Hearth and Home

by Merry Amelie

Title: Hearth and Home
Author: Merry Amelie
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, PWP, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Autumn is for lovers.

I'm posting Arcadia and Q/O drabbles to TPM 100.

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 110
A chronological list of the series with the URLs can be found under the header 'Academic Arcadia' at the Master Apprentice ML.

My MA story page is here.

Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com.
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.

For
My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, Carol, and Padawan Sue
Mali Wane for posting
My former betas: Alex and Ula

Their first fireside kisses of the season came early this year.

At the kitchen table, Ian had looked up from his grading when he heard the rhythm of the axe out back. The sight of his husband chopping wood stopped him cold.

Completely ignoring the papers scattered across the kitchen table, Ian stared at Quinn, mouth slightly open. Despite the autumn chill, Quinn had taken his shirt off, and he glistened with sweat in the late afternoon sunlight.

Ian started to sweat himself, just looking at his husband. Those arm muscles flexing with exertion would soon be wrapped around him, that massive chest cradling his head. Lulled by this prospect, Ian lost all track of time.

Eventually -- perhaps sensing his gaze through the open window -- Quinn looked up and grinned at him. In a flash, they converged on the sill from opposite sides, their lips meeting hungrily.

"Warn a fella next time, willya?" Ian groused between kisses.

Quinn just chuckled and went right back to feasting on Ian's mouth.

Ian didn't even notice his cheeks and chin were coated in a sheen of Quinn's perspiration, and if he had, he would have revelled in it. One of the pleasures of their wooded yard was its privacy; the only eyes upon them belonged to a bluejay and a squirrel.

"Want some lemonade?" Ian managed to ask through a glaze of lust.

"Later," Quinn said distractedly as he suckled Ian's dimple. He tried to ignore his back's protests from the woodchopping and his current awkward position leaning against the windowsill.

Ian could see his discomfort in the crease of his forehead, however, and calmed himself by force of will. "How 'bout now?" he asked, reluctantly pulling away.

Quinn straightened up gratefully and started a series of slow shoulder rolls that did nothing for Ian's serenity. Ian made himself look away and head for the refrigerator. He needed the lemonade almost as much as Quinn by now.

While Ian was pouring, Quinn walked into the kitchen, the heavy tread of his Williamsburg boots pounding the tiles. He grabbed the dishtowel and swiped it over his face and neck. Ian handed him the first cup, and Quinn smoothed the cold glass over his forehead.

Entranced, Ian ignored his own drink. "Y'need to cool down. Care to join me in the shower?"

"Love to," Quinn said with a lazy smile, then guzzled his lemonade.

Uncharacteristically hasty, they left their cups in the sink and went to the bedroom. Quinn sat down in the easy chair by his side of the bed and unbuckled his boots. Ian knelt in front of him and yanked them off, followed by damp socks.

That left only Quinn's boxer briefs and jeans. Ian slid between his legs and ran a teasing finger over Quinn's groin, feeling his eager response even through thick denim. He unzipped his husband and pulled his briefs and jeans off when Quinn lifted his hips.

Ian didn't know which reached Quinn's shaft first, his fingers or his lips, the gravitational pull was so strong. He teased the tip with the point of his tongue and let his hand slide over the familiar hardness. Quinn's fingers tightened on his shoulders as his groans increased in volume.

Ian was straining against his own zipper by this time and fumbled it down with a shaking hand. He stroked himself roughly, deep in the rhythm he'd set with Quinn. His blend of grunts and suckles proved to be too much for his husband, who shouted his name as he flooded his mouth with semen.

Some dribbled down his chin even as he lost it himself with a strangled moan, Quinn's flavor a potent aphrodisiac. He dropped onto Quinn's thigh until his husband pulled him into his lap, head resting on his shoulder, spent shaft nestling into the firm warmth of his stomach. They relaxed together in the burnt orange glow of the sunset.

"Mmmm. Gotta chop a lotta wood this fall." Quinn kissed a copper curl burnished by the vanishing sun. He loved the feel of Ian's shirt and jeans against his bare skin.

Ian grinned and lazily licked a sticky drop of come from the corner of his lips. "I'm counting on it."

Quinn scratched the nape of his neck. "Ready for that shower now?"

Ian rose from his haven in Quinn's lap and pulled his husband up with him. Big hands made short work of undressing him, despite the dampness of his jeans, and they went straight for the bathroom.

Relaxed from their lovemaking, they soaped each other in a sensual massage. Ian's strong fingers kneaded Quinn's shoulders, arms, and back, knowing they were aching after his exertion. They slowly made up for the kisses they'd missed on the easy chair, in their frantic rush to come.

Quinn soaked in Ian's caresses with the warm water, both satisfying him deeply. Ian's lips were ripe from his kisses already, but he couldn't resist ravishing them some more. They were pressed together so closely that they had to disentangle to get all the soap off.

Running their hunter green bathsheets over skin pebbled from the cool air, they hurried to the bedroom to get dressed. Quinn fished in the bottom drawer of the dresser to find their flannel pajamas for the first time that autumn.

Ian winked at his husband as he did the last button. "Fancy a fire tonight? We certainly have enough wood, thanks to you." At Quinn's nod, Ian went out to tend the fireplace, while Quinn closed the drapes for the night.

They met on the brown hearth rug, which they'd picked to resemble the one in Padua. Ian, the master of thinking ahead, had placed berry gel and tissues on the edge of the rug. Quinn grabbed the checkered quilt, and they snuggled under it together, blissful in each other's arms. Flickering firelight bronzed them as they touched heated skin.

Their caresses warmed them more than the fire as they curled into one another. Their kisses started out drowsily but grew hotter with the flames. Ian grinned when he felt a nudge against his thigh; he was up for another round himself by now.

Ian pressed himself against Quinn's stomach for a tantalizing moment, loving his husband's growl at the feel of him. He unbuttoned Quinn's pajama shirt and took it off, managing the awkward motions with finesse borne of long practice. The room suddenly felt twenty degrees warmer.

Quinn threw off the quilt impatiently. He discarded Ian's top with a careless tug, and soon Quinn's bare chest, which had started it all, was rubbing promises into Ian's skin.

"Up for another go, laddie?" Quinn rumbled into his ear. Ian's deep kiss was just the answer he'd been hoping for. He mouthed Ian's dimple, then dipped his tongue in as Ian gasped. One day, if he had the self-control, he wanted to bring Ian to orgasm this way. Now, he had other ideas.

Ian continued his earlier massage, this time on Quinn's stomach. His fingers teased the waistband of Quinn's flannels, dipping below to pet crisp brown curls. He could feel the heat from Quinn's erection and met his smoldering eyes as he ran a lazy thumb over silken hardness.

Those pajamas were coming off now. Ian eased the elastic over Quinn's bulge, then pulled them down over endless legs. As soon as he was free, Quinn covered Ian with acres of bare skin and started to lap at his chest and stomach.

The feel of his husband's erection through flannel was almost unbearably exciting to Ian, and paradoxically made him want the flannel off. As if reading his mind, Quinn unsnapped him and shucked his pants. Diving on top of him again, Quinn just barely remembered to take some of his weight on his arms.

Ah, skin to delicious skin from head to toe. And the build-up had left them ravenous. They kissed greedily, their hips picking up speed all the while. Ian nuzzled into the crook of Quinn's neck and whispered, "Please."

Quinn gave a ragged sigh and stopped his thrusts by force of will, causing both of them to groan in frustration. Hot eyes locking with Ian's, he reached for the gel, which was slightly squashed from Ian's leg. Thick fingers prepared them both thoroughly, then Quinn was sliding home. He kissed Ian's nose and open mouth before he began to move. Keeping his thrusts slow, despite the temptation grunting under him, he was grateful for his earlier orgasm.

Ian's little gasps and moans were too much for him, and he started to pick up speed. He grabbed Ian's length, his fingers slipping along it, slick as they were with gel and pre-come. His thumb teased the slit, and that was enough for Ian. He came with a yell, his spasms bringing Quinn along with him.

Quinn tried to land on the edge of the rug and made it, with only his thigh heavy on Ian's stomach. He slid his leg to the side as soon as he could move again. They just lay there for a long moment, feeling the semen cool on their stomachs. Quinn stretched experimentally; just as he'd hoped, lovemaking had relaxed his back muscles. Ian wiped them both off quickly, then they snuggled into each other's arms again.

Murmuring drowsy endearments, they settled down for the night. Quinn had barely pulled the quilt on top of them when the fire's soothing music lulled them to sleep.

This story was inspired by the following TPM 100 drabble:

Historic AU (Arcadia)

The Williamsburg sun beat down on the smithy yard, where Quinn beat the andiron rhythmically. Ian poured molten metal into molds, channeling liquid fire.

Master and apprentice, the men's fire was not so easily channeled. Twelve years of sweating over the forge, and their sparks still smoldered, a touch away from conflagration.

In the crystal cold of a November gloaming, in the heat of the moment, the spark ignited long ago burst into full blaze.

Arms strong as iron bands drew Ian in, the smithy quiet around them in the dusk. Hearts pounding like hammers, they kissed in the Williamsburg moonlight.