A Symposium on Character

by Merry Amelie

Title: A Symposium on Character
Author: Merry Amelie
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A Princeton conference on The Charioteer
Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 94

I'm posting Arcadia and Q/O drabbles to TPM 100: http://community.livejournal.com/tpm100/

A chronological list of the series with the URLs can be found under the header 'Academic Arcadia' at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/master-apprentice/files/

My MA story page: http://www.masterapprentice.org/cgi-bin/qs.cgi?keyword=Merry+Amelie

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 and Ula

Thanks to Laura, for wondering about their arguments, and to my_cnnr for her research on Laurie's 'conker-colour' hair.

Summary of The Charioteer by Mary Renault: Laurence (Laurie) Odell idolizes his Head of School, Ralph Lanyon, who is dismissed in disgrace. Seven years later, he is saved by Ralph at Dunkirk. They both still have feelings for each other, despite Laurie's love for Andrew Raynes, a Quaker. Ralph and Laurie become lovers, and Laurie must decide between his idealistic love for Andrew and his earthy love for Ralph.

The dappled light teased Quinn's eyes as he strode down the Princeton tow path with Ian, hand swallowing his husband's. He was glad to be back; one semester as a visiting professor five years ago had whetted his appetite for the quiet college town. Now that he was here for a conference on The Charioteer, he wanted to revisit his old haunts. The stretch between Kingston and Princeton was his favorite, and he was glad he finally had Ian by his side to enjoy it with him.

He saw the reflection of Carnegie Lake glistening in Ian's eyes as they walked. "Can you believe Case has asked me to be Vice Chair again? I've turned him down more than that guy at Gaughan's last Friday."

Ian's lips quirked half-heartedly. He usually loved his rambles over the trails with Quinn, but was distracted by his worries about Quinn's recalcitrance. "Why won't you accept? Case hand-picked you for it."

Quinn usually found the crease between Ian's brows adorable, but now he refused to let himself be distracted. "I wouldn't last five minutes there. You know what I think of the department's hide-bound rules."

Ian nodded ruefully. "I do know, but you have the chance to change things. Case and the others want you working with them. Don't defy the Council, Quinn Masterson, not again."

"I will do what I must, Ian." Quinn stopped walking, pulling his hand from Ian's.

Ian had held back his annoyance while Quinn was estranged from his folks, but now it came bursting out of him. "You're just as stubborn as they are!"

Quinn stopped himself from answering immediately, not wanting to shout. His mouth a grim line, Quinn finally said, "I'm not the only one. But it's my decision, not yours."

They walked on in silence for at least a mile, a little more stiff-legged than before.

Ian sighed. "You're right, Quinn. I'm sorry." He held out his hand tentatively, and after a grudging moment, Quinn took it in his own. "It's just so frustrating to see you miss out on such an opportunity."

"I'm sorry, too. Didn't mean to bark at you. I know how important the post is, but I'd fit in there as well as I would at a frat party."

Ian snorted. "Too true. Guess I was living vicariously."

"So you'd like to be on the Council one day?"

"Oh, yes. When I think of the difference I could make..."

Quinn squeezed his hand. "And you're suited to it. Now that you're up for tenure, you should make full professor in just a few more years. Then you can take the Council by storm."

They had come to the end of the path by now, and started up Washington Road, lined with academic buildings amid the trees. Finally, they reached Nassau Street, where they had to walk through crowds on their way to Palmer Square. They drifted into a few shops, but the lines at the register dissuaded them from buying anything.

They'd checked into The Nassau Inn that afternoon for the start of the conference. They were scheduled to speak tomorrow, Quinn on Ralph Lanyon's strength of character, Ian on Laurie Odell's hero worship.

The hotel was an old, rambling place with a relaxing atmosphere, in which they immediately felt at home. Their room was on the second floor, overlooking Palmer Square.

Snug behind its heavy door, Ian took Quinn into his arms. "I'm too ambitious for my own good sometimes. Didn't mean to push you."

Quinn kissed the top of his head, copper hairs tickling his nose. "I know that, lad. Sometimes you forget how different we are."

"Especially since we're so much alike in some ways." Ian punctuated his remark with a deep kiss, drawing groans from both of them and showing just how alike they could be.

"Mmm-hmm," Quinn said distractedly, burying his fingers in Ian's hair. "But rules and regulations are your bread and butter. You thrive on committee work. I've seen you pore over the Luke Code of Conduct at 3 am." An amused Quinn felt Ian's flush against his own cheek.

"You know me too well." Ian's flush transmuted into one of arousal when the king-sized bed became the object of his contemplation. He undressed hastily, grinning when Quinn threw shirt and pullover off, tickling his stomach on their way to the carpet. He pushed Quinn onto the bed, and curled into him, eager to apologize in a more hands-on way.

"Never well enough," Quinn retorted, pulling Ian even closer.

Ian kissed Quinn's lips into softness, relishing their taste and texture. He pressed himself urgently against Quinn's thigh. "Drivin' me wild!"

Quinn's low chuckle tickled Ian's chin. "Takes a maverick, laddie mine." He put Ian's hand on himself with a groan, then grabbed him.

Ian wrapped cool fingers around him that warmed quickly with his heat. Quinn's hot flesh pulsed against his skin and he moved over it with possessive familiarity.

Quinn grunted out his pleasure as he thrust into Ian's hand. His own fingers tightened around Ian convulsively as he rode out the shock wave cresting from those talented fingers.

Ian erupted under his hand, its heaviness and heat too much to bear. He sagged against Quinn's shoulder. "What you do t'me, love."

Quinn smiled. "Same here, lad." He took some tissues from the nightstand and cleaned them both, then pulled the bedspread over them.

They were asleep in moments.

When Ian awoke, it was dark outside. He looked at the clock, hoping it was correct, and was surprised to see it was 8. The welcoming cocktail party, downstairs at The Yankee Tap Room, would start in half an hour. He slid out of bed, careful not to wake his husband. After a good wash, he ambled out to find the lights on, and Quinn at the desk, going over his lecture notes.

A quirk of Ian's lips conjured their lovemaking, propelling Quinn up from his chair to kiss him reminiscently. "Nothing at that party'll be as intoxicating as you, laddie." He let him go reluctantly, and headed to the bathroom for his own clean-up, knowing it would take forever with the little hotel soap.

The two set out for the Tap Room together, not quite sure of the direction. They asked at the front desk, and learned it was along that corridor. It was noisy and crowded, with almost every table taken.

Two professors Quinn had befriended during his sabbatical came up and invited them to their booth. Dark wood surrounded them, and they faced their colleagues across a table engraved with the initials of countless Princetonians. Introductions all around, and Ian sat back to watch Quinn talk shop with Kip Durran and Jessica Mead.

It was lucky Ian hadn't expected to be included much in the conversation, though Quinn made every effort. Kip dominated it, his aggressive personality apparent early on. "Critics have turned Ralph into a jaded manipulator for decades now, which shows an incomplete understanding of the text."

"No arguments here." Quinn sipped his Burgundy in contentment.

"That's right," Kip said. "You're the one who'll be tackling Lanyon's character."

Quinn nodded. "Yes. He's always been rather a hero of mine."

Jessica said, "I still remember your PMLA paper a few years' back. Right on the money, if you ask me."

Quinn smiled. "Thank you. I'll have a tighter focus tomorrow."

Kip grabbed a handful of peanuts. "Five o'clock, right?" At Quinn's nod, he said, "I'll be there." Turning to Ian, he asked, "And what's your topic?"

Ian grinned engagingly. "Laurie's hero worship."

"Good choice." Kip finished his wine. He and Jessica rose to leave. "See you later, fellas."

Left on their own in the booth, the party still in full swing around them, Ian and Quinn toasted each other and the start of the conference. Since they'd missed dinner, they ordered meatloaf, a Tap Room specialty, and sat back to enjoy the unexpected pleasure of sharing a bench in privacy.

"I used to eat here all the time. It's good to be back." Quinn pressed his thigh against Ian's, chuckling softly at Ian's gulp of surprise. Sixteen months of marriage had given him a new ease, especially in the depths of a sheltering booth.

"Nice atmosphere. I can feel the tradition." Ian pressed back against his husband, sea-green eyes beaming. Teasing aside, Ian tended to pick up vibes on his travels, and enjoyed sharing them with Quinn.

Quinn grinned. "So can I." He couldn't afford to get closer, or his body would react. Deliberately changing the subject, he asked, "When are the Skyhawks and Tigers playing this year?"

"Not until April. Our fourth away meet." Ian tapped his feet on the wooden floor, sending vibrations up Quinn's leg.

Quinn smiled -- he'd been expecting the drumming, and realized that Ian had held himself in check for Kip and Jessica. "I'm looking forward to coming back already."

"So am I."

Their meal came and they dug right in. The mashed potatoes and meatloaf with gravy were a good choice in the freezing weather.

"Do we meet for breakfast here?" Quinn asked.

"No. There'll be a spread in McCormick Hall." Ian sipped his water.

"That'll save us time in the mornin'." Quinn grinned as if he knew just what to do with those extra minutes, and Ian joined him.

"Y'know, in this light you and Laurie could be brothers. Your hair's the same reddish brown." Quinn brushed the strand spiking up near Ian's forehead which always enchanted him.

Ian grinned in pleasure. "Tell that to Monty -- I've a feelin' two brothers are plenty for him!"

Quinn beamed, delighted with Ian's gentle reminder of his place in the Prentice family.

After settling the bill, they headed back to their room, a little more sure of the direction this time.

Quinn turned up the heat as soon as they came in, while Ian clicked on the TV. Ripping Yarns was on PBS, and one of their favorite episodes at that -- Across the Andes by Frog. They got under the bedspread to enjoy the adventures of Captain Snetterton. Fully clothed, near legs entwined, they fell asleep between one hop and the next.

They woke together the next morning, the bright line of light between the curtains better than a wake-up call. Their shirts and slacks were thoroughly creased, Ian's hair sticking up even more than before. Quinn ran his hands through it, happy he'd never succeed in taming it. Ian scratched the collar imprint on his cheek, looking like a five-year-old at a sleepover, while Quinn turned it down for him with a tender hand. Quinn used the bathroom first, giving Ian valuable snooze time, then Ian took his turn, giving Quinn valuable prep time for his lecture.

But no time for anything more than a kiss or two, if they wanted to catch the first speech, so Ian pushed Quinn against the door and made a meal of his mouth. More nutritious by far than anything the university could offer.

At five of eight, they headed over to McCormick Hall, where most of the talks would take place. A placard at the entrance directed them to the conference rooms.

Name tags in place, they chatted with their colleagues over cinnamon rolls and coffee. They attended a speech on Lanyon's influence, which traced Ralph's effect on Laurie through years of separation, then one on their public school days.

They ducked into an empty classroom afterwards, since Ian's lecture wouldn't start for fifteen minutes. Squirming into student seats, they glanced ruefully up at the single professor's chair by the podium.

Legs stretched out before him, Quinn sighed. "Reminds me of my dream. Remember the one where we attended Bailor together? Ralph and Laurie at school bring it all back to me."

"Oh, I love that dream! Would've been wonderful, meeting you so young."

Quinn smiled. "Schoolboy crush, eh, lad?"

"Mmm-hmm. Literally your lad, then." Ian grinned mischievously up at Quinn, resisting the impulse to kiss him in such tenuous privacy.

Quinn winked, good at catching Ian's stray throughts. Checking his watch, he opened his copy of The Charioteer, while Ian studied the notes for his talk.

Back to the conference, and Ian's lecture on Laurie's hero worship of Ralph Lanyon. He started at 11 sharp, an audience of forty-five assembled before him.

"Ralph was Laurie's male ideal. He admired his strength, leadership and intelligence, and tried to emulate him in handling love and adversity. Renault set the tone by having Laurie talk about him before the reader ever meets him, thus allowing us to see him through Laurie's eyes before offering us an unfiltered view."

Quinn enjoyed this strong start, focusing on his favorite character with delight. Ian had shown him excerpts of his paper, but these glimpses had not done it justice.

When the lecture was over, Quinn felt as if he were actually in bombed-out London in the early stages of World War Two. Ian came up to him afterwards, glowing with exhilaration. Quinn was glad they could go to lunch now; Ian was too wired to sit still for another lecture.

Quinn led him to Witherspoon Street, dotted with restaurants and coffee shops. The Alchemist and the Barrister drew them in. When their server brought a bread basket with four types of rolls, they knew they'd made the right decision. Menus in hand, they basked in the colonial atmosphere around them. Portabello raviolini won the day.

Quinn sipped his water. "Y'know, I was actually tempted to give you my copy of The Phaedrus right before we left Windover." Ralph had given his to Laurie when they parted at school.

Ian beamed. "That would've been lovely."

Quinn grinned back. "Guess I was too embarrassed. I was afraid you'd think it sentimental nonsense."

"Hardly." Ian had perfected the art of the secret smile, and used it now, even though he no longer had to.

They lingered over lunch, so they barely had time for cappuccinos at A Small World, just up the block. It reminded them of the colorful student hangouts on Twileque Avenue, and the coffee was far better than the watery concoction served at the conference.

Undergraduates filled almost every nook and cranny in the little shop, since the semester was in full swing. There were advantages to scheduling a conference over summer vacation.

After waiting a few minutes for a table, they set their tall glasses down. Ian licked foam from the rim, grinning at Quinn's subtle flush. Almost four years now, and the magic between them was there in force.

They walked back to McCormick Hall afterwards, eager to hear a talk on Alec Deacon's friendship with Ralph and Laurie, as well as one on how military rank affected relationships of the period, given by Quinn's friend, Jessica.

"Enjoying yourselves?" Jessica asked when they came up to her after the lecture.

Quinn grinned. He knew what she was really asking. "Good job, Jess. You illustrated the way the British class system was reflected in the military."

Jessica smiled. "Thanks. I enjoyed doing the research. My granduncle was a Lance Corporal, so he really brought it home to me."

Quinn nodded. "Lucky to have a first-hand account."

Jessica's smile deepened. "Yes, indeed. He's quite a fellow."

"My grandfather was in the Merchant Marine, just like Ralph. He used to tell the wildest stories." Ian's eyes gleamed in memory.

Quinn put a hand on Ian's shoulder and kept it there. "I can imagine."

Despite being 'out' for so long, Ian grinned in pleasure. He loved it when Quinn staked his claim in public.

Jessica tried not to stare at that proprietary hand. When Quinn had introduced her to Ian yesterday, the first thing she'd noticed was their matching rings. Amazing. He'd had no hint of a love life when she'd met him five years ago, and now this. She had to give him credit for the easy way he'd said, "my husband."

And Ian. She'd have mistaken him for a grad student. Must be his engaging smile, especially when directed at Quinn. How had she missed the gossip about this magnetic pair?

Quinn put his paper on the podium, rousing her from her reverie. After a few more pleasantries, Jessica and Ian fortified themselves with donuts, while Quinn went over his notes. His lecture would begin in ten minutes. He relaxed into his calm center, with Ralph Lanyon as his focus. He didn't notice people arriving, the chattering around him, the knocking in the pipes. His world narrowed to a single point -- Ralph.

"Lanyon's character was forged in adversity: his love for Laurie, which his conscience would not let him share; his dismissal in disgrace from public school, where he'd been Head of School; his rescue of Laurie, only to be told erroneously that he had "died of wounds"; his own war injury, which kept him from the command he desperately wanted; his decision to take his life, when his choice of lover threatened Laurie's precarious happiness."

Ian felt like he was reading a book, rather than listening to Quinn's speech, so engrossed was he. Ralph's wasn't the only character forged in adversity; Quinn had been dealt a rough hand, too. By the time Quinn finished, Ian was eyeing the white turtleneck under his tan jacket, lost in a Blitz blackout.

Quinn was almost as wired as Ian after his talk, and had even more time to come down from it, since it was the dinner hour. They knew better than to bother with the cafeteria, what with all the good restaurants on Witherspoon Street, so they just walked over to Theresa's for a signature pesto pizza. Five couples were ahead of them, so they gave their names and browsed at Micawber Books for fifteen minutes before they were called.

The pizza was even better than Quinn remembered, and Ian liked it, too, judging by the number of slices he cheerfully downed.

"Well, what'd you think of the conference?" Quinn asked, knowing Ian's opinion of the pizza already.

Ian sipped his Evian. "I was pleasantly surprised at the change in Ralph's status over the last decade. I don't have to apologize for liking him anymore."

Quinn nodded. "Nor do I. Yes, that's what pleased me the most. I feel like we've helped restore his reputation."

"So many critics have dismissed him as manipulative and promiscuous. It's a pleasure to focus on his good points." Ian pushed his plate aside. He got out his MasterGuard before Quinn, a tribute to his youthful reflexes, honed by years of gymnastics.

It was just too cold for ice cream at Thomas Sweet, but Quinn promised he'd take Ian for a blend-in in April, when they returned for the gym meet. They headed back to The Nassau Inn and dropped to the bed, fully dressed. The heat kicked in just after they arrived.

Quinn nestled in Ian's arms, basking in the warmth of his kisses and caresses. One deep kiss led to another while they shed one layer after another until they got to skin. Under the covers, then, with more kisses and friction to keep them warm.

Quinn rubbed his leg up and down Ian's as he took him in hand, loving his cries of pleasure. He reached over to the nightstand, arm heavy on Ian's stomach, and found the gel by feel in its single drawer. He coated Ian first, relishing his cries deepening to groans. He let Ian slick him, knowing how much he enjoyed it, and moved on top of him.

Quinn gave him a lingering kiss, then pushed inside in increments, holding himself in check until Ian adjusted to him. Ian's eyes were deep sea green now, and Quinn was already lost in their depths. His body took over, instinctively knowing whether Ian needed his thrusts short or long, fast or slow. And he needed them all, as did Quinn himself.

Quinn hung on for as long as he could, despite the overwhelming stimulation, then just let it all go, Ian frantic under him until he undid him with just the right touch.

Quinn's arms gave out and he dropped on Ian with a grunt that was instantly echoed. As soon as he could move again, he rolled to the side, hearing Ian gasp in relief.

A few steady breaths later, Ian found the tissues by feel. Clean-up, though erotic, was not enough to cause more than a stir, sleep exerting the greater pull.

This conference, like their first in Windover, had truly become a symposium on love.