asterionstiel
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Dean's desire was consuming him, pinning him down and it made the air feel suffocating. The tides of his emotions were like being surrounded by an army of demons, too many to fight, forcing him into submission. It was an eternal war inside his mind, trying to fight away what he felt.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 656
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 9
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Summary
When Julian and Garak are stranded on an uninhabited but scenic planet, Julian takes the opportunity to begin wooing his long-time friend. It goes well, except for when it doesn't.
This is finished, so I will post a new chapter every few days (Prophets willing).
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Julian is on his first vacation in three years, and where does he choose to go? Cardassia Prime, of course. It'll be great: he'll see Garak, take in the scenery, and remember how to relax. All he has to do is keep Garak from realizing that Julian's in love with him, which should be easy enough, right?
Right?
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After the events in "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" Julian takes some time alone to process everything. But then Garak barges in (breaks in) and offers to keep him company. What is there to do? What is there to say? Surprisingly, not what Julian expected.
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The newly appointed Kai gives Julian an offer to interact with the Orb of Time.
Julian is flung far into the past with no idea how long he'll be stuck there. To make matters worse, he crosses paths with a very familiar agent of the Obsidian Order who is clearly up to no good... Why can't anything about him and Garak ever be simple?
(aka the first time my smutty fic has an actual plot - features Garak doing spy things on a mission for the Obsidian Order and Julian trying his best not to draw Garak's interest)
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Freedom's Just Another Word by Vermin_Disciple
Fandoms: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek
15 Oct 2020
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Summary
“My dear Doctor, even a good imitation is still just an imitation,” said Garak. “It exists only on borrowed substance. Your substance is real, and entirely your own.”
Julian’s expression turned stricken. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. Then he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, and said, “I’m sorry, Garak. I’m so… wrung out, I hardly know what I’m saying. I do know I’m being unreasonable about this. If even the spy I have lunch with every week didn’t notice the difference, how much should I expect from anyone else?”
That stung, and Garak found he could not respond immediately. When he did, the words did not come easily. “The tragedy of it is, Doctor, I did notice. I merely… misinterpreted.”