Work Text:
You’ve been on a road
Don’t know where it goes or where it leads
- “It Doesn’t Matter,” Alison Krauss
Julian has tried not to think of tomorrow.
Tomorrow, they will be home.
They will wake and work. They will sit across from one another at the replimat. They will discuss literature. Julian will focus on the characters and Garak will laugh, not unkindly, at his preoccupation with individual desires and liberties. They will part ways. And Julian may see him in the evening, when he comes off his shift in the infirmary, for a brief moment, passing one another along the promenade with smiles and nods reserved for friends bound for different points on the station.
But tonight….
Garak’s teeth on his throat, his fingers on his hips—leaving marks that Julian will wear for weeks because he cannot bring himself to banish them with the dermal regenerator—and the tailor’s voice rumbling dirty commands against Julian’s sweat drenched skin, bring the doctor’s thoughts crashing back to the bed they share.
Tonight is for them.
Their last night away from politics, from labels like Federation and Cardassian, from lines etched permanently in stone.