Chapter Text
Garak was looking at his ever-exuberant lunchtime companion with an expression he fervently hoped concealed just how distracted he was.
Also distraught.
What was the doctor wearing?
It was silver, and aside from the obvious strategic padding meant for lessening impact of a strenuous activity this thing was clearly designed for, it hid absolutely nothing. He could cite the exact paragraph of the modesty law Bashir would get arrested for breaking if he showed up on Cardassia dressed like this. That, of course, didn't matter because they were not currently on Cardassia, and Terok Nor was no longer under Cardassian jurisdiction. It was still damned distracting.
“…And that’s why Legate Temar’s choice was utterly insignificant in the end! The war would have ended the same with or without his input!”
Garak offered an indulgent smile,
“Dear Doctor, that was the entire point! Legate Temar was merely a piece of the mosaic that is the Cardassian State, and he performed his duty admirably!”
A tendril of pleasure unfurled down his spine at the sight of hazel eyes flashing with passion over an argument Garak could see brewing in the Doctor’s quick mind, ready to spill out of his already open mouth. The outraged tone sent a swarm of warm prickles down his aural ridges.
“I fail to see the point of writing about a character that could easily be substituted for a piece of cardboard – it would serve the same function!”
Garak sighed as loudly as he could for maximum effect.
“Must you continue to ascribe human values to Cardassian writing? No matter how many fine examples of my people’s literature I offer you for perusal, you persist in this folly! Can you not, as you say – Put yourself in my shoes, hmm?”
“I am trying, Garak! But this novel is even worse than the things you usually give me to read! It’s like you’re deliberately trying to give me the driest, most blandly unappealing books in existence!”
Garak tried to hide his smile, he really did. What should have been a mildly exasperated expression, morphed (entirely against his will) into a mischievous smile. Of course he was giving Bashir the most run-of-the-mill, a-dime-a-dozen books he could find! Those were the ones that really got his hot blood pumping. God forbid he gave him anything good, they’d have nothing to argue about! And that would be an absolute waste of the dear doctor’s wit. Not to mention the way he was flailing whenever he got properly outraged – Garak could watch his animated features and widely splayed fingers for hours on end.
Which made this situation somewhat of a predicament.
The gleaming outfit was absolutely blinding, and not in a good way. In the Federation lights, it was positively ghastly and was actually giving him a headache – Cardassian eyes were not made for so much glare, but the outline… So sharply cut from the muted silhouettes of other diners, it shone like a beacon a stranded man dared not tear their eyes from.
He literally didn’t need a scanner to take Bashir’s measurements, for nothing was hidden from his gaze – the slim wiry arms, the narrow shoulders, the slender chest and trim waist…
Oh, he had known from the moment he first saw Doctor Bashir that the man was trouble. He had also realized very soon into their acquaintance, that he would not be able to persist in wearing garments that revealed his neck (lest he turn into a beacon himself, one that clearly signaled just how hopelessly aroused he was whenever Bashir happened to be around). He already stood out just by virtue of being the only Cardassian on board and the extra scrutiny was imprudent, to say the least. Besides, some of the Bajorans probably had more than a vague idea about what aroused Cardassians looked like. Curse Skrain and his undisciplined rabble.
Well, Garak was nothing if not disciplined.
Said discipline was currently being put to the test. Bashir’s face was wonderfully flushed from the tirade Garak had apparently failed to process in its entirety, so busy he was staring at that obscenely heaving chest.
“I swear, I will give you the most boring human novel ever written in return - I can’t read any more of this! Please, can we change genres at least?”
The pleading eyes were accursedly effective. Garak bemoaned the loss of his self-respect and folded like a wet napkin.
“If we must…” He sighed, affecting aggravation, “Perhaps some poetry to cleanse your palate?”
Bashir sagged in his chair with relief. Garak found the sight disturbingly endearing.
“Thank you! If I had to slog through another repetitive epic, I would have made Jadzia stun me with a phaser to get me out of our lunch appointment!”
The image may have been amusing, but the implication was decidedly not. Garak was very much invested in keeping the dear doctor around, even if half the time he was left in quite the predicament once their lunch was over. Luckily for him, Bashir was a very busy man and often had to dash away. Garak fervently hoped today would be one of the days the good doctor decided to bail on him.
He needed time to bring his errant body under control.
“I’ll find something interesting for you Garak, I promise!” Julian assured him as he swept through the rest of his meal like a particularly fascinating kind of localized tornado, jumping to his feet and slinging his bag over his shoulder as he balanced his tray on the way to the reclamation unit.
Garak tried really hard not to stare at the longest pair of legs his eyes had ever had the privilege of seeing. He was fairly certain his covert training failed to conceal his shamelessly roaming gaze. This only reaffirmed his belief that their uniforms were atrocious. Hiding this kind of physique behind padding and shapeless cut… It was criminal.
The only blessing in disguise was that, while the uniform did hide Julian from his gaze, it also hid his many delights from any other potential mates. Garak was still secretly bewildered by the fact that Julian wasn’t as popular as his intellect and physique should warrant. For some reason, most of the man’s Federaji colleagues found his passionate monologues… exasperating? Uninteresting? Too long-winded?
Garak couldn’t fathom seeing a person with so much passion overflowing so abundantly and so freely and not being drawn to them. What was wrong with these people?
Still, he wasn’t ungrateful. The quirk of social norms that made Bashir so unappealing to his own kind, made him utterly irresistible to Garak. Julian could talk for hours, never running out of interesting or insightful things to say. It was when Garak caught himself drawing out their lunches just so they could speak longer that he knew he was irrevocably lost. He may have approached Bashir with the sole intention of bedding him, but, as always, good conversation proved his downfall.
So, here he was again, staring at Bashir’s alluring form as it disappeared from view with a long, energetic stride no other person could emulate.
Oh, yes. He was too far gone and he knew it.
His only hope was that Bashir would never show up in a garment as revealing as this again.