to shame himself right there.
   Julian’s arm drapes unceremoniously over Parmak’s back, feeling the ridges of his spine covered with that thick fall of impossibly long hair covering them both. Julian thinks he could get lost in it. His fingers tangle, tugging just a bit and he hears a hiss, feels that vibration of Parmak’s throat, feels his hand tighten painfully in response. Julian’s thighs unconsciously spread a few inches apart, his hips tilt upwards, and Parmak pulls back letting go of his hand. He continued to rotate his palm and Julian can feel the slit of his glans part just that infinitesimal amount, seeping wet sticky against the cotton of his pants. He has to blink a few times to clear his vision when Parmak looks at him, looking to catch his eyes and he does brilliantly, brightly, not a bit of misunderstanding between them now.
“Will you look at me, Julian?” Parmak whispers. “Will you let me…”
“Anything,” Julian rushes back, terribly desperate to have that mouth on his. But it isn’t Parmak’s mouth that he feels. But a press of his forehead, that chufa warm, almost pulsing alive to his skin. It confuses him at first, knowing from his studies and from Garak’s confirmation that spot is little more than the Cardassian equivalent of the navel. None of the scrolls that he’s come across has ever-
                “Tsss….” He hears that hiss from Parmak, and feels a faint twist of his head, tickling, that spot growing warmer until he hears the faint hitching breaths. Parmak’s lips whisper some soft sibilant nothing while his fingers intertwine with Julian’s in a tight grip. Parmak holds his hand with one, the motions over his groin having stopped with the other and whatever he must be feeling, Julian certainly wishes that he understood. It’s not an unpleasant sensation by any means, but it’s nothing that Garak’s ever done with him and somehow that thought bothers him when he considers the likely significance. It’s just one in a series of things that he knows Garak held back and that skip in his heart, that drop in the pit of his stomach makes him defiantly shut his eyes tightly and focus there, trying to understand, trying to feel whatever it is that’s making Parmak gasp and heave like he’s- Oh… Oh… Julian feels it as the heat blossoms out, reaching the bridge of his nose. It almost feels like a shock as it makes his entire face feel flush and there’s a small whimper that escapes him with Parmak’s moans. “Yess… yesss…” His head turns with the heady tilt of Parmak’s head and that anger, that resentment that he felt for Garak is pushed to the back of his mind as Parmak nearly falls into him.
                Julian has a flash of Leeta explaining the pagh that Ambassador Kira was always talking about and he wonders if perhaps Bajorans and Cardassians aren’t more similar than they care to admit. Maybe he is as well. Julian doesn’t know. But there some intense emotion that wells up in his chest that he doesn’t know how to compress and contain. He isn’t sure whether or not he wants to laughs, moan, or scream. And then he feels the full weight of that surprisingly heavy body falling against him, pushing him backwards, his legs only barely extracting themselves from a painful pull of muscles. A stack of books collapses behind him but he doesn’t even notice. No, there’s something far more shocking that he feels hard, pressed against him, rubbing, rocking, and he cannot believe that he’s actually feeling it. Parmak’s eyes are dark and hazy as he looks down at Julian uncertainly.
   “I’m sorry. I know that it’s completely inappropriate. I know it’s vulgar but I can’t help myself.” Julian feels Parmaks legs slide down around his hips, Parmak’s knees hitting the ground on either side of him.
Julian groans as that contact intensifies, as he feels that mutual rub between clothing friction heating fast. He looks up to that bare skin, those arms, that panting open mouth, that bottom lip that he wants to take between his teeth and suck. Yes it’s vulgar. Yes likely it violates some Cardassian standard of appropriate behavior that even Garak, with his penchant for coupling in a more human way, would never dream of violating. Yes, Julian loves it. “I can’t help myself…” plays back to him and the thought that somehow this calm, soft spoken man has fallen to writhing on top of him everted, gasping, chufa slightly swollen in a manner that he’s never before witnessed makes his cock stiffen further. Julian thrusts up against him. Parmak pushes back, thighs squeezing around Julian’s hips, not a fast rocking but a slow undulation like the careful coiling of a snake. Julian feels bare feet hook under his knees, trapping him like a boa constrictor as Parmak squeezes tighter another gasp, another heady hot “Tsss…” like the most arousing teakettle he’s ever heard.
   Julian’s fingers curl into the soft sand beneath the rug and he almost thinks his nails might poke through the fine weaving- as hard as his jaw is set, as heavy as his breaths come- while Parmak slowly grinds against him. So help him, if Julian could snap his fingers right now and magic them both out of the clothing between them he would. He can feel Parmak’s hair tickling his face as he bends over, leans down, looking at Julian’s mouth eager, excited and Julian lifts his head just to see Parmak retreat. He seems almost frustrated as he tilts his head one way and then the other.
“How do I…” His eyes flit from Julian’s eyes to his mouth as he darts his tongue out, flicker tasting the air between them with a shiver. He closes that distance again, not letting up the motion his hips, making Julian growl low in his throat and nearly tear rents in that rug. “How do I…” is breathed against his lips, that tongue tasting and Julian understands, just as he understands that his hands need to be back, crushing Parmak against him.
“Here...” Like this is nothing but a mash of his mouth moving in some semblance of words as Julian pulls him closer, knowing that Cardassian instinct is to a light tease of the tongue.
   Julian plays with that, but he moves from a teasing twining as their lips press together, pushing, probing, until he feels that assault met with equal eager force. He can feel Parmak’s toes curling into the backs of his thighs. That sway of his hips grows more erratic as Julian holds the back of his head, tasting his palette, letting their breathless gasps enhance that fluid exchange messily, inelegantly. He sees that Parmak is a quick study, licking at his mouth broadly, hotly, sometimes missing but laving his chin, the side of his mouth, his hands half tangled in Julian’s hair. Their breaths bleed into one another to share one panting exchange of oxygen, carbon dioxide, methanol, isoprene, and a bunch of other things he does not care about right now when Parmak tugs what might be considered a touch too hard and nearly brings him off wild a wild buck of his hips. Parmak pulls back concerned, and Julian sees those lips kiss swollen, the skin around his mouth brushed with the faint darkening, the lines of Julian’s short beard rubbing.
“Sorry, that hurt?” His accent is slightly heavier, the words clipped and Julian can feel the push his his body still, gyrating absently, each writhing motion making his eyes shutter just a small amount. No, God no, do it again.
“No, c’mere,” Julian half slurs, pulling him back down again, no longer needing that coaxing hand, Parmak right back to attacking his mouth, slowly, deeply pushing his tongue past Julian’s lips with series of drawn out throaty moans.
   Julian answers fiercely, hands sliding down, cupping Parmak’s ass through those thin pants, feeling the softness of a scholar, squeezing, feeling a light toss of Parmak’s hair as that drives him wild. Julian feels his feet slip out from under him, his body sinking down just a little more, thighs spreading wider, and his hands are back to his own body fumbling with the belt.
“Keep...” Parmak gasps the words against Julian mouth, wet insistent. “Yes... that...” And Julian is more than happy to oblige, that belt coming undone, pulled loose, nearly whipping him as Parmak tugs it from the loops. Julian wastes no time pushing hands below that waist, feeling soft skin, feeling the lightly textured scales so soft beneath his palms. He kneads, he spreads him, kissing, those tentative tongue taste turning to wild sucks of the mouth, nipping of teeth And Parmak is no longer content to merely rock, but to bounce, to quiver, and the moment Julian’s thumbs brush that small bump of his tailbone he nearly explodes. “Tsss... ssss.... hsssshss....” Is slurred to his mouth interlaced with whimpers, Parmak’s face turn, head falling, forehead pillowed to Julian’s shoulder as that vestigial protrusion is massaged, as Julian’s fingers sink into soft flesh. And he lets his left continue that tease to the sensitive coccyx, his right moving down while Parmak makes a fair attempt at trying to wiggle out of his pants while not moving off Julian with his heavier weight. “There... ya....I...”
   And then Parmak stops still, his head snaps up, and Julian cannot figure out the cause. He stops as well, looking around not seeing whatever Parmak sees no matter how he cranes his head. But whatever it is, a flicker of the lamplight perhaps? Julian doesn’t know. He only knows that Parmak is extracting himself carefully, quickly, frowning as he looks down at Julian.
“I’m sorry... Very sorry I ah... Mmm you know I can’t say there’s any satisfactory explanation especially given the time that it seems we have. It’s not something I can talk about. Not now, not...” He looks to the far wall behind them again, eyes scanning for something that Julian still cannot see even when he sits up properly. He bites back a groan at the shift, at the feel of his clothing uncomfortably shifting over his cock.
“Just don’t tell me it’s your wife,” he jokes not feeling particularly comforted when there’s no immediate answer.
“No, just a somewhat unexpected entirely expected something else,” Parmak answers with a drum of fingers to his thigh.
“Is everything alright? Should we alert the guard?” Of course the last thing Julian particularly wants to do is draw attention to himself with everything going on. Especially when he doesn’t seem to be any closer to Garak but if there’s some madman out there stalking the both of them-
   “Oh no, no, nothing like that, you don’t need to worry on my account. But... But I may need to have a hmm... I’m sorry, Julian.” He continues to watch along the tent sides with almost unnerving intensity. “We’ll see each other again, won’t we?” That tone seems to assume a lot but there’s a faint undercurrent of hope, of uncertainty.
“Of course! I...” Julian struggles in earnest to think of something that doesn’t sound cheap, like he only wants to finish bedding him. Though admittedly at this exact moment that’s certainly at the forefront of his thoughts as he stands and admires Parmak’s back facing away from him, those pants having fallen low on one hip, showing a hint of faint ridges and skin. He really does want to taste that hip. He still wants to taste those toes. He also desperately wants to find out just what is-
“Good good I look forward to it.” He nods, still watching and Julian hastily gathers the rest of his clothing trying to make sense of it all when he hears it. There’s another soft, breathy hiss that isn’t quite audible even to his hearing. It very well may be an unconscious mouthing with only the barest breath behind it but it’s there nonetheless. And it stops him almost cold when he hears it. “Garak...” caught in the air as he’s about to leave. It takes everything that he has to slowly keep walking.

   As Kelas Parmak watches Julian’s retreating back thoughtfully, the lamp inside the tent is extinguished behind him. He allows the tent flap to close, making only a small adjustment before turning around. In the darkness, he sees Elim Garak’s silhouette as he carefully makes his way over a series of collapsed books.
“And here I thought I’d staked a fair claim on unexpected midnight visits.” Parmak says, walking over to the cot carefully, moving a few scrolls. Garak has never been particularly fond of sitting on the floor.
“Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account, my dear Kelas. I had heard one of your precious stacks collapsing and fearing for your life, I came rushing straight away.” Garak takes a few more steps looking at him intently. “Imagine my surprise seeing Doctor Julian Bashir stealing out of your tent like a hungry Lacorian orphan stuffing a pilfered regova egg in his mouth.” Parmak shakes his head as he continues a quick sort of the scrolls into three different open crates, thumb carefully noting the texture of the sealing ribbon.
“You were watching us then.”
“Well I might have joined in, but my invitation to your little evening soiree seems to have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Perhaps we might have one of the couriers flogged for the oversight to set an example. I’m thinking of Gerod,” Garak continues grandly. “I have it on good authority that he’ll scream the loudest.”
   Parmak stops with that remark, a deep sigh as he sets another armful of scrolls back down on the cot.
“There’s no point in me making a space for you to sit down, is there Elim? You’ve no intention of doing anything but railing against me for the wrong that you feel I’ve committed and then running off, do you?”
“I would be a terribly poor friend if I didn’t point out an appalling error in judgment,” Garak remarks primly. Parmak sighs, looking down at the singular scroll in his hand; judging by its position on the bed likely a criticism of the author Vorak’s latest collection of short stories that he’d spoken with Julian about earlier. He turns it over in his hands thoughtfully. There were some who felt that Vorak work was not so much representative of the nature of the condition of the Cardassian proletariat but rather a subversive treatise influenced by outsiders. There were some who considered his homecoming after twenty years of imprisonment to be more of a curse than a blessing. A lifetime of imprisonment commuted to freedom with the overthrow of the old Central Command only to be released to a lifetime of censure. There were probably as many people calling for his head as there were celebrating his release. Parmak looks at Garak with a slight sideways turn of his head. Garak isn't wearing the customary green cloak he frequently dons in the chill of the desert night.
   "You really did rush in here without thinking, didn't you, Elim? Are you cold? Your black cloak is there where I usually keep it in that trunk."
"That does seem to be the theme of the day, doesn’t it?”
“I picked this up for you earlier.” Parmak hands him the scroll and goes to the chest.
“You seem to have picked up a lot of things today.”
“Only a few necessities.” Parmak takes out the well work cloak making his way back over the clutter. Garak doesn’t protest when Parmak drapes it around his shoulders fussing with the cloak pin.
“He’s dangerous, Kelas.” Parmak’s hands stop with those words, those plain, undiluted words. He looks at his hands a long time. The scars that they bear have faded so as to hardly be noticable.
“Life is dangerous, Elim,” he says to those hands as they smooth the fabric of that cloak. He looks at Garak, hands moving lightly on his shoulders. “Are you warm now?”
“Forgive me if I don’t find the matter of my thermal comfort to be of the greatest importance right now.” Parmak’s face is soft when he looks at him, when he steps forward and puts his arms around him firmly, trapping his hands at his sides.
   Like a well trained hound knowing how important such gestures are to their human masters, Garak endures and shuts his eyes seeming to find a small comfort in that embrace. Parmak has always been overly fond of those tactile displays and more importantly, he’s always warm. Their cheeks brush against each other. They stand there like that for some time.
“You never heed any of my advice, Kelas,” Garak says at last.
“And if you were to advise me prior to this afternoon, Elim, what would you even have said?”
“I might have advised more caution in my affairs.”
“You know, that’s exactly what you’d said to me after your interrogation.” Parmak laughs, turning his face into Garak’s neck, his breath tickling the ridges, making Garak’s eyes flutter shut.
“As always,” he says with a bit of unsteadiness, “I stand in awe of your glibness when speaking of years of imprisonment and that incident in particular.”
“I learned that from you, you know. A smile and a jaunty remark in the face of imminent danger.”
“I shudder to think what other character flaws of mine might have rubbed off on you.”
“Well fortunately, not your jealousy,” Parmak teases as he lets go.
   “Jealousy?” Garak steps back indignantly. “Here I express my deepest heartfelt concern for your well being from a man that I assure you has far more nefarious intentions than merely sharing your bed, as delightful and glorious as that bed may be, and you accuse me of something as petty as jealousy.” His voice sounds almost petulant and Parmak cannot help but smile. He puts a hand up, Garak’s automatically raising in response, their palms meeting, fingertips lightly kissing.
“Is it so terrible that I want to know what he’s like? Why you spent so many years with him?”
“Terrible? Really, Kelas, if your motives were any more appallingly pure I don’t know that we could remain friends.”
“As if I would ever let you end our friendship over something so silly.” Parmak’s fingers curl around until he holds Garak’s hand. “You know that I’ll always be your friend, Elim... Perhaps Julian might... be our friend as well.” Garak shakes his head with an almost exasperated expression as he pulls away.
“I would have thought that the years had tempered your penchant for keeping unsavory company.” There’s a silent mischievous smirk in response to that. Garak defiantly ignores that baiting.
“You think I’m being foolish because I don’t know everything, because you didn’t tell me what happened between the two of you, at least not more beyond that fanciful tale of yours.
   “But what you don’t realize is that you always tell me everything that I need to know. Like that novel I was so proud writing during my incarceration. I thought I might make a mid life career change. I’d had so many wonderful ideas of living the life of an artist… That was going to be just the first of many experimental works. I was thoroughly convinced that I was going to be the next Vorak. And then you’d told me after you’d read it how it was completely arresting, unrivaled prose that would change the literary world as we know it. And that’s when I knew that I had no talent for it whatsoever.”
“I really don’t think you’ve heard a word I said.”
“I did. I do. I always hear everything you say.”
“Then please, hear me when I tell you that his intentions are far darker than you realize.”
“And what intentions might those be?”
“Well of course it should be obvious. He’s going to kill me.”
“Now why should he want to do that?”
“Why should any man ever want to take the life of another, my dear?”
   Parmak is silent a long time before turning his back, navigating to the cot to continue its cleanup. his head bowed, his hair half hiding his face, the darkness obscuring the rest. Garak watches him, seeming to wait an eternity for the soft, long suffering words spoken next.
“Come to bed, Elim.”

   “Is there a reason that you never look at me, doctor?” The question was a non sequitur from Julian’s initial tangent about Garak’s refusal to accept any payment for the new outfit that he was currently wearing. The aqua blue fabric still draped somewhat uncomfortably immodestly when Julian moved just the right way, the waist of the shirt tapered, pants silky, falling just below the knee. There was a protest that died on Julian’s lips that day in Garak’s shop when he saw in the mirror the way Garak looked at him. Julian immediately asked him to make the same cut in indigo and white even if it cost him half a month’s salary. Garak, while refusing payment, insisted that Julian’s word of mouth alone would more than repay him for the valuable cloth and use of his time. And in fact when Julian had stopped in this afternoon to meet Garak for lunch he found the shop a bustling hum of customers. He thought they might need to reschedule after all. That had concerned him since he could never be quite sure when the migraines would come; they’d had to reschedule once already for that same reason. Julian had suffered through the pain earlier that morning and could at least be reasonably certain he had another day or two that would be good. Fortunately, Garak had assured him that the woman he’d hired to help was not only more than capable of running the stop for a few hours, but was imminently trustworthy as well.
   Julian, who’d learned early on that Garak, beneath the cordial exterior had little inclination to trust anyone, was quite taken aback by such a bold statement until he saw exactly who it was Garak was referring to. He recognized her immediately; it was difficult not to. After all, there was much talk around the court of the less than reputable Quark’s- a place Jadzia Dax had frequented regularly and often invited him to come with. It wasn’t just Quark and his dabo girls, however, but Quark’s brother Rom and his wife Leeta who often set tongues to wagging. Julian remembered hearing tales of their arrival, the strange Ferengi and their colorful clothes, their gambling, and their liquor. Supposedly the girls had all worked in the nude before his Majesty’s chief of security threatened to have that “incorrigible den of iniquity” shuttered forever. Julian had listened, rapt, as Jadzia regaled him with the periodic tales of the longstanding game of cat and mouse between her lover and the mysterious Changeling. He’d had a suspicion that more than a few were exaggerated for her audience, but Leeta’s infamous dress even once she was forced to wear clothing, was not. Julian couldn’t help but see the irony of a society which considered a clothed woman an obscenity clashing with its polar opposite. Strangely enough, when he’d entered that afternoon, he almost didn’t recognize Leeta in the long, loose gown.
   Leeta, as it turned out had a falling out with Quark over pay- apparently a woman earning a living wage was also forbidden in the Ferengi culture- and it was perfect timing that Garak was in need of a capable assistant and quick study. Julian was just thankful that his guilt over wearing such finery for free could finally be laid to rest. He was still acclimating to the feel of the sun on those parts of his skin, that faint “v” of his shirt already bringing a quick tan from the sun. Julian unconsciously fingered that neckline a few inches below his collarbone as he ate, unaware of Garak’s eyes on that expanse of golden skin. He considered the question, pausing only slightly, praying that it went unnoticed, as his eyes flit over the table setting. The small outdoor setting was private at this time of day- too early for dinner and too late for lunch- and they were the only ones seated, a series of aromatic dishes between them. Julian had noticed an impressive arrangment of vegetable discard growing ever larger on an extra plate that Garak had requested. It seemed to him the perfect opportunity to put off hopefully another day- another week- of having to answer that particular question.
   “Is there a reason that half your lunch always ends up being thrown away?” Julian fired back. He counted pepper, eggplant, tomato, potato, trying to figure out the correlation. “If you don’t like the food here, you might have said something.” He heard Garak sigh, watching another piece of tomato dropped onto the plate. It had started with the eggplant. Julian could understand that, eggplant wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but then it was tomato, and pepper, and by the time they reached potatoes, Julian was beginning to wonder exactly what Cardassians did eat. He wouldn’t touch anything with yogurt or cheese either. Not ghee not... Well really Julian that dietary restriction at least is somewhat common. It was certainly possible for there to be some lactose intolerance in Cardassians so he made sure to include non dairy dishes in his lunch request but this, this was getting to be-
“You humans and your nightshades,” Garak answered at last with a disgust that nearly made him look up to see if Garak’s expressed truly matched his tone.
“Nightshades?” Julian asked somewhat dumbly, even as he recalled his studies, specifically poisons; Solinaceae, the nightshade family of which most plants were poisonous and only a few edible. But those few that were edible tended to encompass quite a large staple of the human diet.
   Julian sighed as another potato went onto the plant.
“Garak, the sauce that the beans are simmered in is tomato so if you were going to have a reaction you’d have had it long before now. I know there’s nothing in Cardassian biology that processes vitamin D differently than us, in the digestive system. There was silence to that and he dared a glance up once it stretched to an uncomfortable level. His eyes met Garak’s staring at him intently and he found himself staring back. Julian wasn’t sure if he remembered to blink. He certainly didn’t remember to keep chewing, that piece of goat in his mouth grinding to a halt beneath his teeth, almost nervously played around with his tongue. Garak continue looking at him, and while Julian had tended to be a miserable reader of people and their intentions, Garak’s was somehow quite clear.
“Yes, but you might not be aware, my dear Julian,” my dear Julian... “that these plants grow quite abundantly in the Union. However as numerous as they are, as beautiful their color, as tempting as their fruit may be...” Garak delicately set another piece of eggplant on the plate. “It would be obscene to even consider placing it in one’s mouth. It’s a taboo- perhaps an ignorant one held over from the days of the Ancient Hebitians. But nonetheless, it’s something that we cling stubbornly, doggedly to as a matter of some misguided superstition.”
   There was a small upturn of the right corner of Garak’s mouth as his eyes dropped down to the exposed skin of Julian’s collarbone. Julian definitely stopped breathing as that look made himself obvious. He was too far gone to look and see if anyone else was watching. He could feel his left hand on his thigh beneath the table drum fingers absently, almost reaching to Garak’s leg insanely, underneath.
“I can imagine there must be some analogous school of thought here as well, perhaps not to nightshades, but to a forbidden fruit of a different nature. And as with your beloved nightshades here in the capital my dear, I assure you that whatever that taboo may be, Cardassians hold no such superstitions.” Garak looked him in the eyes again, hot, heavy, that metaphor making it quite clear that Garak knew exactly why it was that Julian refused to look him in the eyes, and surely the horrid lustful stare that Julian must have been firing back only confirmed that suspicion. He didn’t know whether or not to flee or to fling himself across the table. Julian settled for remembering to breathe and immediately found that piece of meat sucked down his throat, getting lodged in his windpipe long enough to trigger a violent fit of choking.
   He imagined the concern in Garak’s eyes as the brief amusement quickly faded. He was too busy staring at the plates, clutching his throat as that chair moved and Garak rose to his feet. Julian was dimly aware of his legs kicking his own chair back so that he could stand and make it easier for Garak to assist with dislodging the food. He wasn’t sure if it was fortune or not that one final hearty cough sent it flying to the stone beneath their feet. Julian was sure he spent the next several moments trying to regain his breaths, realizing that Garak hadn’t returned to his seat. He was about to turn his head, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin that had been folded across his lap when he felt hands on his shoulders. He could feel Garak’s thumbs on the cloth, skirting the edge of the collar and his bare skin. He felt his lungs rattle unsteadily as his heart immediately started racing. Julian stared once more at Garak’s plate, seeing the red, the violet, the kaleidoscope of colors artfully arranged like one of the stained glass cathedrals of the Federation’s Western cities. He allowed Garak’s words to repeat and he licked his lips nervously, feeling a squeeze to his shoulders. Julian looked out to the side street where the patio sat, seeing in the distance the bustle of people on the main street none of them giving even a curious look down.
   Feeling bold, Julian reached his right hand up, crossing it over his chest to lay it over Garak’s left. He squeezed lightly, knowing his hand was trembling. He was going to die. Whether he sinned or not, there wasn’t a damn thing that was going to save him. He was strangely sure of that. Julian’s head bowed down chin nearly touching his chest as he allowed himself to sink into that murky abyss. He wanted to pray. He desperately wanted to reach out for something, but found only the soft scales of the back of Garak’s hand. You always told me father, that the damned don’t get wishes. That’s the last lie of yours that I’m ever going to believe. Julian was surprised that Garak had maintained that silence for so long, but he knew that it was up to him to understand, to acquiesce. He smiled nervously, seeing the geometric shapes of that miniature art piece shape in his malformed mind to two men, two bodies under the cover of night. Yes, Julian understood perfectly.
“So then if I promise to taste that illusory poison Garak, do you?”
“Oh, but you already have, my dear Julian. You already have.”
Julian would swear later that those were the only honest words that Garak has ever spoken to him.
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