Changes

by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only

Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Their new life together...

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 64
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.

To Alex, Ula, and Nerowill, my friends and betas extraordinaire

Quinn slid a photo of Ian and himself into a lucite frame, and added it to their collection on the teak bookcase. They'd had dozens to choose from, thanks to Keith and Jane, but one had stood out as their favorite wedding picture. Though they looked handsome in every frame, their tuxes with tartan ties immaculate in each shot, this one was luminous. Both were beaming, arms around each other, so much light in their eyes that the automatic flash had been superfluous.

Quinn ran his finger over Ian's cheek through the lucite, a smile gracing his lips. His groom. He moved the piece of driftwood from their first cruise to a lower shelf, along with their graduation pictures. Their lives had been filled with so many blessings that the teak case was getting crowded.

As were his desk drawers, with all the duplicates of the forms they'd filled out to formalize their new status. Upon the professors' marriage, the workings of bureaucracy became a pleasure for the first time since Ian had been given his tenure-track position at Luke.

Quinn and Ian had opted to keep their own last names, deciding that a hyphenate was just too cumbersome. For some reason, Bant had suggested Masterson-Prentice, rather than vice versa, eyes agleam. They were probably better off not knowing why.

They'd been in an HMO the past couple of years, since the traditional plan was prohibitively expensive, and received a letter from the company at their home address about a week after they'd come back from Windover.

Quinn opened it at his desk, Ian resting right hip and hand on the cool wood. "Ah, our new cards." He handed one to Ian with a grin, thumb running over the large number of embossed letters.

Ian looked it over with a smile of his own. Both of their names appeared on each card. "Nice."

They pulled the old cards out of their wallets and put the new ones in, next to their already-broken-in joint MasterGuards.

"Allow me," said Ian, getting the scissors from the top drawer and cutting both outdated cards in half. He shared a satisfied grin with his husband as the pieces slapped against the wood of the wastebasket.

From the first word of Quinn's proposal, change had permeated their once-orderly lives. Changes at school, changes on the home front.

Since they planned on moving within the next few months, the bills -- gas and electric, cable, phone -- would not be re-directed until then.

Said telephone rang and Ian picked it up, since his hip was blocking Quinn from the receiver. It was his mother, her first call since they'd been home. She'd clearly been giving them their space.

Quinn heard a tone in Ian's voice, confident and jaunty, that he'd heard at Roma after their marriage vows. It suited him down to his Timberlands. While Jo and Ian were still talking, Quinn got out the card that had been slipped under the door of their office that morning. It was an oversized wedding card "From all of us" that had been signed by forty-eight of the fifty people working at the English Department on the Von D'Anakin campus. Quinn was sure that Jessica, the chair's secretary, had picked it out when he saw the interlocking rings on the front; she'd always had impeccable taste. There were personal good wishes and cartoon squiggles inside, and he even noticed some he'd missed earlier.

Tucked into the envelope had been a debit card with their names on it, good for the restaurants at the student center. Quinn could now have the pleasure of paying for both of them, with cash or the card, and not think twice about it. Their lunch tomorrow would be all the more enjoyable as a result.

Ian hung up and said, "Mom's been on the phone the whole week. The same thing happened after Monty and Kathy's wedding -- half the family called to tell her what a good job she'd done, and to congratulate her." He left his perch on the desk to lean down and kiss Quinn.

"Mmmm. The proof is in the puddin', lad." Quinn deepened the kiss, pulling Ian to him by the back of his thighs so that he straddled Quinn's chair.

Ian wriggled a bit to get comfortable, not so incidentally teasing Quinn with his warmth and perfectly placed weight. "So true," he purred against Quinn's lips.

"Ah, the advantages of a home office," Quinn murmured, each word meriting its own kiss on Ian's mouth and cheeks.

"Yeah, still can't do this at work," Ian said, presenting the left side of his neck for nuzzling.

"Don't think the school chairs could take our combined weight anyway." Quinn's chuckle stirred the small hairs on Ian's neck.

Ian laughed. "Not a chance." His hands were warm under Quinn's t-shirt, patting his stomach. "Especially when we're so...active." He punctuated the sentence with a wiggle.

"Admit it -- you got your doctorate in teasing," Quinn said just before devouring Ian's insouciant mouth.

"You amaze me, Professor. How'd you guess?" Ian's fingers moved to rub Quinn's chest under his shirt.

"Must've been your wayward lips, lad," Quinn said, sampling said delicacy again.

Ian eased the shirt over Quinn's head and let it drop to the carpet. "What about my hands, then?" he asked impishly, stilling them on Quinn's shoulders until he got his answer.

"Could've been them too," Quinn allowed, eager for Ian's massage to resume.

"And how 'bout ma chin?" Ian stroked Quinn's chin with the cleft of his own, stubble catching pleasantly as he nuzzled.

Ever captivated by that cleft, Quinn said, "Ask me a hard one..." The chair creaked when Quinn snugged Ian in closer still.

Ian sighed and got up reluctantly, unwilling to test its limits. "Can I interest you in a practicum, nin herven?" ('my husband' in Sindarin)

"As long as you're my professor." Quinn took Ian's proffered hand and rose from the protesting chair.

"Ah, night classes." Ian kept his hand in Quinn's as they headed for their bedroom.

"My favorite kind," Quinn said, squeezing the fingers that his own engulfed.