Master Apprentice
Archive
Charming
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Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series, Whimsy
Rating: PG
Summary: A wee bit o' blarney to celebrate Quinn and Ian's third St. Patrick's Day together, and the first of their marriage.
Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 71
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
The little shamrock was happy. Ian had taken him off his keyring, always a sign of a special occasion. Yes, Ian was attaching him to his lapel once more. He liked the change of scenery. There he was, out in the open air, admired by both his professors while he felt cool currents playing along his surface. Ian gave him a pat, and then he recognized the even more familiar heaviness of Quinn's thumb, part of the hand that had been carrying him from place to place for twenty years, until it had given him to Ian.
He felt the pressure of the men's chests upon him as they kissed, and the warmth generated by their friction. Rubbing for good luck, indeed. The last time he had preened like this was when his professors had gotten married: first, during their ceremonial kiss, and later, throughout their wedding dance. Now the little shamrock felt even warmer than he did in Ian's pocket, basking in the heat of his right thigh. Their kisses always seemed to last forever, just the way the tiny charm liked them. Then they were walking out the door towards the faster car, the one that Quinn usually drove. He looked forward to the wind on his glass and especially on his silver wire.
Riding among the leaves, the little shamrock felt at home. Evergreens, mostly spruce and fir, filled the neighborhood with color. He himself was a beautiful emerald hue, cousin to a few of the surrounding trees. Sensing potential in the air around him, he could tell that spring was just a breeze away.
The wind from the open car window was even stronger than in the front yard, and the wee charm vibrated against the stiff cloth of Ian's lapel. He didn't appreciate traffic lights and the consequent lull in the air currents.
After three turns and two lights, the little shamrock saw the pub he recognized from a few months back. His men had taken him to Gaughan's. From all the other shamrocks scattered inside -- merely paper and cardboard, he sniffed -- the small charm guessed it must be St. Patrick's Day again. He was just made for the holiday. Given by Quinn's grandfather to his wife on March 17th, he had been in the Masterson family for sixty years now. The little shamrock gleamed proudly in the low bar light; he still looked just the same as on that long-ago celebration.
He should have known it was his anniversary even earlier, since Ian's jacket was dark green. He was almost invisible against it and enjoyed being unobtrusive, just as he was in his home pocket in Ian's slacks. He'd had to get used to the snug fit of those trousers, after years of riding in Quinn's capacious pocket.
His professors went into the pub and met two other men that he had seen before. They shared the neighboring office at Luke, and had loud laughs that made him want to cover his wire.
Four pints of Guinness for the professors this year. The little shamrock was glad Quinn had enlightened his friends in the ways of stout. Tucked into their booth, the men tucked into their bangers and mash, watching Luke basketball on big screens. Many a time both Ian and Quinn had gripped the tiny charm unconsciously for luck when they watched the Skyhawks at home. Here he moved with Ian's cheers and slumps, and knew the game was going well by the men's roars. One last vigorous cheer and it was over.
His professors had ordered only one pint apiece, so the little shamrock was glad to drive home with them. It was cooler now, but he enjoyed it after the overheated pub.
The master bedroom was always warm, though. Talking and chuckling, his professors began to get ready for bed. Quinn's hand took him off Ian's lapel, put him back on the keyring, and deposited him gently on Ian's nightstand in his proper corner. The little shamrock heard the rustling of his men undressing. Though he was looking at the ceiling, he could tell that his professors had started their nightly ritual by their groans, sighs, and gasps.
He settled in for the night, secure in Quinn and Ian's love, knowing all was right with his little world.