Note: Ah so much for early updates. Anyway I went back and forth a bit with this one and decided to just go for it, as the saying goes. And then all the build up pushed the "good part" back a chapter but at least it'll give me a little time to see just how graphic to get. Also, fear not, at some point we are definitely getting a Garak sammich 'cause yum :D Thank you everyone for your comments and support! C&C is always welcome!


"Ex husband," Jadzia corrects tartly as she takes a step back and looks at Julian with a faint scowl that swims almost double with the strain on his uncovered eye. Garak closes it again, paying particular attention to the fact that Julian is more or less supporting his entire weight without any noticeable strain. He certainly makes a note of that for later.

"He seems to have had a change of heart," Julian says pointedly, his breath on Garak's neck thrilling enough to make even the most banal of statements halfway arousing.

"He's about twenty years too late," Jadzia fires back and he hears a sigh that prompts him to open that eye again, wincing as the room comes back into focus.

This could certainly go either way, and Garak is aware that he in part has the ability to shift the nature of the conversation should he so choose. But the question now becomes one of whether or not he should encourage a continuation of this infinity enticing menage a trois- as Jadzia had naughtily taught him the phrase some weeks back- or work them one at a time. The latter is easier, the former more exciting. The decision however appears to have been made when he feels a nudge towards the bed.

"It might be best if you were to rest a moment, Garak, I believe I might need to have a word with Jadzia about the fickle nature of your impairment." Garak can tell even without looking that Julian's eyes haven't left Jadzia.

Not the jealous type, is he? Garak thinks with amusement as he agrees and takes a seat on chair at the desk. He takes that tome up again, deciding that he can while a few moments away feigning interest in Federation history while the two of them discuss whatever he's sure concerns the current situation. A few steps, a drop in tone, and Garak is pleasantly surprised to find that their volume underestimates Cardassian hearing just enough to be overheard.

"You didn't have to do that, Julian," he hears Jadzia speaking first.

"Haven't you already played around with him enough? Surely you've had plenty of opportunity if you'd seriously wanted to make a go these past few months, you didn't have to wait 'til now."

"I thought he was a "dangerous operative to be avoided at all costs?""

"He is absolutely dangerous just… just not in the way that I'd first thought."

"Oh so this is a concern for my safety? Really, Julian, you're going to have to do better than that."

"Let me handle him," Julian insists and Garak realizes somewhat smugly that the jealousy is not over her but over him. He cannot help the slight draw of his spine and the small smile that crosses his face as he realizes the page was nowhere near the one he'd been on before. Sloppy work, Elim. He discreetly flips back, wondering if he might be able to parlay this into a fun little game. Game? Listen to yourself, you fool. This is not a game, you have a very real situation on your hands, and whatever you do it's best to keep harmony amongst your allies and make Gul's damned certain that they have every reason to keep you alive. You have a golden opportunity and all you can think about is pitting the two of them against each other for your affections. Are you some debutante watching suitors battle for your favor. Really, at your age, you know exactly what it is that you need to do.

Garak closes the book a bit more loudly than necessary, that determination having been made, and he sees as he turns around that the two of them seem to have forgotten his presence entirely for the moment. He did not catch the last few spoke words but he can imagine them well enough.

"I do hate to interrupt such a fascinating discussion, but I feel that I'm in the best position to determine who will be in charge of my… handling." He smiles nicely at the both of them, the huff from Julian as he realizes the two of them have been overheard completely precious.

"We're not fighting over you," Julian says far too defensively to be anything but an admission of just that. Jadzia laughs softly, standing with her arms behind her back, a slight amused duck of her head, eyes regarding him mischievously.

"You know, Julian, Cardassians hate to be left out of good conversation." She holds up a hand as Julian appears set to give another heated retort. "But you're right. I'm being selfish, aren't I? I'm certain that Garak must be tired after the day that he's had so far."

Absolutely exhausted," Garak agrees with mock seriousness. Julian raises an eyebrow, mouth quirked just a bit at the corner.

"You don't say..."

"The lady has spoken, dear Julian," Garak finishes neatly. "I would consider it a privilege to leave my… handling to your skillful touch."

Jadzia laughs, headed for the bathroom to wash. Julian shakes his head. Garak allows his eye to linger over the curve of her back, those hips, remembering for that moment just how nice the feel of her body is.

"Don't be a stranger," she calls back as the two of them let themselves out.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Garak agrees, his mind more than made up.

"Tired, are we?" Julian asks as he shuts the door shuts behind the both of them.

"I am feeling a bit worn from such a harrowing take off," Garak suggests. "And as much as I'd love to see the grand tour of the ship, we will be on this excursion for a good while so it would seem wise to have you show me to my quarters."

"Not feeling up to socializing are we?" Julian asks beginning to walk further down the corridor passing two more doors on the right and three on the left. Garak follows obediently with a faint smirk.

"I don't think I could handle dividing my attention amongst so many fascinating people." He sees Julian stop at a door at the end of the hall taking a key out of his pocket. "But I might be able to manage one at a time..." He leaves that statement hanging, the door opening to reveal an excess of luxury that seems completely impractical given the weight limitations he's sure such a craft possesses. Garak finds himself distracted momentarily by the sight that greets him.

The room is massive, the floor hardwood, showing off to the right a small table for dining with two chairs that appear held into a track sliding in and out, likely locking into position should the need arise. behind them lies a window above a large armoire and the trunks they'd packed earlier that morning strapped down. In front of them rest the bags Julian had brought for their boarding. There's a beautifully carved sofa closer than that, and two more bookcases securing an assortment of texts. He catches sight of the door off to the left which he assumes to be another bathroom, but far in the back, the sight that catches his eye the most is the bed. It is a monster. That is the only word he can think to describe the carved piece that seems to have grown organically out from the wall itself. It is a ridiculous display of ostentation with its' massive posts spiraling up into a grand canopy, the curtains pulled back for an array of pillows, the pale blue duvet a contrast to the dark wood that cradles it. Garak imagines it must be large enough for three if not four people as he continues to stare. Well, Julian had said that the young Miss O'Brien occasionally operates a tour when not hauling precious cargo but I never imagined...

"I'm glad to hear it," Julian says at last as he steps aside motioning for Garak to enter. A few uncertain steps forward, and Gark nearly misses the close of the door behind him, the smile evident in Julian's voice. "Seeing as how we'll be sharing the space." Yes, seeing as how we'll be sharing... That thought cuts off leaving Garak to wonder if he's merely imagining some innuendo, or if it's truly there. It's far too easy for his thoughts to take a quick turn in that base direction given the scene moments ago, but that seems almost too good to be true.

"Surely your concern for my recovery cannot be so great, Julian, that you feel it necessary to monitor my good health so closely." He sees as he studies the titles on the shelf more carefully, as he looks to the maps, to the anatomy charts on the wall that this could be none other than Julian's second home away from home. He takes note of a desk in the corner that is only visible now that he turns. "I assure you that I'm quite comfortable with simplicity."

Julian closes the door and takes a few steps but doesn't stand next to him. Instead he remains behind close, hot, and Garak feels a hot rush of air in the room, a warm welcome stream that feels almost humid. It would seem, as the Vulcans would say, illogical for such a high heat and moisture content in a room full of parchments and wood, but he's still learning that the materials and objects on Westworld are not always as primitive as they appear. He decides that more research may be in order then, as that would certainly explain the lack of extra weight by so many large pieces of furniture. Ah, but for now his attention is entirely on Julian behind, hands on his shoulders in a manner that would seem threatening if that heat wasn't already enveloping him like a warm sensual bath.

"I don't trust you, Garak," Julian says to him softly, likely trying to affect a deadly quiet. To the sensitive nerves along his neck, however that threat warms to an adrenaline fueled heat of an entirely different sort. "I don't know what you're planning, but don't think for a moment that I'm about to let you out of my sight."

He lets go, walking past to the trunks, Garak standing still, surprised at the almost undetectable movement from what is certainly a moving craft. Consider then, Elim you have a ship of nine, and of those nine only you and the O'Brien's daughter are the only ones with no connections to Starfleet past or present. You have two, at most three allies to rendezvous in the absolute best case scenario should all this turn to be a trap. There is a lot of convenience, a lot of coincidence, and you know better than anyone the folly of believing in that. There are either two factions at odds aboard of which you are tenuously aligned to one or it is all of them against you. But given what you know of those with you now it seems unlikely. It would've been nothing to obtain the keys while you were incapacitated so no... No right now, this is still your game to play and still yours to win. And to win right now, Elim you need allies. He watches Julian bending over the trunk, presumably to begin unpacking. Yes, tight, solid, allies...

"It seems that you have me at a disadvantage, Julian," Garak concedes as Julian opens the armoire and begins moving clothes. He takes that time to make a study of the bed.

"You'd like me to think that, wouldn't you?"

"Such a suspicious mind you have. It appears a commonality amongst those with ties to Section 31." Garak tosses that out as he runs his fingers over the thick post deciding that it's not wood, after all. Julian stops and stiffens at that remark.

"We're not talking about that."

"Now while I wouldn't expect you to divulge the contents of your one sided conversation to young Mr. Watters, to cut off the discussion with such finality, dear Julian, you wound me to the core as a Cardassian." Julian pauses, on his knees in front of the trunk with a handful of shirts. he looks back over his shoulder with an unrepentant little grin.

"Suffer," is all he says, moving the lot to a drawer. "In fact, Mr. Garak, if anyone's asking any questions here, I seem to remember you owing me two more completely honest answers."

"I'm an open book," Garak assures him, an earnest spread of his arms which Julian snorts at.

"Really?" He drawls, closing the trunk lid with a click. Julian walks over as Garak begins feeling the material of the dark blue canopy, tied prettily parted, half around the post. It feels far lighter than the opaqueness of the fabric would suggest. "Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

"Are those your two questions?" Garak asks, letting the fabric go, debating on snipping a piece discreetly later. It felt like a waterfall beneath his touch and he rather liked the feel. Julian removes the sunglasses, tossing them on the bed, and fixes him with a glare from those hazel eyes that's terribly attractive. Perhaps he can arrange an accident for these spectacles as well. But it is also in those eyes, in the tightness of muscles that Garak finally becomes aware of, that he realizes the tension still between them. He isn't sure if he missed it because of his visual impairment or lack of focus but now that that awareness has recaptured him full force, he finds Julian's proximity almost painfully distracting.

"You're still playing games with me," Julian accuses. Garak considers carefully the response. It would be a simple matter to continue the familiar Cardassian courtship. He sings for it at the heart, to meet him on that equal playing field. But you know better than that, Elim. You've been trained far better. No, you're not seducing as a Cardassian, you're not encouraging that mutual matching of wit today. Drawn it down. Drawn him in.

"Have you considered, Julian," Garak says, taking a small step back, "that perhaps games are all that I have?" He sees a frown form, a small furrow of confusion.

"What are you talking about, Garak?" Garak runs his fingers over the duvet covering the bed, absently. Julian hasn't come any closer yet.

"I'm simply asking to you consider, Julian, what else you would have me defend myself with in circumstances such as these?" Another small brush to the fabric. Another small step away.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. This entire situation is all at your-"

"If I'm completely honest with you, Julians, I'm afraid," Garak says, voice lowered but still steady, not overdone but just enough to- There we are, that's a good boy. Julian closes that small gap, back into personal space.

"What are you afraid of?" The first question the hero asks, for the white knight will always do that. Ah, my dear Jadzia your lessons have proven such a boon to me on my sojourn here. Garak holds that silence. He doesn't immediately answer because he knows the longer that it drags out that the next step will be- "Garak?" Louder, more insistent, Julian must know the meaning of such a statement, naturally, and Garak's response is a not too dramatic draw of breath as if he is considering some weighty confession, lifting his head just enough to count the whorls of the wood on the headboard while counting down until- "Look at me Garak." Julian's hands are on his shoulders, turning, guiding him to that command, eye contact, that comes next, and Garak resists a slow, almost disbelieving blink that it played so textbook close to perfect. In a way it's almost disappointing and he wants to rail against Julian for playing right into that disgusting tired trope in book after book of bodice ripping nonsense. Ah, but it's as the Westworld expression goes, we play the hand that we're dealt do we not? And the hand in this case is terribly cliche and follows some dramatic line from this point to torrid messy coupling.

Garak decides at that point that he doesn't particularly have the stomach right now for such an indignity when Julian entreats him softly, ridiculously earnestly given his words just minutes ago.

"Please, Garak." A squeeze, gentle, tender, Garak takes another hard breath, deciding to spare them both the embarrassment of whatever tripe was about to regurgitate from his painfully vivid memories of Jadzia's coveted collection of Westworld erotica. He can say it all with a look anyway, it's far easier, far neater, and he lets his expression shift, letting the recall of that interrupted encounter fuel the heat in that look as he lets it simmer. And to that there appears a moment of recognition, of Julian seeming to almost call him on such a ridiculous charade. But his gamble was just as he expected and instead the hands on his shoulders move inward, long fingers brushing over the ridges with a delicacy as the touch his bare neck that they force a gasp unbidden that just adds to the effect. He watches Julian lick his lips, wetting them nicely, knowing more of that human mouth mashing is coming then. He can see Julian almost damning himself for bringing things this far, this close. He'd be doing the same were their roles reversed, but the desire is far too evident to be denied and Julian seems to know it as well.

"Fucking lizard," he think he hears Julian swear with a waver in his voice that makes him grin not quite smugly as Julian plays right into his hands, and kisses him. Fucking lizard, indeed.