Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
“Well, doctor, what shall you do now?” Garak asked as he stood on the moonlit balcony of the Bond villain’s penthouse. “You’ve saved the day. I presume this is where the program ends.”
“Actually, there is a bit more to the program,” Julian said, sidling up next to him.
Garak paused for a moment to gaze at the man. The professional part of his mind cautioned that Julian was a Starfleet officer and that, while the tuxedo did flatter his figure, the man didn’t know the first thing about spycraft or even how to behave outside of his idealistic bubble.
The unprofessional part of his mind noted that Tain was dead, as was the Obsidian Order, and he was exiled to a Bajoran space station. Kissing the chief medical officer might not win him any favors, but it would certainly be fun.
“Oh?” Garak asked as he banished the images that had started running rampant through his brain. “Is there actually a parade?”
Julian smiled at him. “No, Mr. Garak,” he said with that teasing look of his. “There is no parade.”
“A dinner in your honor then?” Garak continued. “I imagine you’ll have your pick of beautiful women wherever you choose to dine.”
“Actually,” Julian said. “These programs usually end with me kissing my lovely assistant.”
“I see,” Garak said as he started to connect the dots. He gave Julian a little coy look. “I take it she’s around here somewhere?”
Julian’s brow furrowed. “No, Garak, I mean… Did you not read who your character is?”
Garak had. He had also run an information check on the different iterations of the character. Most of them were dazzlingly beautiful women. “I’m playing Rex Johnson,” Garak said, “who, according to the dossier you gave me, knows how to speak seven languages, plays the piano, can fly a plane, and is skilled in several different forms of hand to hand combat.” Garak knew how to speak eight and was also trained in sharp shooting, but who was counting?
“So, my lovely assistant would be…?” Julian said as he inched forward.
“Doctor, are you trying to get me to admit to being your assistant?” Garak asked, full of feigned outrage. “When I’m ten years your senior in the field?”
“It’s a fantasy, Garak,” Julian protested. He ran a gentle hand along Garak’s shoulder. “And it’s the traditional ending for Bond movies.”
“Kissing the senior operative?” Garak quipped. He leaned towards Julian, his mouth partially open. “That’s really not something I’d attempt in the field.”
“Yes, well, we’re in a holosuite,” Julian said. “I think it’s safe.”
Garak was about to comment about how a spy should never let down his guard when Julian’s hand slid up his neck to the back of his head. He let himself be pulled into a kiss, his eyes fluttering shut out of instinct. Julian smelled and felt so delightfully warm. Garak decided that, just for a moment, he’d lose himself in that warmth.
When Garak came back to himself, he wasn’t sure whether seconds or days had passed. He just knew he was the warmest he’d felt since coming to this horrible space station so many years ago. This, he thought as Julian pulled back from him and flashed him that boyish smile, is far better than any wire.
Awww look at this sweet story which was inspired by my painting by the light of the stars ❤️❤️❤️ I love it
Julian wants to reassure you that it’s okay if you don’t really know what your gender is. Discovering yourself is a process, and having figured out your pronouns is a huge step, and he’s glad that you have that and that they make you feel better. He’s happy to use your pronouns, and he’ll support you as you figure yourself out. No matter how you end up identifying, or not identifying (if you find that a gray area of “unidentified” or “questioning” feels best, that’s okay, too!) he’s here for you.
