He’d first noticed Garak’s hands in his shop. Julian had come by to pick him up for lunch, and was chattering mindlessly when he stopped short, flustered, and tried to find a plausible reason for losing his train of thought. Even if he was ready to acknowledge that he was looking at Garak’s hands, and he wasn’t, absolutely was not ready to admit that even to himself, how absurd to say it was his grip on the sonic seam-ripper that had so embarrassingly pulled his attention from his story. Now, if he had been stroking a piece of fabric, some velvet or silk, that would at least make some sense, but handling such a prosaic piece of work equipment?
Of course Garak chose that exact moment to pick up a piece of tholian silk, fingers trailing over the fabric as he folded.
bee-squared-official
