InsaneJournal

    "Well, here we are."
    "Did you bring it?"
    Garak motions with the very obvious package in his hand.  Marcia has not removed the look of skepticism from her face.
    "What has he been up to?"
    "He's been driving me crazy.  And everyone else in the infirmary, too."
    "In what way?"
    "Pacing.  Humming.  Thinking out loud.  Trying to get the rest of us to entertain him by inventing work for us all to do, and then leaving us to finish it after he runs out the door the second his shift is over."
    "Has he mentioned anything to you?"
    "He has doubts, but nothing specific he will directly tell me.  Which I'm kinda glad about, frankly."  Garak is about to look displeased but Marcia cuts him off.  "I didn't do anything to make him feel he couldn't talk to me.  But I didn't encourage it either.  I don't like this sneaking around.  I like Julian.  I don't want to barter with his trust."  She eyes the package.
    "And I promised that my intentions are worthy and that I would not breathe a word of this transaction, my dear.  Is there anything else you can tell me?"
    She thinks a moment, the haughty, guilty look in her eyes says she wants to say more than she shall, but she gets to the meat of it at least.  "He's afraid.  But in love."
    Garak smiles ever so slightly, bows, and turns the flat box into Marcia's waiting hands.

~*~

   First things first.  Julian tosses the little chocolate box gently to the interface of his computer terminal where he won't forget it.  It lands on the amber security settings keypad and slides down to the lip where it stays backlit by the red comm buttons.  He undresses on his way to the bathroom, tossing his uniform and everything under it into the laundry receptacle in a great wad.  He starts the shower, and takes his shaver inhibitor from its holder by the sink.  This should be interesting.  He considers the possibility that he may end up accomplishing this lying down on the bathroom floor rather than standing up, but either way he needs to get clean first.

    It takes about five minutes to wash and another ten before he is satisfactorily smooth, and then a few more to marvel at this particular sensation he hasn't felt since he was too young and bald to appreciate it.  Just the water running over his skin is astounding, and soapy hands - well, he has to get out of the shower or he'd likely make himself late.
    Naked as the day he was born, and really feeling it now, Julian sets about objective number two: finding something to make him less naked, if only temporarily.  That giddiness is coming back and he stamps it down, shivers a little in his shoulders and opens his closet.  He pulls on a pair of clean shorts and once again the newness, the nakedness, more naked than he has been in a long time, is making him tingle, and making his shorts too tight.  He finds himself twisting his hips idly as he scans his closet, enjoying the feeling of smooth skin on smooth skin between his legs.  It's distracting, but eventually he pulls on some trousers, and then grins when he spots that elusive forgotten gem he had been hoping for.  Nothing outrageous, just a simple light blue tunic of Elim's own creation.  He bought it ages ago when he went clothes shopping, frantically, with Miles one day because he was supposed to go on a date with Dr. Lense when the Lexington was here.  She cancelled though.  He never thought to wear it again after that.  It was really just sort of an irritating reminder hanging in his closet.  Now it would finally fulfill its role.  That being to lie quietly on the floor at the end of the night.

~*~

    Julian will be here soon.  It's close enough now that Garak isn't steeped in calm anymore.  Far from it.  His calm has floated down the hall and out the airlock.  He would like to retrieve it but that doesn't seem likely.  He was so happy this morning.  He had a spring in his step, the pain was gone, still is.  He felt fine, better than fine.  He felt alive.  And then he met with Marcia and she told him exactly what he was hoping to hear.  Julian is acting like a love-sick fool.  Now he feels like dirt again.

    He thinks about what is to come and his stomach knots.  The mad lust is abating, but he still fears that it is going to be difficult to restrain himself.  That the chances of him taking this too far tonight seem very high.  That unless he has severely underestimated Julian's appetite and tolerance, this night could end badly.  It is beyond his control now.  It's a bit like watching himself do something stupid.  He has done that before.  Powerless to curb his impulse as a young man, lusty and brazen, he has watched himself flirt with death in the form of another man's wife.  And it wasn't surprising at all when he found himself with a phaser burn just to the left of his heart.  He watched it happen as if he were a bystander and not a participant.  This feels much the same.  As he places tall candle holders on the table, and lays the cutlery, looking himself in the eye on the mirrored surface of the knife in his own place setting, he can see this all going too far.  He can see himself with Julian at his mercy, and granting none.  He wants to break him down now.  And maybe, he reflects, that wouldn't be such a bad thing.  To give him a taste of what is to come down the road.
    He can not possibly have any idea what he is getting into, can he?  Better that he know now rather than later when it is too late to turn back, when Julian finds himself strung up and bleeding, victim of Garak's unchecked whim.  Perhaps it would be better this way.  It wouldn't take much.  One crack across his back would probably do it.  Julian doesn't need any more reasons for people to be afraid of him or to look on him with suspicion and doubt.  Garak has a chance here; to erase that.  To turn him away from this forever.  And that is about when it starts to feel too familiar again, a sickening deja-vu.  Garak looks at the wine glass on the crisp red table cloth and realizes he has been here before.  You're doing it again.
    How easy it is to slip back into old habits.  It shocks him, and he shudders just a little, realizing that the reason he has felt over the past few days that he was watching himself behave completely irrationally, was that he was preparing to sabotage this again.  The fact is, he wants this.  He wants it more than anything, but he's walking the line still between fighting for it and deliberately jeopardizing it out of fear.
    Julian is acting like a love-sick fool, and so is he.
    He looks at the clock.  Nineteen forty-five.  Not much more than an hour to pull himself together and understand what it is he is doing.
    Garak sits on the end of his bed, trying to wring the tremor out of his hands.  He sees his reflection in the mirror above his dresser, at the very bottom, looking like a child who can only just see over the dresser top standing on his toes.
    He takes a breath and addresses his reflection.  "This should be a very simple thing Garak.  You want this.  He wants this.  He is a grown man and can choose for himself and any interference from you would be disrespectful at the very least and simply wrong at the worst.  You are not going to lose control of this situation tonight.  You may want to lose control, but now is not the time for it.  You are going to show him that you can respect him.  You are going to make this good.  Perfect.  And he will like it.  He will respond and come back for more because this will be good for both of you.  This isn't a test.  This isn't the end of anything nor a step toward your martyrdom.  No one is going to lock you in a tiny closet for being what you are.  No one is going to tell you you're sick and depraved, not Julian, not Tain, not anyone.  And.  While we're at it.  You are going to stop talking to yourself in the mirror, because you're not going to convince anyone of your sanity this way, and if Julian could see you now, he would have a good laugh at your expense and possibly suggest medication."

~*~

    He's actually early.  He has a good twenty minutes to kill before he is supposed to be there.  Julian picks up his box of chocolates and just hangs onto them so he doesn't forget them, then looks in the mirror again, looks at his teeth, sits back down on the side of his bed and fidgets.  He wonders if he should try to get off before he goes.  He's flaming hot again, large and heavy, and he spreads his legs a little as he sits.  The action frees up a little more room between his thighs, (which, a little moist, stick together in an unconventional way now that there is no natural coverage) but it also stretches the material of his trousers tight in the crotch, pinning his cock back against his belly and putting pressure on his balls.  He groans just a little and rubs at himself through his pants.  It would be nice to go there with a clear head.  But he isn't certain that he could get off in the amount of time he has, especially without breaking a significant sweat and necessitating a fourth shower in two days.  The other consideration is later on tonight.  He isn't worried that he won't be able to get it back up, that's never been a problem for him, but he isn't sure he'll be able to come again.  Historically, he is a once-a-day kind of guy.  And while not coming wouldn't be the worst outcome of those possible, he'd like to end the night without any embarrassing explanations fouling it up or unsatisfying conclusions.  Tonight needs to be perfect.  Besides, he kind of likes to delay gratification, when he is reasonably certain that gratification will in fact be coming eventually.
    Julian decides to walk it off and leaves his quarters.  He strolls to the promenade, gets almost as far as Quark's when he realizes he doesn't want to be there.  He doesn't want to be seen right now, in civilian clothing, carrying a box of chocolates.  People will ask questions, possibly even tie him up and make him late.  He doesn't want the female compliment of the infirmary fawning over him and treating him like the young man out on his first date, or even their superior out on a first date.  Just, no.  So Julian turns on his heels and heads back sweaty-palmed and nervous toward the habitat ring.  He wanders around, walking briskly through the empty halls, up a floor, down a floor, until he is feeling energised and good.  The walking clears his head quite a bit, and he mentally congratulates himself on the idea.  It's as he meanders back toward Elim's door that he notices something odd again, something not quite perfect with the way he feels as it had so nearly been just a moment before.   It feels like he's been carrying the chocolates for ages, and they smell really good; he's getting hungry.  He realises he hasn't eaten since breakfast, he's been so preoccupied.  Julian looks down at the little box in his hand and realizes something else.  He scowls.  He doesn't have to open the box, he can tell by the smudge on his fingers, he's been warming them in his hot hand for a long time now, (plus he left them on his warm computer console for quite a while before that, he recalls with internal chagrin) time enough for them to start melting and oozing out of the corner of the box.  He doesn't have to look, but he does, to inspect the damage, to see if they're salvageable or if they have turned completely to goo.  He pulls the lid open and doesn't even get the chance to look at them when his hands and their contents are jammed roughly into his own chest.
    Jadzia yelps and bounces back.  "Julian!"  She gapes a second.  Julian freezes with a frown on his face and his mess clutched to his chest, his shirt.  He peels it away a second later, and Jadzia stifles it for another second or two before she starts laughing.  Just a titter that she squelches between pressed lips at first, but he can tell by her face there is more where that came from.  He looks her in the face, sees smiling eyes at odds with the forced frown.  "I'm sorry," she squeaks.  "I didn't see you there.  I was looking at my..."  She gestures with a stack of padds in her hands.  "Are you off somewhere?  Oh!  You were on your way to your date weren't you?"  She gapes some more.  He doesn't need to say anything apparently, but he feels he should.
    "Yes."
    The laughter is bubbling out now and she covers her mouth.  "Look at you," she says through laughter and a hand.  He is covered in chocolate.  It almost looks intentional there is so much of it.  She recovers herself, mostly, then says, "Julian, I'm so sorry.  Why don't you come with me, we can try to find you something of Worf's to wear.  Maybe he has something that won't be too big - or maybe he has something of Alexander's around.  Or if it comes down to it, you could wear something of mine.  I must have something that wouldn't be too feminine."
    "He's already shaking his head.  "No, no, that's ok.  I'll just go back to my quarters and change."
    "Are you sure?  Our quarters are a lot closer than yours," she says, but she is already backing down the hallway.
    "No, that's fine.  It's alright."
    "It could have been worse," she calls.  "That could have been an entire bottle of red wine."  She's giggling a little again as she tiptoes backwards.  "Oh, Julian.  I wanted to talk to you about something.  Can we meet up some time this weekend?"  Julian winces and raises a chocolate-covered hand at her a second before she backs into a Bajoran woman coming around the next corner.  Jadzia spills apologies to the woman, then stifles her laughter again, pink-faced, as she waves and disappears, her question forgotten and unanswered.
    Garak's door looms over him and he looks down at the mess that is Julian Bashir.  He's already here.  And it's 21:00 on the dot now.  One way or another he should get out of the hallway at least so he doesn't attract swarms of chocoholic children.  He carefully rings the chime on Elim's door, trying not to touch anything with the sticky fingers.
    The door opens immediately and Julian looks up in surprise.
    "Julian," Garak says softly, with a smile, and in another blink sees his odd posture, then notices the out-of-place splotch of brown on the blue of his shirt, the slightly crumpled box in his hand with the melted stuff oozing from the corners.  He opens his mouth but thinks it is probably Julian's turn to say something.
    "Hi.  Um.  I brought dessert."
    Garak can't suppress a little snicker.  "So nice to see you.  Won't you come in?"  His grin is turning a little evil and Julian is half-smiling now, wryly.  If Elim can laugh so can he.
    "Actually.  I was right here, so I thought I would just ring and tell you that I was going to be a little late, and let my shirt do the rest of the explaining, and then I was going to go back to my quarters to change and try not to blame Jadzia for this."
    "Ah.  She did this, then?"
    "Yes."
    "Well.  There is no sense in you going all the way back to your quarters.  I'm sure I have something you can wear."
    Julian reluctantly steps inside and feels sort of unkempt as the material sticks to his skin a little in the front where the chocolate is soaking through.  He hopes it isn't dripping anywhere.
    "Here.  I'll take that," he says and Julian hands over the box of half-melted chocolate.  "You can get cleaned up in the bathroom."
    Julian wanders in that direction, sparing a glance at the table.  Candles, red satin table cloth and place mats.  Far nicer than anything Julian ever prepared for them in his quarters.
    The box has disappeared and Elim is coming back with a small dish and salt and pepper for the table.
    Julian sees Elim's soft chair in the corner and is swept with a wave of heat that keeps him frozen to the floor for a few seconds, even as Elim looks at him with a small measure of curiosity.  "I'm sorry I ruined one of your shirts, Elim," he says when he recovers, because it is doubtful that he wouldn't have noticed.  Elim puts the things on the table and looks a little caught-off-guard when he turns back to Julian, looking him up and down.  Maybe he didn't notice.
    Elim approaches hesitantly.  "Well.  It's hard to say now that it is has been redyed - and a very becoming color you've chosen I must say, but...I don't think this is one of mine."  Julian is feeling hot and cold now and Elim approaches him very close.  He can feel his breath on his face, can smell him above the overwhelming sweetness of his own perfume.  His hand comes up, nothing hesitant about it, and goes up behind his neck. Julian's eyes almost slip closed as Elim's fingers find skin, but he is shaken from it by the busy ministrations of those fingers.  Then there is a gentle pull and Elim's head is tilted and he is looking down his nose at the tag on the back of Julian's shirt.  Julian knows already, he is already well on his way to mortification, but Elim's cool response seals the deal sharply.  "Nnno," he says.  "This is from Del Floria's."  Elim tucks it back in and smiles at him.  "Would you like something to drink?"  Julian feels his blush creep hotly up his face.  Yes.  A very stiff drink would be very good right now, but no.
    Julian washes the chocolate off of himself in the bathroom and tries not to let it get anywhere else.  He wipes the sink down when he is done.  All he needs is to smear some more embarrassment all over Elim's quarters to make the night complete.  And he just got here.  He tosses the shirt in the laundry receiver and it disappears into chocolaty oblivion.  It will find its way back to his quarters eventually though it will probably take a while to get it replicatively cleaned. 
    He comes out of the bathroom, damp, shirtless, and self-conscious.  Elim smiles at him mildly, and never loses eye contact.  He recognises this Elim.  He hasn't seen him in a while.  This is Mr. Garak, the tailor.  Julian relaxes a little.  For once he is glad Elim can just switch himself on and off like that.  Most of the time he would rather be with Elim, but right now, he isn't sure he could take him.  "Let's find you something to wear," he says, standing in the bedroom door.
    Julian steps in the dark room from the adjacent bathroom. It's warm but he is having trouble not trembling a little.  Elim goes to the closet and opens it, turns the light on.
    Julian was struck by the size of Elim's bedroom the first time he saw it.  Small, with a large bed.  He wasn't sure if the large bed just made the room seem smaller or if it actually was.  Now he knows.  Garak made this room smaller so he could make the closet bigger.  Before them is the most comprehensive and orderly collection of attire Julian has ever seen.  Organised by color and style, and every centimeter of space utilized for efficiency. By necessity really, the sheer volume wouldn't fit in this space, large though it is, if it weren't well-ordered.  Julian looks around in amazement and Elim begins pawing through a row.
    Julian finds his voice and laughs, and his trepidation is momentarily forgotten.  "That's some closet, Garak."
    Elim looks over his shoulder at him and shrugs.  "Tailor."
    "You know I don't think I've ever seen you wear most of these things," he says fingering some stiff brown shirt with a wide collar.
    Elim's fingers pass over a number of things that might work in a pinch, some smaller things that don't exactly fit him anymore, but he skips over much of the traditional Cardassian garb and goes for a funny white linen shirt, the origin of which he does not know.  "How about this?"
    "Thank you," Julian says without inspecting it.  He's really thanking him for ignoring what an ass he has made of himself so far tonight, but he takes the shirt with those words, and Elim leaves him in the glow of the massive closet.  Julian watches him go and releases a pent up breath.  He throws the shirt on in a hurry then, looks at himself briefly in the mirror, then hits the closet light and joins Elim at the table.
    He looks up at him as he lights the tall red tapers.  Elim approaches him again closely, though his grey eyes sparkle blue a little now in the candlelight and his voice drops a note or two.  He hums deliberation and picks gingerly at Julian's collar, fluffs one long sleeve, then the other, straightens the shoulder line and lays a small lapel flat with the brush of his fingertips. 
    "Looks better on you than it ever did on me," Garak sighs.  The truth is Julian's skin turns coffee brown against the white, absolutely stunning, and the small slit in the front, a little too revealing for Garak himself without something worn under it, shows off a sliver of that dark brown on his chest, sprinkled with a little hair.  He thinks he chose well for him, but it's going to be hard to keep his hands to himself during dinner, especially if they open that wine.
    Elim has set out an unusual banquet for them.  Zabu stew, one of his favorites as Julian recalls, gespar, Bajoran northern shrimp, and, to Julian's surprise, a baked potato.  They sit, and Elim makes a motion toward his own plate.  "I've never had a baked potato before.  Thought I might try it tonight."
    Julian smiles brightly.  "It's pretty bland.  I doubt you'll love it."
    "How can eight billion humans be wrong?"
    Julian laughs and looks over the sweet curl of Elim's smile.  He wants to kiss it.  More tempting than chocolate.  "We've done it before," he says instead.
    Julian is starving still and the food smells wonderful though he is trying not to let it tear his attention from Elim until they are both ready to eat.  "Would you like some wine?" Elim asks him, and Julian's eyes dart to the plain green bottle to Elim's right.  It would relax him, yes, but he is so hungry now it could make him sick or just instantly abandon all inhibition.  Wine right now would be a disaster, and Elim hasn't opened the bottle yet, so he doesn't feel bad shrugging and declining politely.  Elim smiles at him again and begins eating.
    Despite how hungry he was, Julian only manages to eat about half of his dinner.  The potato is good, replicated, but good, comfort food.  That was probably Elim's real reason for choosing it.  Which, frankly, is just odd.  This whole evening has been strange, and Julian realizes why, now.  This is a Cardassian sitting across from him.  He has to work that one out.  Elim is not a stereotypical Cardassian, but he is a Cardassian.  The discrepancy between that status and his behavior today and the past few weeks is a puzzle.  Not what Julian was expecting.  It seems like the moment their relationship shifted in this direction, that was where he split from the norm.  With a human or most other species he might find himself on a date with, he could show up at their door wearing a faux pas and dunce cap and they could have a good laugh, and it would end at the very least in an enjoyable evening.  But Elim is a Cardassian.  Julian had forgotten at some point, but he was really expecting the verbal abuse to have started by now.  He certainly gave Elim plenty of opportunities.
    "How was the potato?" Julian asks him because here is one more.  Earth food must be odd to him.  Certainly he could compare it to the Cardassian bickt root and it wouldn't be comparing apples and oranges, but he would surely find his own superior, and would have multiple reasons why.
    Elim swallows another bite.  "Starchy, but not bad," he says thoughtfully and Julian grins because it is getting absurd.  Elim brings his napkin to his mouth and then seems to look Julian over, head to table.  "Are you finished?"
    "I think so."
    "Really?  You didn't eat much.  Is there something else you'd like instead?"
    Julian laughs out loud but Elim just seems puzzled.  "No, no thank you, I'm fine."
    Elim is still staring at him, wide-eyed, and Julian is still grinning, and he can see the two of them trapped in this moment as in a holoimage.  Each trying to work out what the other is thinking until the end of time.
    "Did I miss something?"  Garak hopes not.

    "No, no."

    "I feel like I did."

    Julian is feeling the pressure to come clean.  "I guess, I just had different expectations about what was going to happen tonight."

    Garak's face falls a little.  "What do you mean?"
    He half shrugs, sheepishly.  "You don't behave like other Cardassians."

    "I don't?"  Julian realizes that this may not exactly be a compliment to Elim's ears.

    "No.  I mean.  Well I guess I mean, with me."  He's blushing again, can't help it.  This is the first time they're openly talking about it, well semi-openly.  The first time they're acknowledging the pursuit. It feels shy.  "Cardassians...are known for aggressive and confrontational ways of..."

    Elim hums slight amusement.  "Yes, we are.  Which is unfortunate for those individuals who do not approach it in that way, for their intentions are occasionally missed or misinterpreted.  Those aggressive tactics are what is expected of us on Cardassia.  It is a cultural construct.  Any Cardassian looking for a mate within a group of strangers will act that way because it is the only universally recognised signal."

    "So you don't all do that?"

    "I personally find the practice repellent."

    "Oh."

    "I don't mean to sound bitter.  I just find it silly and cruel even.  All the posturing.  The blatantly rough handling.  It can get dangerous at times.  Cardassians have a certain amount of natural pack-animal mentality in us.  We engage in social power struggles on a daily basis, but in the context of mature people looking for companionship, it just seems like a waste of time to me.  Who wants to start a relationship with a pretense that in no way reflects reality?"

    "I feel the same way about human dating rituals, actually."
    "Do you?"  Elim sounds genuinely surprised.  "I admit your way sounds a little bland to me, but it seemed like a better start than we allow couples of our own species."
    "No, I don't think it's any better really.  We put on a mask, too.  We show our prospective partners our best clothes and brightest smiles.  We take them to expensive restaurants and throw gifts at them."
    Elim smiles.  "You can lavish me with gifts whenever you feel like it, my dear."
    Julian laughs, and something unexpected sneaks out of his mouth directly after.  "And you can handle me roughly whenever you like."  He presses his lips together and wonders where he picked up a surplus measure of audacity in the past few days.  He clears his throat and tries to pretend he didn't say anything.  Elim doesn't pretend, but doesn't take advantage either.  "At any rate, it opens the door for severe disappointment at the least.  Or you find out after a few months of sharing your time with someone that they're not who you thought they were, that you don't even know what to do with them now that you have them."
    "That does sound rather depressing."
    "I'm glad," Julian begins, and finds the bravery to look him in the eye as he says it, "that that didn't happen to us."
    "The fact that we have been friends for so long is probably the only reason that this has happened.  You realize this?"
    "Well, yes.  I doubt that had we just met last week that we would be sitting here now.  It would probably take another six years."
    "Do you think we're trading those six years in for something else?"
    "That's ridiculous."
    "Is it?  If this ended now would we be friends again?"
    Julian rubs his own elbow self-consciously and wonders for a moment if Elim isn't trying out some Cardassian courtship tactics.  He also wonders if that isn't what he has been up to the entire time, but dismisses it.  The questioning on his face is too sincere.  "Relationships aren't just on and off, Garak.  They change and evolve too.  The chief and I went through all sorts of different levels of friendship.  Dax and I too.  Leeta and I are still friends."
    "But you didn't start out as friends."
    "No, I suppose not.  Look, Garak.  I think you're asking the wrong question.  You want to know if this doesn't work out in the end if we can become friends again, and I say, we won't have to, because we're not going to stop being friends.  I won't let it happen.  I still want to do all the things we have always done together.  I still want to talk politics and philosophy with you and argue about books and plays.  And dresses," he chuckles bravely.  "You can still join me in the holosuite.  I still want to go to lunch."
    Now they are both looking a little sheepish, Elim, presumably because of what happened the last time they 'went to lunch', and Julian because of the things his imagination has begun feeding him since the idea of the holosuite popped in his head.

    Elim scratches the back of his head.  "I haven't done this in a long time Julian.  I thought I probably wouldn't ever do it again."

    Julian's heart is beating erratically, but it hurts a little at the same time to imagine Elim resigned to loneliness for the rest of his life.  He also suspects that he might be resigned to exile at this point too.  "It's kind of scary, isn't it," he says, though he wonders if Elim thinks so, and if he does, if they're even scared for the same reasons.

    Then he smiles, warm as that reptilian face can.  "I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought."

    Julian laughs.  "You seem to be doing ok."

    "All a disguise, my dear.  I'm a tailor, remember?"

    Julian's grin fades away like a summer sunset, slow and easy in the silence of the evening.  The quiet is nice, and they sit comfortably enough in it with the experience to do so of six years acquaintance, but Garak thinks he could possibly improve upon it.  "Shall I put on some music?" he asks, and watches Julian swallow hard before meeting his eyes and smiling softly again.  It is intoxicating to see this beautiful creature respond to everything he does and says with so much emotion.  Most people don't pay him half that much attention, which has both a cause and effect relationship with his profession, but it leaves him so barren.  Then this human comes along and worms his way in like some sort of fiendishly beautiful brain parasite.  It is somehow both remarkably wonderful and annoying.  "And...would you like some wine now?  I think I would," he says with raised and meaningful eye ridges.

    Julian pauses a second, then nods.  "Sure."

    "If you'd like to open the bottle, my dear, I'll be right back."  Garak excuses himself and gets up from the table to go to the computer.

    Julian looks around him and sees an opportunity to perhaps begin to redeem himself after the last hour of blunders, and after popping open the wine and setting the cork on a separate plate, he begins clearing the table.  The room is filled, then, with a soft Cardassian concerto.  It's a nice piece, Julian is sure he has heard it once before, probably in his own quarters during a similar, less important dinner, but tonight everything has significance and each note has a certain heat in it.  The light tinkling piano, a Cardassian instrument almost identical to the Earth variety, reminds him of home enough to relax him, but is played in a way alien enough to chill his spine once or twice.  He smiles and starts taking dishes back to the replicator.  He touches the 'receive' button and it is just as he does that he feels, maybe even tastes, Elim standing behind him.  He can just feel his presence, though he never heard him reapproach, never saw him in his peripheral vision.  Elim isn't aiming to startle him, obviously, as he isn't doing anything but standing there quietly, approaching with caution, though not advertising either.  Julian stops where he is, letting Elim know he is aware of him.  He wonders a split second later if perhaps he should have kept that to himself a moment longer, to force him to back off rather than be the perpetrator.  It would have been a lie, but Julian is so nervous now he doesn't think he would have noticed any guilt.

    Even before he lays his hands on Julian's shoulders, they burn because he knows it is going to happen, like a hot blue charge of St. Elmo's fire before lightning strikes.  Then the heat crawls up Julian's neck until he is sure he is turning red, and the touch manifests as heat, then weight, then light pressure on his frame.  Elim floats to him, doesn't touch him much, and with just a centimeter of air between them in most places, Julian can feel him there, but not feel him.  Then his exhale into Julian's hair exorcises a chill that zips up his spine, curls over his scalp and ears and vanishes into the air.  Elim's face is at the back of his head, and he breathes lightly into his hair a few more times before applying a gentle twist to his hands that urges Julian around.  Everything in him clenches, thrums with excitement and fear and lust all at once as he turns and meets Elim's eyes.  Those hands come up, surprisingly warm, one takes Julian's right hand, and the other scoops around the back of his neck.  His weight shifts to his left.  Julian smiles and places his free hand under Elim's shoulder.  The piano is joined by the orchestra.

    "Are we going dancing now?"

    "No," he purrs sadly.  "I'm not wearing the proper shoes."

    "Nor the dress," Julian quips with a cute smile.  Garak wants to be closer to that radiant face, like a moon wants to be closer to its planet, and he gets sucked in right then, his forehead bumping Julian's just gently.

    He looks toward their barely shuffling feet.  "Nor do you want me to, I assure you."  Garak realizes that this is it.  They are going to take the single step forward that begins this, and he wants to delay it just a little longer because he already knows the conclusion, and it is the anticipation that he savors in memory.  However, Julian makes it difficult with the tiny movements of his head, the hesitation and want warring within him, and his drowsy eyes and parted lips that hedge near his own close enough that he can feel his breath on his chin.

    "I'm not sure you have the hips for it," Julian replies.

    A tremor in his breath, Garak plays along.  "You could pull it off with a little padding."

    Julian smirks.  "I hope that's not what you're planning," he says low and raspy.

    Garak doesn't smile, and he stops their gentle swaying.  "No.  I was not planning on clothing you today, Doctor."  He can see Julian's cheeks rise in a grin.  "Quite.  The.  Opposite."

    Julian pulls their faces apart and looks Elim in the eyes.  "No more waiting?"

    "No."

    "No more running away from this?"

    Elim seems to think about it for the briefest pause.  "I don't think so, he says, but then takes a half-step backwards.

    "No more dancing?"

    Elim takes the other half-step back and seems to pull Julian with him using nothing more than gravity as his leash.