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Julian had been in Garak's quarters dozens of times before, but never like this. Never with Garak's hand cupping the back of his neck, thumb stroking the vulnerable bumps of spine below his hairline. Never with his own fingers twisted in Garak's lapel, pulling him closer on the couch.
The kiss broke for a moment, and Julian drew back to catch his breath. Garak's eyes were shaded, lidded, holding a rawness Julian couldn't quite parse: intent, focused, and quickening his pulse.
"My dear," Garak murmured, and then he was kissing Julian again, but this time he shifted forward, and Julian found himself leaning back. It wasn't aggressive, not exactly, but there was a persistence to it, a gentle pressure that made Julian shift back almost without thinking.
When they broke apart again Julian was half-reclined, Garak hovering over him.
He’d followed him down.
Julian's took in Garak’s response by default—elevated heart rate, rapid breathing, tension in his ridges, shoulders—but before he could consider that further, Garak was kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the hollow of his throat in a way that made Julian's thoughts hopelessly dissipate.
Later, walking back to his own quarters with his uniform askew and lips tender, Julian replayed the evening. How Garak moved, how he’d seemed almost driven to follow as Julian retreated. Eyes on him. Always on him.
#
A week later, Garak visited Julian's quarters for dinner. The meal had been good. Julian had attempted a mostly replicator-less dinner, it had turned out half-decent, and they’d taken the requisite number of bites before finding an excuse to retire to Julian’s bed, locked in embrace.
The kissing was slower this time, more a process of discovery, but when Julian shifted to get more comfortable, he noticed it again. Garak's hands tightened on him. Not uncomfortably, but firmly. The ambiguous way Garak oriented toward him as he moved.
Julian experimented, pulling back slightly, and Garak followed, leaning in. Julian moved to the side. Garak's hand slid up to cradle his head, gently guiding him back. It was subtle, but it was there: an insistence, a pursuit, even in the small space between them.
"Everything all right, my dear?" Garak asked, and his voice was rougher than usual.
"Perfect," Julian said, and it was true. But as he leaned in to kiss Garak again, he observed.
#
The holosuite program was Garak's choice: a Cardassian historical drama set during the forming days of the Union. They'd watched for a while, Garak providing acerbic commentary on the historical inaccuracies, but eventually Julian decided it was time to move onto more interesting thing and pulled Garak into a shadowed alcove.
"Doctor, we're missing the assassination scene," Garak protested mildly, but he was already drawing Julian closer.
"I'm sure you'll tell me all about what they got wrong later," Julian said, and kissed him.
In the dim light, with the sounds of the drama playing out in the courtyard beyond, Julian lost himself in the warmth of Garak's mouth, the prickle of his claws on his back. But when Julian took a step deeper into the alcove, away from the opening, Garak followed immediately, smoothly, backing him against the stone wall.
There it was again: that pursuit, even in embrace. Garak's body was pressed against his now, one hand beside Julian's head on the wall, the other at his waist, and when Julian turned his head to breathe, Garak's mouth traced his throat, following.
Julian's heart hammered. It wasn't frightening; quite the opposite. There was a thrill in it, in feeling the intensity of Garak's focus on him. He had an idea what he was seeing, a puzzle piecing together. But he didn’t have all the pieces. Not yet.
#
Two weeks later found them in Garak's quarters again, Julian straddling Garak's lap on the couch this time. Garak's shirt was unfastened at the collar, and Julian's uniform had long been unzipped and shoved down to his waist. Julian's hands were on Garak's shoulders, Garak's were gripping his hips, and they were thoroughly, wonderfully lost in each other when Julian's combadge chirped.
"Ops to Dr. Bashir."
Julian groaned against Garak's mouth. "Bashir here."
"Doctor, we have a medical emergency in cargo bay three. Plasma burns."
Julian was already moving, engaging instantly. He pushed off Garak's lap, twisting to grab his jacket and medkit—
—and Garak's hands clamped around his waist, hard. Julian found himself yanked backward and sideways, and there was a dizzy moment of disorientation as his back hit the cushions. Garak's weight followed him down, those hands still locked on him with surprising determination as he pinned him below.
Then Garak froze.
For a heartbeat they were both utterly still, Julian staring up at Garak's face, at the surprise there.
"My apologies," Garak said, and his voice was brittle as he immediately released Julian and moved back. "I seem to have gotten… caught up in things. Please, Doctor, your patient needs you."
Julian grabbed his medkit, heart pounding, mind racing. "It's all right. We'll... we'll talk later."
But as he rushed down the corridor to the cargo bay, he wasn't thinking about plasma burns. He was thinking about Cardassian evolution, about packs and prey and instinct. He was thinking about the way Garak's hands had moved on their own accord to grab him, to keep him from leaving.
He was thinking about his own pulse, racing with more than just the urgency of a medical emergency.
#
"The Black Forest?" Garak asked, looking around the holosuite with polite interest. "An odd choice for dinner, Doctor. There don't appear to be any tables."
"We're not eating," Julian said. The program had rendered Earth's famous historical woodland in late summer, the light slanting through the trees, the air cool and rich with pine and loam. "I thought we could... try something different."
"How intriguing." Garak stepped closer, narrowed eyes belying his curiousity. "What did you have in mind?"
Julian pulled him in for a kiss, threading his fingers through Garak's hair, pressing close. Garak's hands promptly settled on his waist, responding with gratifying enthusiasm. Julian deepened the kiss, let himself get lost in it for a moment, felt that lovely way Garak's grip tightened, the way he leaned into Julian as if drawn by gravity.
Then Julian broke away, grinning, and took off running.
He'd gotten perhaps five meters before he heard Garak's surprised intake of breath. Then a low chuckle, dark and delighted, that sent a thrill down Julian's spine.
"Oh, Doctor," Garak called, and Julian could hear the smile in his voice. "Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
Julian risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Garak start after him, bearing changing with each step. The formal, measured posture of a spy-cum-tailor was gone; his movements becoming more fluid, instinctual;. Julian's heart kicked in and he took off in earnest. Darted between the trees, leapt over a fallen log, heart singing with exhilaration.
The forest was dense enough to provide cover but open enough for running, and Julian used every natural obstacle to his advantage. He could hear Garak behind him, already closer than expected, footfalls quick and purposeful. Julian laughed breathlessly as he dodged around a massive oak, then immediately threw himself into a sharp turn as Garak appeared from the side, cutting off his path.
Julian's speed saved him, letting him pivot and sprint in a new direction, up a gentle slope thick with underbrush. He vaulted over a small ditch, landed lightly, and kept moving. Behind him, he heard Garak following—not struggling with the terrain but moving through it intently, instinctually: a skill more ancient than the tailor, exile, or spy Julian knew.
The sound of pursuit sent waves of adrenaline through Julian's system. He darted left suddenly, then scrambled up a steeper incline where exposed roots provided handholds. Behind him, Garak's footfalls changed direction instantly, tracking him. There was something thrilling about being the focus of that intensity, about knowing Garak was utterly concentrated on him.
Julian reached the top of the rise and paused for just a heartbeat, listening. The forest had gone quiet—no footsteps, no breathing, just the simulated evening birdsong and the whisper of wind through branches. His should have picked up something, which meant—
His heart kicked hard against his ribs.
The silence wasn't empty. It was waiting.
Julian's breath caught as awareness prickled across his skin. The birdsong continued its gentle pattern, but underneath it—or rather, in the absence underneath it—something had changed. The quiet was different. Purposeful. Patient.
He turned slowly, scanning the trees. Nothing moved. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting shifting shadows that could hide anything. The underbrush rustled in the breeze, each movement now suspect. Julian's picked out every detail: the texture of bark, the gradations of green in the leaves, the places where shadow pooled deep enough to conceal a man.
Or a predator.
The thought sent heat spiraling through him even as his pulse quickened with wariness. Garak was out there. Close. Watching him with those sharp eyes that missed nothing, calculating Julian's next move before he made it. Julian could almost feel the weight of that gaze on him, could imagine Garak standing utterly still somewhere in the shadows, breathing slow and controlled while Julian's own chest rose and fell with exertion.
How long had Garak been silent? Thirty seconds? A minute? Long enough to circle around, to position himself perfectly for—
A branch cracked somewhere to Julian's left, sharp and deliberate.
Julian spun toward the sound, every muscle tensed, but saw nothing. His jaw clenched as understanding dawned. Garak had made that sound. Had wanted him to hear it, wanted him to look that direction while—
He spun and ran again on pure instinct, launching himself down the opposite slope. Behind him, he heard movement resume, closer than it should have been—much closer. Garak had been stalking him, silent and patient, and the sound had been bait to spark Julian into action.
Julian's pulse spiked with a thrill that was equal parts arousal and pure, exhilarating fear. The good kind of fear. The kind that made everything sharper, brighter, more alive.
He pushed himself faster, weaving between the trees, dodging and pivoting without breaking stride. Low-hanging branches whipped past, leaves brushing his face and shoulders. The ground was uneven, treacherous with exposed roots and hidden dips, but Julian's footing adjusted, finding purchase, maintaining speed. The forest blurred around him in streaks of brown and green.
God, it felt good to run like this. To use his body the way it was meant to be used, every muscle firing at full capacity. No holding back, no pretending to be slower than he was. Just pure, unfettered movement. His legs burned with the effort, his lungs worked steadily, and endorphins flooded his system with each pounding leap.
And underneath it all—woven through the physical joy of running—was the electric knowledge that he was being hunted.
Julian could imagine Garak somewhere behind him now, tracking, pursuing. Not tramping along with the thundering footfalls of a beast abandoning themselves to the chase, but the pace of a clever predator: one who kept a mind for strategy under the layers of pursuit and want. Garak would be pacing him, Julian realized. Letting him run, letting him think he was getting away, all while staying close enough to strike when the moment was right.
The thought made his breath quicken.
He splashed through a shallow stream, the cold water shocking, soaking through his boots. The sound of his passage was loud in the quiet forest, and he stumbled slightly on the slick stones before catching himself. He followed the streambed for several meters, then doubled back along the bank before cutting among the trees again at a different angle.
His heart hammered as he moved, every sense straining. Was Garak fooled? Would the water work? Or was he—
There. The softest whisper of displaced air, the faintest suggestion of movement in his peripheral vision.
Julian's stomach swooped with a mixture of panic and thrill. Garak was right there. Had been following so close that Julian's attempted misdirection had barely bought him seconds. He could almost feel Garak's presence at his back, could imagine those strong hands reaching for him, catching him, pulling him down—
Not yet.
Julian poured on more speed. His body sang with the effort, with the sheer physical pleasure of testing himself like this. The forest had become a playground, an obstacle course, and he was flying through it.
But Garak was still there. Always there. An invisible presence at Julian's back, patient and inexorable.
Julian risked a glance over his shoulder—just a fraction of a second—and caught a glimpse of gray-green fabric moving between the trees. Far enough back that Julian wasn't caught, close enough that he could be if Garak wanted.
The realization made Julian's mouth go dry even as heat pooled low in his belly. Garak was toying with him. Letting him run, letting him feel the rush of escape, all while maintaining perfect control of the situation. This wasn't Julian evading capture; this was Garak allowing Julian to think he was evading capture.
It should have been frustrating. Instead, it was intoxicating.
Julian veered right, found himself in a small clearing, and made the split-second decision to cross it rather than circle around. He was exposed for precious seconds—five, six, seven rapid heartbeats—before he reached the cover of the trees on the far side. He didn't hear Garak enter the clearing behind him, but he knew Garak had seen him. Knew those sharp eyes had tracked every step, planning.
The forest grew denser here, the undergrowth thicker. Julian had to slow slightly to navigate it, pushing through clusters of ferns and brambles that caught at his clothes. Thorns scratched at his hands and face—small stings that barely registered through the adrenaline. He could hear his own breathing now, harsher than before, and the thunder of his pulse in his ears.
But underneath his own sounds, he could hear Garak moving through the undergrowth behind him. Not attempting to part it as he moved through it, the way Julian was.
Julian felt wild with the joy of it, with the sheer freedom of being chased through this simulated wilderness by someone who knew exactly how to hunt. Someone who was choosing to make it a game, choosing to let it last, because the chase itself was the pleasure.
His body was his own in a way it rarely was—not Dr. Bashir trying to do his best, radiating professionalism and care. Just Julian, running flat-out, pushing himself to his limits because he could, because Garak could match him, because for once he didn't have to hold anything back.
The light was dimming, simulated dusk deepening into twilight, and Julian used the shadows to his advantage. He dropped into a crouch behind a thick cluster of bushes, controlling his breathing, listening. Silence. Then—there—a footstep, soft, to his left. Julian waited, muscles coiled, as the footsteps came closer.
But this time Garak didn't misdirect him into fleeing. Julian realized his mistake a second too late—Garak had learned his trick. Movement exploded from the other side of the bush, and Julian tried to bolt but Garak was already there, hands grabbing for him.
Julian twisted away, slipping partially free, and he managed three running steps before Garak caught him properly. An arm hooked around his waist from behind and Julian felt himself lifted slightly, his momentum arrested, and then they were falling.
Garak twisted as they went down, taking the impact, and they hit the soft earth in a controlled tumble that ended with Garak's weight pinning Julian face-down in the fallen leaves. Julian tried immediately to wriggle free—the chase wasn't over, he could still run—but Garak's hands clamped down on his wrists, pressing them into the earth on either side of his head, and Julian realized with a shock of surprise and arousal that he actually couldn't break free.
He was enhanced. Stronger. Faster. And Garak was holding him down.
Julian tested the grip, trying to twist his wrists free, and Garak's hands only tightened, immovable. Julian could feel Garak's chest against his back, the press of chu’en through layers of fabric, the rapid breathing, the heat of him. He tried to buck upward and Garak's weight shifted, keeping him pinned, the tremor that ran through Garak's arms the only sign of the cost of that effort.
"Garak," Julian gasped, but it came out breathless, exhilarated.
A low sound from Garak, almost a growl, and teeth grazed the back of his neck: not biting, just pressure, just presence.
Julian went utterly still.
His heart hammered, body singing with adrenaline and that base animal instinct that stuttered at the dark and sharp teeth and made his breath come quick and shallow.
For a long moment they stayed frozen like that: Julian pinned beneath Garak's weight, Garak's teeth against the nape of his neck, both panting. The tension in Garak's body, coiled and primal, unleashed by chase and capture, sat. Waiting for the trigger, the release.
Then Garak released one of Julian's wrists to grab his waist and flip him over. Dirt and pine needles were replaced with those sharp blue eyes: pupils blown, focused, intense in a way Julian had never seen on a Cardassian before. That race—and Garak within it—that so prized their hierarchy and rules and structured order were now fierce and possessive and hungry.
Garak's hand came up to cup Julian's face, thumb brushing his cheekbone, then pressing, intensity just barely held in check, all the while his pinning Julian's wrist down.
"Chu’lian," Garak said, rough, scraped raw. And he dove down.
He kissed consuming, demanding, claiming his mouth with an urgency that made Julian's head spin. Julian kissed back with equal fervor, free hand coming up to grip Garak's shoulder, trying to pull him closer even though there couldn’t have been a whisper of space left between them. He tested the grip on his other wrist again and found it still unyielding. The realization sent heat flooding through him.
Garak broke the kiss to mouth along Julian's jaw, down to his throat, and Julian tilted his head back to give him access, feeling the sharp scrape of teeth against his pulse point. One of his legs was trapped, but he wrapped the other around Garak's hip, pulling him closer. Garak made a new, low sound, then. Almost a purr. Almost a growl.
Julian tried once more to free his pinned wrist, not because he wanted to but because he needed to test it again, needed to confirm what he already knew: he was trapped.
Garak's grip shifted, pressing Julian's wrist more firmly into the soft earth, and Julian gasped. The sound was swallowed by the forest around them
"Stay," Garak murmured against his throat: not a command, not quite a plea, but a growl nestled in that space in between. Julian shivered.
"Yes," he breathed, and Garak's hand tightened on his wrist in response—almost convulsive— before finally, slowly, releasing it.
But Julian didn't move his freed hand immediately, just let it rest in the impression Garak's grip had left in the earth for a suspended moment before bringing it up to thread through Garak's hair.
But Julian didn't move, just brought his freed hand up to thread through Garak's hair as Garak kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. The kiss built, Garak's tongue delving in with a thoroughness that made Julian's pulse race anew, feeding upon the adrenaline from the chase thrumming through his veins. He arched up against Garak, grinding their hips together, and felt the hard evidence of Garak's arousal pressing against him—proof that the hunt had ignited something in both of them.
Garak broke the kiss with a ragged breath, eyes locking onto Julian's with that raw gleam. "You ran so well, my dear," he murmured, the low rumble that vibrated through Julian's chest. "So fast. So agile. And yet here you are. Caught." His fingers dug into Julian's sides, trembling gripping fabric and skin with a need that bordered on frenzy, as if the instinct were unraveling him from the inside.
Julian shivered, buzzing with the thrill of the escape attempt that had failed so spectacularly. He'd pushed himself to his limits with muscles augmented for speed and power, and Garak had still overtaken him, a force evolved for pursuit and capture. It was too easy to forget that under those layers of thermal and subcutaneous insulation that Garak was Cardassian. A hunter.
That heat pooled low in Julian’s core began to boil, a mix of surrender and defiance that left him aching and hips bucking. "I tried," he whispered, near-breathless with excitement. "I really tried to get away."
"And you failed," Garak growled, the word laced with satisfaction as he shifted his weight, pressing Julian more firmly into the earth. His usual composition was coming undone, control slipping in the best way from the heat of the moment as his body rocked—incrementally, unconsciously. And Julian reveled in it: the intoxicating, raw honesty of Garak's loss of inhibition, the way it stripped away the layers of deception and regulation and left only this primal need.
His hands fumbled at Julian’s joggers frantically, yanking the waistband down roughly over Julian's hips and exposing him to the cool forest air. Julian lifted his legs to help, but Garak's movements were too urgent, too impatient, tearing at his own trousers after the joggers were tossed to the side, clasp snapping in his rush, fabric bunching around his knees as he freed himself. Their shirts stayed on, the thought of parting long enough to remove them unthinkable in the frenzy, sweat-dampened material clinging.
Julian bucked again, not to escape but to challenge, and Garak's response was swift, capturing both of Julian's wrists again, pinning them with an iron, shaking grip. Julian tested immediately, twisting and straining, trembling from the effort. But Garak didn't budge, his body a solid cage, and the futility of it sent a jolt of arousal straight through Julian, making him gasp and arch, his cock twitching in the open air.
Fuck, He loved this—Garak's frenzy feeding his own thrill, his usual elegance dissolved into this desperate, animalistic drive. It made Julian feel powerful in his capture, desired beyond reason.
"Struggle all you like," Garak panted, breath hot and erratic against Julian's neck as he ground down, ajan slick and rubbing against Julan’s arousal in a chaotic slide. "It doesn’t change the ending. After the hunt: the claim."
Julian thrashed beneath him. He wasn’t holding back—hadn’t been for a while—but poured every ounce of power into resistance, legs spreading, body writhing like prey in the final throes. "Garak—ah—let me..." But his words dissolved into a whine as Garak's hand dipped lower, wrapping around Julian's length with a possessive stroke, movements hurried, almost clumsy in his haste. The touch was unyielding, mirroring the chase: Garak taking what he'd earned. His thumb swiped over the tip too hard, too sharp in a way that reminded Julian of those claws—and the knowledge had Julian moaning, hips jerking up instinctively for more.
"Mine now," Garak hissed, his own control fraying as he nudged knees between Julian’s own, aligning their bodies. He was already everted—must have bloomed sometime during Julian’s frantic writhing, and Julian's breath hitched as the gliding tip of Garak’s prUt—hot, insistent—nudged against him. He bucked again, a last defiant surge, but any words dissolved into a whine as Garak aligned himself and pushed.
Slick eased the way for that powerful, unsteady thrust, and the adrenaline coursing through Julian’s veins heightened the stretch, the gradual fullness that never failed to take Julian by surprise—the tapered organ allowing adjustment and easing whether against a wall, on a bed, or—apparently—on a forest floor.
He cried out, legs wrapping around Garak as if to trap the hunter in turn, but Garak set a relentless, erratic pace, each thrust deeper into him skidding Julian in the ground, claiming him with every snap of his hips. Julian fought back in the only way left—clenching around him, nails digging into Garak's back when his wrists were finally released, savoring every shudder and gasp that escaped Garak's lips. They continued that way—pulling, pushing, until the next thrust saw Garak seated deep inside Julian with a guttural groan that echoed the triumph of the capture, betrayed his fraying control.
Garak's teeth found Julian's neck again, biting down just enough to mark without breaking skin, and Julian keened, the pain-pleasure spiking him higher. "Couldn’t escape," Garak panted against his ear, thrusts morphing into that telltale Cardassian grind that meant the end was nearing. "You run, I’ll chase. Always catch you. Always claim you."
The admission, as close to the one that neither could say—not now, not yet— pushed Julian over the edge; he came with a shuddering cry, body convulsing in waves of release that mirrored the exhaustion of the run. Garak’s hips undulated twice, thrice more, and then he was following with a rumbling growl, tensing in ecstasy before collapsing over Julian. Both lay for a moment, spent and trembling in the aftermath.
Eventually, Julian brought a hand up to thread through Garak's hair. The soft thing in his heart reached out, emboldened by the joy of seeing Garak so utterly lost in him.
Garak raised his head, and this time when he kissed Julian it was slower, deeper. The tension in his body was beginning to ease, primal edge softening into the conscious deliberation that defined him. Garak's hand slid from Julian's face down to his waist, no longer holding down, but holding close. Their breathing still mirrored one another, heavy and deep, but Garak's eyes had cleared somewhat, wit returning to temper instinct. He looked down at Julian with satisfaction and wonder. Maybe even vulnerability.
"I..." Garak started, then seemed at a loss. His thumb traced Julian’s hipbone. "Are you quite all right?”
"Better than all right," Julian said immediately. His wrist tingled where Garak had held it—there would be a bruise— but no pain. Garak's control had been perfect even in the grip of instinct.
Garak closed his eyes briefly, relief flitting across his face. When he opened them again, he shifted his weight, lay beside Julian rather than over him, though he kept one arm draped across Julian's waist. "I believe I owe you an explanation."
"You don't owe me anything," Julian said, turning on his side to face him properly. "But I'd like to understand."
Garak was quiet for a moment, fingers flexing and tightening on Julian's hip. "Cardassians are descended from a hunting species," he finally said. "Some things of the old ways persist in us. Things we should have outgrown. Hatchlings are taught to school it into submission. But under certain circumstances, with certain stimuli, certain bonds…" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "It can trigger something. Something base. The blood quickens, the mind narrows to a single purpose."
Those words earlier. Always catch you. Always claim you.
“It's not rational, Doctor. It's not civilized. It's simply... what we were, before we became what we are."
Julian reached out to cup Garak's aural ridge. Garak leaned into the contact. "And you've been suppressing this?"
Garak’s lips pressed into a line. "As each Cardassian weak enough to feel the allure does. The instinct is about pursuit and possession, ensuring that what one has caught doesn't escape. It is… unbecoming.”
"Garak." Julian waited until Garak met his eyes. "Do I look unbecoming?"
Garak studied his face, taking in Julian's flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. "No," he admitted. "No, you look..."
"Exhilarated," Julian supplied. "Fascinated. Maybe a little smug that my hypothesis was correct." He shifted closer, knocked knees with Garak. "You held me down. I couldn't break free. Do you have any idea how strong I am?"
"I'm gaining an inkling.”
"And you still held me." Julian's voice dropped. "Not with technique or leverage—with raw strength. It was..." He struggled for the right word. "Thrilling."
They lay there for a moment, listened to the trills of simulated insect song.
"You ran," Garak finally said, a whisper of wonder. "You figured it out and ran. Without reservation, without fear."
"Well," Julian said with a grin, "maybe a little bit of fear. The good kind."
Garak's arm tightened around him. "You continue to hold surprises, my dear."
"I have one or two of those tucked away. For rainy days."
Garak laughed, surprised and genuine, and pulled Julian into another kiss: softer, sweeter, though no less intense for it. When they broke apart, Garak rested his chufa against Julian's forehead.
"From the very beginning,” he murmured. “You defy every expectation, exceed every assumption. I often think about how I might have missed this if you hadn't been so persistently, wonderfully stubborn."
"I’m told wearing people down is one of my best qualities," Julian grinned. He could feel leaves in his hair, pine needles under his shirt, dirt in uncomfortable places. He'd never been happier. "So. Same time next week?"
Garak's smile was full of promise. "My dear, you've just made yourself impossible to refuse. Though perhaps next time we should choose terrain with fewer hills and ridges. You're alarmingly good at vertical escapes."
"That's what happens when you’ve got these limbs," Julian pointed out, pleased. "You'll just have to get better at anticipating me."
"I suspect," Garak said, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of Julian's neck, "that I could spend a lifetime trying to anticipate you and still be surprised." A pause. “Thank you.”
They lay there in the darkening forest. Julian could still feel the echo of the chase in his blood, could still feel the ghost of Garak's grip on his wrists. He thought about Garak: civilized, ever-professional to all. Except him.
"Thank you for catching me.”