Dusk in Alder Run

by Merry Amelie

Title: Dusk in Alder Run
Author: Merry Amelie
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A spirited celebration.

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 172
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

This story has deep roots, reaching back to the first Arcadia, A Symposium on Love.

To Mali

Just as the sun was setting on a mellow Sunday in late May, Quinn ambled into Ian's office in their second bedroom with a big smile on his face.

Ian looked up from his research on Edith Wharton with relief. "I was just about to Ethan my Frome, so it's a good thing you showed up."

Quinn chuckled. "Well, then, glad I'm here to help." He rested his thigh against the edge of the desk, and presented Ian with the package in his right hand.

Ian unwrapped the festive paper to find a decorative box, which contained a bottle of Amaretto di Saronno. Memories sang through him, as he recalled an even mellower Thursday at the Tolkien symposium, which had given him Quinn. "Oh, Quinn! You brought me this after our first night together in Windover."

Blue eyes beamed at him. "Today is exactly eight years later, laddie."

Ian whistled. "Hard to believe so much time has passed. Just about a fourth of my life, so far."

"That's only because you were such a youngster when we met, lad," Quinn teased, the twinkle in his eye, reserved only for Ian, which had taken up residence on the day they met.

Ian gave him a shy smile. "I still remember your toast to us:

'To our grand adventures to come, together now and always.'"

He stood up and took Quinn in his arms. Their kiss was sweet, infused by eight years of love, even before the Amaretto graced their lips.

The room around them reflected their journey:

Eight-year-old Jedi in coarsecloth beamed at them through lucite, grateful to Quinn for putting them together with Photoshop; their older selves smiled serenely at them, confidently filling out their tunics; his and his books blended together in their bookcase, hopelessly jumbled after years of rubbing spines; Ian's charcoal sketch of Quinn grinned at them above his desk, all endless lines and smudged smile.

Ian lifted his chin to brush noses with Quinn. "Thank goodness for our symposium! Hard to believe we would have met otherwise, since we were teaching in different states, and all."

"Somehow, I think we would've met anyway," Quinn rumbled. "Can't imagine life without you, lad."

When he could force himself to disentangle from his husband, Quinn said, "Back in a few," as he headed for the kitchen. He came back with two shot glasses and put them on the nightstand, knowing better than to try to find a free space on Ian's desk. He opened and poured the Amaretto with a flourish. The crystal sparkled at them as it was filled with golden-amber liqueur.

Quinn repeated his toast of 2003, word for word, then they clinked their glasses. Looking into each other's eyes with pure happiness, they both took a sip at the same moment.

The first time he had done this, Quinn still felt the languourous satisfaction of orgasm deep in his bones. He'd gazed at Ian through half-closed eyes, not quite believing that the magnificent man in front of him had agreed to become his lover. The Amaretto had soothed his throat, still sore from his shouts as he came.

The first time he had done this, Ian still felt the phantom fullness deep inside him, a satisfaction he had never had before. He'd gazed at Quinn with smoky blue eyes, not quite believing that the magnificent man in front of him had agreed to become his lover. The Amaretto had soothed his throat, still sore from his shouts as he came.

Now, their gazes ignited as they anticipated anniversary fireworks, the likes of which they'd never celebrated before. Quinn shut off Ian's desk lamp with a decisive click, leaving only the soft, muted light of dusk to illuminate them. He flicked off the radio, for good measure. His laddie's sounds were the only songs he wanted to hear.

No shadow could ever obscure his lad's face from him, Quinn thought, when he reached for Ian eagerly. Hunger met hunger, as they licked all traces of the liqueur from each other's mouths. Glad to see Ian was wearing his gym shorts, Quinn batted them down with one swipe of his paw.

Ian actually shivered as he stepped out of them, the combination of Quinn's raw desire and raw power turning him on as nothing else could. The unexpected bareness of most of his lower body helped, too. He felt goosebumps forming on his thighs from the cool twilight air and from the anticipation of his husband's touch.

"Laddie," Quinn groaned, as he knelt down on the carpet to run his hands over the territory he had already conquered. Each goosebump was part of a topographic map of his herven, his to touch and caress. Ian's erection got in the game now, burrowing its way into the folds of Quinn's shorts, eager to get to the warmth it craved.

Humming his approval, Ian revelled in the feel of those massive paws sliding over him. "Feels so good," Ian whispered.

"That it does, lad," Quinn murmured into Ian's stomach. His fingers started skimming the edge of Ian's boxer-briefs, dipping under them in a random tease.

Ian's shivering intensified under Quinn's hands. His husband's touch always set off a chain reaction throughout his body. "Couldya go up a little?" he asked, trying to sound seductive, but his need came shining through in the breathiness of his voice.

"Nothing easier, my love," Quinn purred, in full big-cat mode now. He tucked his fingers under the heather-grey briefs, enjoying the feel of warm skin cooled a bit by a light sheen of sweat in the late May evening. He rubbed over Ian's outer and mid-thigh, slowly working his way inward, towards the delightfully sensitive inner thigh.

"Ah, ahh," Ian sighed, knowing the touch was coming and craving it. At last, he felt a broad thumb sneak into the crevice between his groin and thigh. Both tickled and turned-on, he squirmed in his husband's arms.

Ian's wriggling told Quinn he had almost hit the mark. His smile grew predatory as he moved his hand to reach the crisp curls at his groin.

"Do it!" Ian all but shouted. He adored Quinn's slow loving, but he just couldn't bear having that beloved hand so close to where he needed it most, without going on to touch him there.

Ian's words spurred Quinn to action -- he ran his fingertips over copper curls he could see barely outlined through the thin cotton of Ian's briefs. "Time to take these off, laddie mine," he growled. He inched them down, pausing roguishly for an endless moment, before he got to the bulge.

Ian did shout when Quinn pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, which was spreading charcoal streaks among the heather grey as it strained to escape its pouch.

Quinn's grin had never been more crooked than when he gazed into his lad's desperate eyes. He was careful to stretch the waistband out over Ian's cock, before declaring, "There!" and stripping Ian's underwear the rest of the way down with a casual tug. Ian's eyes danced with his when he kicked the briefs aside.

Quinn tackled him to the bed, scattering a pile of books in his haste, the better to feel all of his laddie. Starting over, he kissed Ian's tousled hair, copper strands damp against his lips. He moved on to his forehead, tongue dabbing along the little creases there. Then he slid his lips down Ian's nose and gave him a kiss while he was visiting.

Ian revelled in every caress; he knew when he was being spoiled. He answered Quinn's kiss and began his own explorations. Tracing his husband's jaw with his fingers, he relished bumping along the stubble. He ran his fingertips over Quinn's right cheek, an echo of one of his herven's favorite caresses for him. Brushing the back of his hand along Quinn's nose, he found, to no surprise, that it was bumpier than his stubble.

They shared a laugh at the familiar topography, with Quinn pressing the bridge of his nose into Ian's hand for more petting. Of course, Ian was happy to oblige, turning his hand so he could use his fingertips. Quinn snuffled in pleasure under his lad's lavish caresses.

Quinn finally captured that hand to kiss the palm, tracing the lines with his tongue. When his ticklish husband started to laugh, Quinn took pity on him and lengthened his strokes to loving licks, in his own unique form of erotic palmistry. Until...

They were unceremoniously interrupted. A shrill sound intruded into their erotic haze, when the phone on the nightstand rang. Both of them groaned, and not from arousal.

"I always forget to leave it off the hook before we get goin'," said Ian ruefully.

"No worries, lad -- just ignore it," Quinn sagely advised, ruffling his fingers through copper strands. He waited until voice-mail kicked in, then heaved himself up on his arms, so that he took much of his weight off Ian. "Well, laddie, what shall I do to you, now that we've had the second-round bell?"

Ian snorted. "And who won the first round, then?" he asked mischievously.

"It was a draw, of course," Quinn answered with a chuckle. "But now I have the upper hand," he teased, pressing his knees into Ian's hips.

"Y'think so, d'ya?" Ian purred, always a dangerous sign, when paired with the green fire of his eyes. One thrust of those amazing hips was all it took for Ian to make Quinn's eyes glaze over, and he seized his advantage by rolling them into the center of the bed until he was on top.

A startled Quinn slowly smiled up at him. "Knew it was a mistake to train you, lad." He huffed, "Look what you've done to your old mentor the first time you got the chance."

"And you love it, Master," Ian purred again, even more smugly than before.

"That I do, laddie. I'll not deny it." Quinn reached up to touch his cheek.

Ian leaned into his touch, never able to resist it. Now it was his turn to kiss his husband's palm. "Well, now, love," he said, echoing Quinn's earlier words, "what shall I do to you?"

Every inch the happy captive, Quinn whispered, "Anythin', lad. Anythin'."

Ian's answering grin could only be described as wolfish. "That's what I like to hear," he said softly. As a reward, he eased down and brushed Quinn's succulent lips with his own. He resisted the urge to take off Quinn's t-shirt, since he was enjoying the way it rubbed against his own Luke tee too much. Wanting to catch Quinn off-guard again, Ian got on his knees and tugged his herven's shorts and underwear down at once, after giving a light smack to Quinn's thigh to get him to lift his hips off the bed. He marvelled at the length of Quinn's legs as the clothing whispered over them.

Now they were both naked, except for thin t-shirts. They shivered, from excitement, as well as the chill of dusk.

Quinn gasped, completely unprepared for this move -- he'd thought Ian would undress him in slow stages, starting with his shorts. Goosebumps sprang up on his legs, so abruptly exposed to the evening air. Then he gasped a second time when he felt his laddie's incredible mouth on his cock. Little dabs of Ian's tongue around the head had him groaning and grunting in what sounded like Huttese. And when Ian suckled him in, Quinn almost lost it.

Ian grinned around his mouthful, giving Quinn a different kind of stimulation. He loved to surprise Quinn, to tease him, to keep him guessing about his next move. The gasps, the groans, the grunts -- all were his reward. And Quinn was moaning in earnest now. Guttural sounds interspersed with pleas, music to Ian's spirit.

Although he knew he was babbling, Quinn couldn't stop. He knew he was loved, though, and that freed him to do anything. Thrusting with abandon, he drove into the juicy mouth surrounding him with pleasure. He came with a shout, vaguely feeling Ian's lingering licks soothing him down.

Rolling onto his back, Ian gathered the big man into his arms, smiling as Quinn snuggled into his chest. No need to clean Quinn; Ian had already done that in a most erotic way. It was Ian's turn to gasp when he felt a huge hand gliding over his stomach. He'd thought Quinn was too tired to reciprocate now, and had tried to will down his own arousal.

But Quinn wasn't going to leave his husband unsatisfied, conking out before the end of the round. That gorgeous cock straining towards his hand was a great motivator. He teased closer and closer on every pass of his fingers, until he could feel the tip of Ian's cock bumping against the back of his hand, begging politely.

Ian yelped as Quinn closed his hand completely around it, feeling each callus as it grazed over sensitive skin. His cock felt overheated and ready to burst, after the endless foreplay. He thrust into that hand, desperate for just that little bit more of stimulation, of blissful friction. Crying out "Qui!" as he came, Ian relaxed into the sweat-soaked sheet under him. He almost fell asleep while Quinn was cleaning both of them, but he hung on so they could kiss and pet their way towards sleep together.

There was no better way to celebrate their first night together.