Chapter Text
He gets a lot of looks when he returns to Q Branch after debriefing. 009’s face was entirely impassive as they deplaned, but Q Branch operatives aren’t trained in the same kind of subtlety as 00s. He can only assume that he’s behaving in such a manner that everyone can guess, more or less, at what happened. He divides the looks into roughly three categories: (1) pity, because who would be stupid enough to get involved with 003; (2) envy, because who wouldn’t want to have sex, in any form, with 003; and (3) near hysteria at the entire situation.
Garak spends two weeks removed from active rotation by Medical. He doesn’t come to Q Branch a single time. Julian can’t help but feel like a lot of the looks are turning into (1). Julian is well aware that he could find Garak if he wanted to, but he sees no reason to humiliate himself further. He spends his time disassembling the laser prototype to see if he can find a way to reduce the speed at which the diamonds in it deteriorate. D gives him a few worried glances and he’s careful to make a great show of sleeping at home, which people seem to find comforting.
Garak gets the usual array of tech on his next mission. Julian tucks the condom dispenser away next to the latest iteration of Garak’s Walther PPK and hands the tray to Garak with what he thinks is a good attempt at his usual acid wit. He’s not sure how well he succeeds. Garak has sex with two women in one day and carefully avoids making eye contact with the camera. Julian watches it all with a sick feeling in his stomach, monitoring the surrounding surveillance cameras for any activity, and only interrupts once to warn Garak that there are two local police officers approaching his hotel. When Garak is done, Julian gives him careful, clipped instructions to escape with the chip he’s been sent to retrieve intact. At the end of the active operation, Julian carefully removes his headset. “I think I’ll call it a night,” he says. “Stevens, please monitor for anything out of the ordinary.” Stevens, who hasn’t earned a letter designation yet but is more than up to the task of babysitting Garak’s comms, turns pink and bobs his head in a nod, scrambling to pull on a headset. D shoots Julian a look of concern as he leaves and he smiles at her.
Julian had been planning to just go home and feel a little self-pitying, but instead he secures his laptop at home, musses his hair in some attempt at fashion, and goes out. It turns out to be a Friday night—who knew?—and Julian finds a blue-eyed dark-haired man with broad shoulders to buy him a drink. When the man—Davey—goes to the bathroom, Julian scans his fingerprint on his drinks glass and runs it through his system just to be safe. He comes back flagged for turnstile-jumping a few years ago and fines at two different libraries, which makes Julian relax a little. He doesn’t trust people without any public record of minor wrongdoing. This one was a rugby star at uni, now an NHS worker—perfect. When Davey returns, Julian grins at him and says, “I live just up the way.”
It’s good. Julian thought it would be, from the way he smiled and danced and the few stories he told. He’s eager, generous, apologizes when he scrapes his teeth across Julian’s skin hard enough to leave a mark and then, when Julian says, “No, I like it,” takes the initiative to leave more. This is what normal people do, Julian reminds himself, as he digs his fingernails into Davey’s shoulders. Moneypenny has a boyfriend. People spend the night with someone who will look them in the eye in the morning. When he comes, Davey doesn’t scramble out of bed; he yawns and says, “I’m knackered, mind if I spend the night?”
Why not, Julian thinks. “All right,” he says, and lets Davey kiss him again. The alarm system is fully armed, and it would’ve warned him when they came in if Davey had a weapon or any one of a number of standard chemical compounds. He squirms his way out of Davey’s grasp to sleep and thinks, right, this is what normal people do.
The alarm triggers at five in the morning, setting off a terrific racket. Julian flails awake in the predawn light, snatching the taser from its holster beneath his bed, and finds Davey wide-eyed next to him in bed. “Stay here,” Julian tells him. He pads barefoot into the kitchen, taser in hand. He almost hopes he’ll find a knife-wielding madman, but there’s—nothing at all. He checks the door and finds it securely locked. His flat isn’t big enough for someone to be hiding effectively. When he checks the footage from his security cameras on the front and back doors, there’s a brief blur of motion, but he can’t see it well enough to tell who—or what—it is. Julian resets the alarm and climbs back into bed with Davey. “Sorry,” he says. “Malfunction.” Davey is already asleep again. Julian wonders how a person manages to do that, just put something like an intruder alarm out of his head and fall asleep in a matter of minutes. He supposes that Davey doesn’t have a lot of people who might like to kidnap him. He fetches his laptop and sits at the kitchen table in a robe, drinking tea and playing with a few modifications to the remote controls for 003’s miraculously still-intact car.
Two hours later, he sends Davey on his way with a kiss and a promise that Julian will call him, and thinks that maybe he will. He buys an exceedingly expensive cup of lapsang souchong on his way to work, which he drinks only when he’s in a good mood, and D wrinkles her nose at the smell of it when he walks in. “Ugh,” she says. “No one likes a morning person.” Then she squints at him. “You look cheerful.”
Julian stifles a smile. “Not in the slightest—” He breaks off his sentence when Garak walks through the doors of Q Branch with two mugs in his hand. “Um.” Julian glances around, but D is the only other person here and she’s abruptly very focused on her computer. “Hello, 003. Did you—need something?” He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but as far as he knows, Garak has never entered Q Branch except to pick up his mission tech.
“I’m having trouble with my watch,” Garak says, and gestures a little with his wrist. It’s not a Q Branch watch. “I thought you might take a look. Perhaps upgrade it.” He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but then, Garak never sounds like he’s lying.
“Well. I was going to work on your car, but I suppose I can save that.” Julian extends his free hand, but Garak gives him one of the mugs instead.
“An incentive,” Garak says.
It’s almost painfully hot when Julian's knuckles brush against the porcelain. He can smell his favorite brand of double bergamot Earl Grey, heavily sweetened, the kind he drinks when he needs a particular boost to his attention. Julian hasn’t quite finished his present cup of tea, but he sets it down on the nearest desk. “Very well. Follow me.”
Julian leads Garak back into his workshop and finds a safe place for the mug. When he looks at Garak expectantly, Garak holds out his arm for Julian to remove the watch and takes a pointed sip of his own mug, as though to demonstrate why he can’t take it off himself. “Is that coffee?” His fingers make quick work of the watch clasp, and it falls loose around Garak’s wrist. As Julian pulls it off, his fingers graze Garak’s palm and Garak twitches almost imperceptibly. It’s the first time he’s touched Garak since the airplane, he realizes. “What were you hoping I would do with your watch?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Garak says, and he smiles. His eyes are a bright blue in the harsh light of Julian's workshop. “A miniature laser, perhaps. A sleeping gas. An electromagnetic pulse, even.”
“I’m not putting the diamond laser in your watch,” Julian tells him sternly, even though his fingers are itching to do just that. He knows where his set of jeweler’s screwdrivers are without looking, and he lifts the case out of its slot on his workbench and pops it open one-handed as he inspects the watch. “Given the rate at which you lose your possessions, you’d cost the section a fortune before you even turned it on.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t got a diamond lab stashed away somewhere, running day and night,” Garak says. He’s watching Julian's fingers as Julian unscrews the watch’s backing to inspect the mechanism. “And that your process isn’t a good deal faster than any of the ordinary ones.”
Julian scowls, though Garak doesn’t see it. “I suppose I could replace the jewel in the movement with a diamond,” he says. “And modify the oscillating weight to power the laser. But I’m not going to be able to put an EMP in here too.” He plucks a jeweler’s loupe out of the case where he keeps his screwdriver and holds it up to the watch. “Any sleeping gas would have to be highly compressed—perhaps in a canister attached to the back of the watch? But it would be one shot only, and the watch would have to be very close to someone’s face for it to be effective. You’re more likely to gas yourself than a target.”
“In that case, let’s avoid a poison,” Garak says. When Julian looks up from the watch mechanism, Garak is smiling again. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’m not going to poison you.” Julian is insulted. “After all the trouble that I put into retrieving you from Krajnc—”
“Tell the truth, you were really in it for the laser.” There’s something the slightest bit uncomfortable in Garak’s voice, like he wants Julian to agree.
Julian sets the watch and the parts he’s removed onto a tray. “Perhaps I just wanted to see what it feels like to carry millions of dollars in diamonds,” he says. He sets the tray in the area of his workbench reserved for delicate projects, safely separated from the area where he tinkers with car parts. He can’t help asking, “Did you get my message?”
“The Morse code, in the cell?” Garak is watching his face now. “Yes. I should’ve known you would find a way to be listening in.”
“Maybe I’ll put an audio receiver in the watch,” Julian muses. “Or perhaps a vibration—just enough to pass a warning without someone else hearing it.” He frowns and types a few notes onto his design computer. “You know, this would be much easier if I simply built a watch from scratch.”
Garak smiles at that. “I’m less likely to lose this one.”
“Very well.” Julian picks up his mug. It’s quite cool now, but he takes a sip anyway. “You know, there are mugs in the Q Branch kitchen that will maintain temperature.” It’s perfectly sweetened.
Garak raises an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He checks his bare wrist automatically, then shakes his head a little. “Goodbye, Q. I’ll be back for the watch tomorrow.”
Julian stifles his huff of outrage—tomorrow, as though he has nothing else to do!—and says, “Goodbye, 003.”
He spends far too much time on the watch that day, and that night. Little toys are always more of a challenge—pens, jewelry, makeup cases, that sort of thing—because there’s so little room for anything and so much higher a risk of accidental triggering. It’s one reason that he prefers to start with his own design and build into that, rather than working with an object that someone else designed. But he enjoys the puzzle of trying to fit as much as he can into Garak’s old watch, and it’s nearly 9 PM when he realizes that he’s been working steadily for hours and has eaten—hmm. He can’t recall having eaten anything.
Julian stretches out his shoulders, sore from his dreadful tendency to hunch over the bench or at his computer, and wanders into the Q Branch kitchen. The contents of the refrigerator usually range from bland to disturbing, but he has low standards at the moment. Stevens often forgets his lunches in there, and anything left behind over the weekend is fair game. When he opens the door, bracing himself, his breath catches in his throat.
There, tucked between a wrinkled old apple that’s been living in the fridge for at least two weeks and tinfoil-covered half-eaten cup noodles, is a fresh takeout container from the takeaway near Julian’s flat. It’s full of what looks like tikka masala and two now-soggy samosas, and is labeled Q in a slashing kind of script. “I have no fucking idea what’s going on,” Julian says to the empty kitchen, and sticks the entire container in the microwave. He runs simulations on his computer as he eats, and debates whether he can fit in another hour of work before it’s unreasonably late to go home.
The universe decides that for him. As he tests the second of four possible firing mechanisms for a sedative gas, he realizes that he’s neglected to wear the proper mask for this type of gas, and naturally—
The headache when he wakes up is made even more embarrassing by the very obvious bruise on his forehead. He says fuck it to crowding onto the Night Tube with all the drunk revelers out on a Saturday night, decides that he doesn’t have a concussion, and goes to sleep for a few extremely grumpy hours in his office.
* * * * *
He wakes to the sound of Garak’s voice, lightly amused. “The watch wasn’t so urgent that you needed to sleep here, Q.” Julian sighs and sits up on his pullout, snatching his glasses off the side table, and sets them on his nose in time to see Garak’s face darken. “What happened?”
Julian stands up, very conscious that he’s down to his undershirt and a pair of sweatpants. “There was a bit of an accident,” he says. “I blame you.”
Garak puts a mug down on Julian's desk and grips his chin with a very warm hand, brushing his hair back with the other. Julian really isn’t prepared to be this close to Garak, half-dressed, only a minute after waking up. “Tell me no one broke into Q Branch.”
“Don’t be absurd.” The skin of Garak’s fingers is rough, with calluses that catch at the very beginning of stubble along Julian's jawline, but he’s very gentle when he touches Julian's forehead just beside the bruise. “I was—testing firing mechanisms for highly compressed sedative gas.” Garak stares at him for a minute and then laughs. Julian doesn’t think he’s ever heard Garak laugh like this, unrestrained. “I’m glad my suffering for my country causes you such joy,” he says stiffly.
Garak shakes his head and releases Julian. “I brought you tea,” he says, and presses the mug into Julian's hands.
Julian takes it automatically. When he sips it, it’s just the right temperature. Garak must have retrieved one of Q Branch’s mugs when he was tucking curry into the refrigerator. “Well. I suppose I can show you what I’ve done so far.” He considers dressing fully, but it’s a Sunday morning and even Q Branch tends to be fairly deserted if there’s no op in progress. “Come along.”
There’s something about Garak’s presence that makes Julian feel as though he’s only a few inches away, even when he’s at a respectable distance. Julian puts the workbench between them and pulls out his tray. “I’ve ruled out the EMP,” he tells Garak gravely. “You’ll have to be satisfied with the laser, gas, and communications.”
“Is that all.” Garak’s eyes are smiling.
Julian assumes it will be a strictly weekend event, but on Monday morning Garak is there again, another mug of heavily-sweetened double bergamot Earl Grey in his hand, and every single person in Q Branch is surreptitiously staring. “You know, 003,” Julian says, “It rather lessens the gesture when I know that you’re making these mugs of tea out of my own personal supply.”
Garak brings the mug to his own mouth and takes a long drink of it, inhaling deeply. “You do have good taste.”
He passes the mug to Julian before Julian can squawk in outrage, and Julian takes it and says, “Oh, come along, I’ll show you what I’m doing now.” Seventeen pairs of eyes follow them as they walk back into Julian's workshop.
Garak visits him every single one of the next seven days—to inquire about the watch’s progress, to harass Julian about installing a remote driving system, to generally distract Julian from work that he actually needs to do. Julian should tell him to go away, but each time he brings Garak into his workshop instead. He’s growing to like Garak, which is quite the problem. It was one thing when there was only 003, the man on the other side of a camera. That was—well, it was still confusing, but at least Julian knew that he was safe from the risk of—of falling into some sort of feelings for Garak, never mind a few orgasms one way or the other. But Julian is discovering that he also enjoys Garak’s company—likes his short sarcastic remarks, likes the way that Garak appreciates his work, likes the tea that Garak brings him and the food that he sneaks into the refrigerator—and that’s a terrible danger, isn’t it. It’s dangerous to grow to look forward to seeing Garak in the morning, when it could disappear any day.
Julian has the watch fully ready for Garak when he comes for his kit for the next mission. “Pay attention to the different controls,” Julian warns him. “There’s a safety mechanism for the gas, but you’ll regret it if you make a mistake. Turn the watch face to send a message in Morse code—there’s no audio receiver, so it shouldn’t show up on a scan for bugs.”
“Thank you, Q,” Garak says, and it’s so sincere that it throws Julian. He begins to push the tray of equipment across the table to Garak, but Garak extends his wrist. Julian stares at it for a moment before he realizes that Garak wants him to put the watch on.
“It’s not a complicated clasp,” Julian tells him, but he slides the watch over Garak’s hand and flicks the clasp closed.
For a moment, Garak grips his forearm, and Julian looks up into his eyes for any hint of what he’s thinking. Garak releases him quickly and takes the tray with the usual assortment of equipment. “I’ll try to bring some of it back,” he promises, and leaves. Julian can still feel the warmth of his grasp. Fuck.
It’s a retrieval mission, not an assassination, which always tends to require greater participation by Julian. Stevens tracks the progress of Garak’s flight to Buenos Aires, then hands the surveillance over to Julian once Garak is on the ground. “Don’t overcomplicate it, 003,” Julian warns when he sees Garak’s eyes begin to drift across the art in the Palacio de Bellas Artes. “The chip is hidden in the frame of La Nymphe surprise. It should be just to the left of the—oh.” His heart sinks as he sees the empty spot.
“Removed for cleaning,” Garak says, as though Julian can’t read Spanish. “On site, I assume?”
“Bloody—” This wasn’t scheduled. Something must have happened. “Most likely,” Julian says, scanning through surveillance feeds. “Yes—I see it in the art restoration office. You’ll need to make your way inside.” He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to know what Garak’s face looks like. “Do try to be efficient about it, 003.” It’s the most that he dares to say, now that they’re not doing whatever strange dance they used to do over hundreds of miles.
“I always am,” Garak says. True to his word, he locates a pretty assistant in a matter of minutes and convinces her to take him somewhere private, and the closest place just happens to be the restoration office. When she leads him into the office, Garak undresses her agonizingly slowly. Julian doesn’t quite avert his gaze, but he focuses on the rest of the cameras, checking for the progress of the security guards. Then he glances back to Garak’s square on his screen and his breath catches in his throat. Garak has the assistant spread out on a desk, face between her legs—and his eyes are fixed on the camera.
“Fuck,” Julian breathes. He sees Garak react, his fingers tightening just a little on her thighs. His mind goes blank for a moment, for too long, until he sees her come and watches Garak begin to slide his cock inside her. “No,” Julian says very quietly, and Garak freezes. The assistant rolls her hips a little, trying to pull him inside, and a muscle twitches in Garak’s cheek. “No, don’t—your fingers and your mouth only,” he says, throat raw. Fuck, he’s hard just like that. “Don’t come.” He has to clear his throat to be able to say, even softer, “Not until you’re in my flat, Garak,” and Garak stiffens like he’s been shocked. Julian is sure he won’t obey, but Garak’s eyes are nearly burning on the other side of the camera, and Julian watches him back up minutely and replace his cock with his fingers. Julian switches off his mic and says, “Fuck, fuck, what am I doing,” as the pretty assistant comes again on Garak’s fingers. While she’s still catching her breath, eyes closed, Garak plucks the chip out from between the painting and its frame and tucks it into his pocket. He murmurs something to the assistant and zips up his trousers. “You’re clear to leave,” Julian says. “No guards for two minutes.” He watches Garak slip out the door and back into the public area of the museum.
“Don’t sleep at the office tonight,” Garak tells him, his voice rough.
Julian closes his eyes briefly and tries to let out an even breath. “No. No, I won’t,” he promises.
“003 just bought a seat on a flight this afternoon,” D calls from outside his office. The purchase receipt appears on one of his screens.
“Yes, that’s all right. He’s got the chip.”
He hears D stand up. She walks into his office and he’s very grateful for the opaque desk between them. “That was quick,” she says blandly. “I thought we’d arranged two nights for him at the Palacio Duhau.”
“I told him to be efficient.” Julian can hear the crack in his own voice. “You know how 003 is.”
“Yes.” D watches him. “You do too.”
Fuck.
He means to go home early, maybe pick up the flat a little, but there’s a crisis with 009’s tracking device and Julian loses track of time working with his team to get 009 a replacement to salvage the month-long operation. It’s past two AM when he looks at his watch and swears feelingly. Garak’s plane will have landed by now. In the ordinary course of things, he would just sleep here. But there’s a wild thing beating in his chest and he wants to see Garak very badly.
His flat is dark when he walks inside. “Lights,” he says, and has the barest second to register Garak sitting at his kitchen table before Garak has him pinned against the door and is kissing him hungrily. For a moment, Julian's mind is wiped clean of anything but the heat of Garak’s body against his, the flavor of whiskey on Garak’s tongue and the strength of Garak’s hands on his hips. Garak breaks away from his mouth to leave a series of biting kisses down his neck and Julian grips the back of his head and arches into it.
“You’re late,” Garak says against his neck. He lifts Julian's hips so that Julian can wrap his legs around Garak’s waist and Julian feels the hot press of Garak’s cock through both their clothes.
“Busy saving the world and—whatnot—” Julian loses the thread a little as Garak unfastens his trousers one-handed. “You know—you had two nights at a very nice—hotel—” Garak pulls his cock out and Julian can’t suppress a whine at the feeling of his hand.
“Two nights of thinking about your voice in my ear.” Garak’s voice is thick as he grips Julian's hips with both hands again, leaving Julian's cock bare between them. “Of you telling me—” He bites Julian's lower lip, not quite painfully, and then sucks at it as Julian tries to cant his hips up. Julian is scrabbling at his shirt, why is he wearing a bloody pullover, and then it feels as though the world falls away as Garak carries him into the bedroom, their bodies still flush. They collapse onto the bed, Garak sprawled atop him. Like this, Julian can peel Garak’s shirt over his head before Garak returns to his mouth, touch the planes of his bare chest and feel Garak’s heart pounding beneath his hand. “If you don’t unbutton your shirt,” Garak almost growls, “I’m going to tear it open.”
“Don’t you—dare—” Julian fumbles at the buttons of his shirt and gets them open just in time. Garak shoves his undershirt out of the way and sets one hand over the scar on his side as he kisses Julian again. Garak’s other hand plays roughly across his nipples, and Julian presses up into it desperately. It’s been weeks since Garak touched him like this and every touch is searing, like Garak is leaving his fingerprints all over Julian's body. His cock skids against Garak’s stomach, leaking. Julian shoves his pants down further and frantically kicks off his shoes as Garak rolls one nipple between two fingers. “Get your pants off,” he gasps, and it comes out a lot more like a plea than an order. He’s never seen anything more beautiful than Garak in nothing but briefs, the length of his cock distorting their shape. Julian remembers viscerally the feeling of Garak’s cock in his mouth—in his ass—and he wants it again, again and again for the rest of his life but he’ll settle for tonight. “Don’t come until I tell you,” he manages, and Garak’s eyes are hungry when their bare cocks slide together. “Christ, roll over, let me—” He takes Garak’s cock nearly to the back of his throat in one long motion. Garak grips his shoulders painfully hard at that first touch, and then almost convulsively again when Julian begins to suck.
“You have no idea,” Garak says, his voice strangled. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you—the way you look—” Julian swallows around the head of his cock and Garak almost shouts. “When you’re in my ear—” His legs are planted wide, every muscle tensed, as though that will help him restrain himself.
Julian grips his cock in one hand and pulls off it with a long, sloppy lick. “I know what you look like when you’re about to come,” Julian tells him, and lets the head of Garak’s cock bump against his lower lip. Garak looks like he’s almost in pain. “I’ve seen it. Don’t.”
“Q—” Garak’s cock is leaking, and when Julian licks across the head, he swears. “Just—”
“You won’t,” Julian tells him, squeezing the base of his cock a little even as Garak tries to thrust into his hand. He runs his tongue around the head of Garak’s cock. “I’m going to—I’m going to suck you as long as I want,” and he doesn’t know who this person is that takes control of his mouth but Garak groans. “As long as I want, and then I’m going to ride you until I come, and then—” Garak groans again, longer, and his cock jumps in Julian's hand. “Then you can.”
“Yes,” Garak says helplessly, and Julian takes him all the way down again. He keeps one hand firm around the base of Garak’s cock as he does it, just to be sure, and Garak’s fingers play through his hair as though he’s lost the ability to do anything more complex. Julian takes his time, speeding up, slowing down, until his jaw is sore and his lips are a little numb, just for the hot pleasure of the noises that Garak makes as he falls apart. Garak’s hands roam to his cheeks, his mouth, back to his hair, and Garak’s breaths are little shocky things like he can’t get enough air into his lungs.
When Julian finally pulls off for the last time, he leans across Garak to reach the lube and brushes his nipple across the tip of Garak’s cock. Garak exhales syllables that aren’t quite words and Julian tells him, “Not yet, 003,” though all he wants is to feel it as Garak comes inside him. He opens himself up, and Garak’s blue eyes drop to where Julian's fingers meet his body. When Julian sinks down onto Garak’s cock, he’s not sure which of them moans louder. “Not until I come,” he says again, because Garak twitches every time he says it, and then rides him in earnest, thrusting down in long rolls of his hips. “You said—I have no idea—what you want to do to me—” There’s pleasure bursting all through his body and he would come if he touched his cock, but he searches for just the right angle instead as Garak’s noises become more desperate. “Garak—what—what do you want to do?” When he finds the perfect angle, his mind shorts out and he chases the feeling, fucking himself harder on Garak’s cock until he comes across Garak’s chest.
Garak groans, “I want to keep you,” and comes.
Julian stays there, Garak still inside him and stares down as his brain catches up with his body. Garak’s eyes are already going from hazy to sharp, the tension creeping back into his shoulders, and so Julian leans down and presses his mouth to Garak’s in the best approximation of a kiss that he can manage right now. Then he lets Garak slip from his body and collapses next to him. There’s a druggy kind of satisfaction lapping through his body right now, and it feels so good that when Garak stirs and starts to get up, Julian catches his wrist. “Stay.”
Garak looks at him with—is that fear? “All right,” he says. If Julian didn’t know better, he’d think that Garak sounded almost uncertain. When Julian comes back to bed after cleaning up a bit, Garak pulls him close firmly, stickiness be damned, and Julian stares out into the darkness of his bedroom and thinks, what am I doing?