The Milestone Banquet

by Merry Amelie

Title: The Milestone Banquet
Author: Merry Amelie
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series
Rating: PG
Summary: Ian helps Quinn celebrate his decade of teaching at Luke.

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

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 157
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, and Carol
Mali Wane for posting
My former betas: Alex, Ula, and Padawan Sue

To Barbara

Quinn dug a finger under his starched collar, trying to loosen it unobtrusively.

He was surrounded by the cream and brown decor of the Luke Convention Hall, the new wing of Wookly Center. This was his first Milestone Banquet, and here he sat on Friday afternoon in his monkey suit. The banquet celebrated his ten years of service to the university, just as it honored his colleagues for every decade of teaching at Luke. He had gotten into the new brown suit that morning, grumbling all the while, soothed only by Ian's gentle touches as his lad knotted his tie. By the time he'd returned the favor for Ian, a vision in his tan jacket, his herven had already jollied him into a better mood.

He had just found out about the luncheon a few days ago, thanks to an e-mail from the Chancellor's office, reminding him of this landmark. He'd been surprised by the fuss; after all, when he had gotten tenure, there wasn't much made of it. The 'celebration' had taken place during 5th period coffee hour in the little room on the third floor, where he got to choose what to play among the used games of Scrabble, Boggle, UpWords, and an old Trivial Pursuit from the 1980s, which no one remembered who had unloaded on them. He, of course, chose Scrabble and wiped the board with all comers, even his department chair, Case, who was a formidable adversary.

Then Case, Ethan, and Evan had taken him out for a drink after classes at Farrell's Pub. Friendship and Guinness were just the combination Quinn had been waiting for. That oasis was the true highlight of the day.

He didn't have time for this now. They'd scheduled the banquet right in the middle of midterms, and next Friday was the deadline to submit warning rosters. He'd only graded three questions out of ten on his first exam, while he had to come up with another one for his Victorian Lit course in three days.

The only thing going his way was sitting next to him -- he could feel Ian's grin supporting him without even looking. He knew how lucky he was to have his lad by his side; the budget crunch had almost nixed the honorees' spouses, but Administrative Services came through at the last minute by letting them pay for most of the cost of their meals.

For some reason, they had been assigned a table with three mathematicians and their spouses, perhaps because English and Mathematics were the two biggest departments at Luke, which they tended to be at most universities. As far as Quinn could tell, Ian and he were the only English professors there. He had seen some of the math professors in the student center but didn't know them by name.

He was grateful for the tags they all wore, allowing Ian and him to have an easy conversation with them, after getting off to an awkward, silent start -- Professor Louis Bertrand and his wife Avril; Professor Elsa Riegert and her husband Josef; Professor Roberto Torrijos and his wife Mariel.

Unsurprisingly, the mathematicians were dissecting the budget cuts and arguing over which were necessary and which were misguided. Professor Riegert's pet peeve turned out to be the rationing of Xerox copies, to which her colleagues, including Quinn and Ian, nodded their agreement. Then the burly Professor Torrijos started writing on his napkin, almost shredding it in his enthusiasm. He calculated how much the cost-cutting of copies had saved, estimating it to be only three hundred dollars per month for the entire department, even including fewer repairs to the machine.

And, of course, the savings were outweighed by the inconvenience, sending the faculty scrambling for other ways to get information to the students, as Professor Riegert was quick to point out in a staccato burst. The Internet had never been such an essential part of teaching before.

It really hit home for Quinn, too. In the old days, he'd been able to make ten extra copies of each exam; one for his permanent file, the others in case there were light pages which were hard to read, or he had to hand them out to students who were not on his initial roster but were registered for the course anyway. Now, he made just barely enough and hoped for the best.

When Professor Bertrand groused, "I'd rather be grading my midterm than sitting here eating chicken surprise a la Luke," Quinn knew he'd found a potential friend. There was a reason Bertrand was considered the eminence grise of the Math Department.

Quinn smiled at Bertrand and Ian, sitting next to each other on his right side, mellowed by his complete agreement with the mathematician.

"Me, too. After all, I only have 70% to go." Quinn's blend of humor and sarcasm was pitch-perfect.

"At least you don't have to make a speech," Ian soothed, patting his forearm tenderly.

Quinn relaxed into his chair; Ian was well aware that he'd prefer giving a lecture anyday to talking about himself at these kind of events. A wry grin graced his face as he thought of one of his favorite scenes in The Fellowship of the Ring -- Bilbo's short speech at his 'eleventy-first' birthday party, in which he subtly managed to insult a good portion of his guests.

He looked around at the other tables; there were at least 40 honorees this year. If all of them had made speeches, they'd still be here long after 8th period had ended.

While not rubber, the chicken was also not the cafeteria's finest attempt at haute cuisine, as evidenced by Professor Bertrand's jocular remark. When Quinn speared a carrot, Ian winked at him and ate a green bean of his own as they cannily concentrated on their vegetables instead.

After they'd eaten, the Chancellor of Luke University, Finn Vellum, addressed the audience. It reminded Quinn of the many graduation speeches he'd sat through. At least Vellum knew how to do inspirational, though, putting his own stamp on the occasion.

Ian grinned. He'd heard many of Otto's speeches rallying the troops that sounded just like this. Now he knew what he had to look forward to in four years.

Vellum ended his speech with the sentimental platitude, "Luke is home to us all."

This earned him a standing ovation, a rousing conclusion to the banquet. Quinn and Ian said goodbye to their tablemates and got on the line forming by the door. On the way out, the Chancellor shook every hand and gave each honoree a gift, in Quinn's case a watch for his decade of service.

They ambled their way back to Taton Hall, lapels fluttering in the breeze, as they basked in the late March sunshine. Ian pulled Quinn's arm to head him towards a shortcut over the soft grass of the quadrangle. The students were out in force, studying and chattering as they lounged on the grass. A few of them waved to the professors, who waved back cheerfully while walking by.

When they were finally behind the locked door of their office, Quinn sighed in relief. Time to get comfortable. He loosened Ian's tie first, fingers lingering over the silk, and then his own. "Can't wait to get out of this monkey suit," he grumbled.

Ian's eyes gleamed as he grinned up at his husband. "Pity, since it really *suits* you."

Quinn's groan made Ian's smile deepen. "Ah, laddie, if you like it, then it's worth it."

"Looks great on you. And I'm not the only one who thinks so -- I could've sworn I heard a whistle from the back of the auditorium when I came to get you for the banquet." Ian chuckled. "First time I've heard a wolf whistle in class."

"Now that surprises me," Quinn teased. "Gotta get those kids some glasses."

It was Ian's turn to groan.

Quinn barely stopped himself from kissing him then. "But what makes you think the whistle was aimed at me?"

Ian blushed adorably, muttering a soft litany of self-deprecation. Deflecting Quinn's compliment even more, Ian reached for his wrist to unstrap the Aldera watch he'd given Quinn during their Christmas in Williamsburg.

"Hey, I love your gift," Quinn said, catching Ian's hand.

Ian beamed in pleasure. "Let's just see how the new one looks, okay?" At Quinn's nod, he took off the Aldera and put it in his husband's jacket pocket, patting his hip while he was at it.

Quinn handed Ian the watch that Chancellor Vellum had given him, still in its little case. It had a gold-tone medallion face, with the letters of Luke at the cardinal points, and a brown leather band.

The medallion flashed in the sunlight streaming in from the window. "Beautiful," Ian said as he buckled it on Quinn's wrist.

"Ten years," Quinn sighed. "Doesn't seem possible." He reached for Ian's hand. "Thank goodness I've had you with me for seven of them."

"No seven-year-itch, then?" Ian stroked Quinn's fingers, as playful as his question.

Quinn laughed out loud. "No chance of my getting a seventy-seven-year-itch, young man."

"Oh, Quinn," Ian whispered, gripping his hand hard, eyes showing the strain of abiding by Quinn's 'no loveplay in the office' edict.

Quinn saw that look and was humbled by his lad's restraint on his behalf. So he used the special occasion as an excuse to take his laddie in his arms, rationalizing with the best of them. He wanted to give Ian a kiss to remember. His lad's mouth was worth every bit of the mental gymnastics he used to justify it.

Ian's eyes widened at the embrace and at the avid way Quinn was staring at his lips. The edict clearly had gone out the window. He couldn't wait for Quinn to kiss him.

And Quinn knew it. He bent down to brush Ian's lips gently, then pressed into their softness, knowing just how much pressure would tantalize his lad and keep him guessing.

Would Quinn actually go further and deepen the kiss, right here in the office? Ian couldn't quite believe it when the tip of Quinn's tongue came out to play, and he shivered into the caress. His own tongue followed Quinn's lead, naturally in tune with his husband, as always. Their kiss flowed into a sweet dance, with Quinn's aggression gradually mellowed by his lad's suckles, the lead swaying back and forth in a sultry glide.

Quinn closed his eyes as he lost himself in the taste and feel of his husband. He relaxed in subconscious approval when he registered that Ian was keeping a bit of space between their hips, freeing him to concentrate on the kiss and not its inevitable effects.

Quinn's tongue was drawn to the roof of Ian's mouth, the smooth texture of his hard palate inviting his flicks and licks. He could happily stay right here, enchanted by this one perfect moment, until the cleaning crew came that night.

Ian was glad he was held so firmly in strong arms, since Quinn's sensuality was overwhelming. He loved when Quinn touched him there. He'd never even realized how erotic his palate could be, until his husband had shown him with his loving tongue.

Ian spared a thought to be grateful that the banquet was truly a milestone -- sparking the most intense kiss they'd ever shared at Luke.

Another landmark worth celebrating, and celebrate they did.