Empirical Results

by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only

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

Rating: R

Summary: The Empire State Gymnastics Championships

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 74
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

This time of year was hard on Ian. Taxes were due in a few days, and he had yet to give Monty the paperwork. His second midterm in Intro Lit was at 8 am on Thursday. To top it all off, the last meet of the season was on Saturday, the Empire State Championships.

Luke would be facing both The Vaderbilt Maulers and The Darthmouth Invaders in the final. Luckily, the NCAA had made the smart decision to keep the ten point scoring system. In Olympic-eligible competition, the judging had become truly byzantine, a series of numbers that were meaningless except in relationship to other scores. Skating had done this too, and the audience no longer had a clear understanding of just what a good score was. Collegiate tabulation was clearly better, and both Coach Rance and Ian hoped it would stay that way.

Unfortunately, the Skyhawks would have to travel to Mossley for the meet, since the Maulers were hosting it. No home gym advantage this time for Luke. They'd leave by team bus from the LAC at 8, and the meet would begin at noon.

Quinn was driving there, along with Case, Ethan, and Evan. The English Department had become the team's biggest boosters, even sponsoring a fundraising raffle with a huge plush skyhawk as the prize.

The graduating seniors were the standouts this season, which made rebuilding more difficult with all their high scorers leaving. Ian had taken to looking for recruits in his intro courses, and found a possible high bar starter and a rings specialist. Now he'd have to ask Rance if there were any scholarship funds available for the students in the autumn semester.

Meet day was a blur of activity, as usual. Breakfast for Ian was an oatmeal bar and orange juice, but the meat of the meal was a juicy kiss from Quinn. He put his hands on Ian's shoulders and devoured his mouth. Their passionate kiss for luck had become a tradition before every competition, and buoyed Ian throughout the stresses of the day.

He reluctantly pulled away to get his warmup jacket. Quinn had transferred the little shamrock to the zipper-pull earlier that morning. "See ya this afternoon, love. Don't forget the tickets. You're right by the p-bars, just where we need the biggest rooting section."

"Good luck, lad!" Quinn called as Ian headed out the door.

ESPA would be there to cover Luke's first televised meet. The sports channel had sent former Olympic gymnasts and color commentators, and the students were awed to be in the same gym with the Olympians. Ian had to calm a few cases of stage fright on the bus. The Luke fight song helped, as did Rance's pep talk.

The Vaderbilt Athletic Center dwarfed the LAC; thousands of spectators had turned out for the championships. Ian and Rance shepherded the kids through the security check, where the picture IDs on their warmup suits were scrutinized. They got them into a team huddle as soon as they arrived on the floor, not wanting nerves to take over in the noisy, crowded arena.

"Just like any other meet," Ian said, experience giving his words weight. The students knew that he'd led the Jedai team to their state championships five years before, and were more than a little in awe of him. Ian could feel them calming, putting their game faces on.

He stared into the blue section of the stands, the bright lights for the TV cameras making it harder to find Quinn near the parallel bars. Luckily, Quinn and the others were waving, knowing Ian would look for them. Ian put his hand behind his right ear and pulled a lock of hair, a private greeting between the spouses.

Quinn saw Rance and Ian putting numbers on the gymnasts' backs, and patting them, all part of the pre-game ritual. Then Ian started to pace the sidelines as usual, nervous energy needing an outlet.

Their first event, determined by seed, was the pommel horse. Ian was glad that they would get it over with, for it was the men's equivalent of the balance beam, fraught with the possibility of falls. Luke's two specialists went first; their circles were fast and tight, legs straight and toes pointed. Ian noted with approval the precision of their hands on the pommels, the spot exact to give them the momentum they needed to complete the routines. Perfect armstands finished the exercises, along with a burst of applause from Skyhawks fans. Ian fancied he could make out Quinn's strong cheers. A 9.05, later thrown out, was the lowest Luke score, 9.625 the highest, earning Team Hawk the second spot in the first rotation.

Quinn remembered the first time Ian had performed on this apparatus for him. He'd marveled at his lad's focus and drive. Ian's scissor kicks had opened up new vistas for him to enjoy, and when they'd gotten home that evening, he put Ian's flexibility to better use.

Vaderbilt had drawn floor exercise, with Darthmouth on vault. The Maulers were expert tumblers and spinners, their red and black outfits menacing as they advanced across the mat, leaping to a first place showing. The crowd roared, matching pennants fluttering throughout the arena. The Invaders were easily winded for a team in the final three. A few problems with landings, and they were stuck in third place in the early going.

The still rings was the next apparatus for the Skyhawks. They had no standout athletes on this event. More than the other equipment, rings was a test of pure brute strength, the iron cross move especially unforgiving. The kids just didn't have Ian's muscular development, earned from two decades in the gym. They could barely hold the positions for the required three seconds. At least they were able to stick the landings. The highest score for a Hawk was 9.15.

When Quinn had first watched Ian on rings, his upper body strength had been a revelation. Long known as the fittest member of the English Department, Quinn had to get used to the competition, becoming inordinately pleased about it.

Luke's struggles allowed Vaderbilt to increase their lead. The Maulers had excelled at high bar, with their flashy pirouettes and double release moves. Their high score was 9.775. But Darthmouth still brought up the rear with a weak showing on p-bars. The poor lead-off man was almost asthmatic by the end of his performance.

The third rotation was a solid one for Luke. Vault was usually good to them. The highlight was Brown's triple somersault with a textbook landing, which earned a meet-high 9.875. In these days, when a perfect 10 was no longer a realistic possibility, especially for the men, that was exceptional.

Quinn never forgot the first time he'd seen Ian complete the Yurchenko, the backflip onto the platform sending his pulse soaring. He had engulfed Ian in a towel afterwards, all but feeling the adrenalin course through his lad's body and into his own.

Luke cut the Maulers' lead in half, since two of them had lacked punch in their punchfronts, finishing off with sloppy landings that cost vital tenths of points. The Invaders continued to bring up the rear after three falls off the pommel horse.

By the fourth rotation, the Luke cheering section had amped up the decibel levels to new heights. The Skyhawks were on floor ex, their best event. Their routines were packed with difficulty, four tumbling passes apiece showing a wide range of skills, from a triple twist perfected by Tanner, to a layout whip-back series by White. They'd finally moved into the lead.

Quinn thought that Ian was better than any of the kids on the floor. Since power tumbling was his favorite skill, Ian had spent long hours perfecting each element, leaping and soaring to incredible heights, to Quinn's enthusiastic applause. He particularly loved Ian's aerials and handsprings, and when he came back down to earth, Quinn was always there to reward him more richly than the gold.

The Maulers and Invaders nearly matched Luke's numbers, their respective skills on the parallel and high bars good enough to place them within a few hundredths of the Hawks. The home fans desperately tried to rally Vaderbilt, waving their signs and banners frantically.

The fifth event saw Luke trying to build an insurmountable lead. They were on the p-bars now, and Ian had already seen the Maulers lay down a stellar round. Trouble on their handstands and pirouettes had Ian inwardly groaning. This was why Ian had wanted Quinn here. He and the other Hawkers started shouting their support to the rafters. When Brown singled his double somersault, one didn't need the moans from the Hawkers in the stands to know that he'd opened the door for Vaderbilt.

Quinn relished his private bars interludes with Ian. He loved standing a few feet away while Ian did his routine. Not only was he there to spot him, but he could see the exactitude of his movements, a physics lesson played out for him alone.

Red and black pennants waved with renewed vigor as the Invader trooped to the floor, an insolent swagger in their steps, a smirk in their eyes. No one could compete with their balance skills, especially the rock-solid arm presses. Their hand strength was almost inhuman. They held a precarious lead after that flashy showing, while the Maulers literally fell to third after two sitdowns on vault.

The final rotation, and it was anyone's meet to win. One-arm giant swings and a ton of release moves gave Luke the edge on paper, but Ian well knew how tough it was to follow the script. Tanner flew over the bar, a true Skyhawk in flight, posting a phenomenal 9.925, by far the highest score of the day. Luke had the momentum they needed to power through. They racked up a succession of stellar scores, and increased their lead to a full tenth of a point by the end of the round.

Though Quinn loved watching Ian fly on the high bar, the releases always left him holding his breath. Luckily, he'd only seen him in the practice gym, landing knee-deep in foam. His lad always looked happiest in the air.

The pommel horse felled the Maulers again as three gymnasts swung off the horse mid-exercise, incurring a half-point penalty apiece. The Invaders fared no better on the rings, unable to still them properly, winded long before their dismounts.

When the final score came up, Ian knew instantly that the Hawks had done it. High-fives abounded as he disappeared into a pile of soaring Skyhawks.

Quinn and his friends led the cheers in the Luke section, standing and clapping all the way through the awards ceremony. He saw Ian, the sun itself in his smile, beaming at the team as they stood on the podium, their gold medals dazzling the crowd.

Afterwards, the ESPA anchors swept down for interviews with the star athletes amid the tumult.

"Ian Prentice?"

Ian looked around when he heard one of the commentators calling to him. "Yes, ma'am? he asked politely.

"Thought it was you. I'm Sarah Porter, host of Sports Wars on ESPA."

"Nice to meet you." Ian shook her hand.

"I covered this meet when you were competing for Jedai, but didn't get a chance to talk with you."

"I had a rougher time today. It's hard just to stand there and watch."

"We've already talked with Coach Rance. Would you mind being interviewed too? It's not often a high bar medalist goes on to take a team to the championship."

"That'd be fine," Ian said, knowing the additional publicity would be good for Luke fundraising.

Ian proved to be a natural in front of the cameras. He charmed the anchor right out of her blazer with his expertise and wry humor. The blue section of the stands went wild when they saw him on the monitors.

Evan shouted, "Look! Ian's on TV."

Cheers swelled around them, making the interview inaudible, though everyone could see Ian's effortless geniality.

Proud as a peacock and not afraid of showing it, Quinn drank in the amazing sight of Ian on the screen. He looked as if he belonged there, without the diffidence of a first-timer. It made sense, Quinn thought. After all the classes Ian had taught over the years, he'd be perfectly at ease in front of any audience.

The stands started emptying, Quinn and the others swept along with the crowd. He drove home with his friends, trying to concentrate on the road when all he wanted to do was join in the Hawkish celebration.

Ian got home a few hours later, drunk on Gatorade and glory. He fell into Quinn's arms just inside the door and began kissing him hungrily. There was nothing as sexy as a high-flying Ian. Quinn felt strong arms crushing them together and trying to get to his skin. Glad he had on only a t-shirt, Quinn helped by raising his hands. Ian stopped pulling off the shirt when it had cleared Quinn's head, but was only midway up his arms. Quinn felt his pulse pound harder than it had during the meet as Ian took a claiming kiss, right hand effortlessly keeping Quinn in position. He yanked the shirt the rest of the way off and immediately pulled Quinn's sweaty chest against him. Ian started nipping Quinn's neck and shoulder, relishing Quinn's impatient tugs at his tee. Both shirts off, they pressed together gratefully, searching for the best handholds just as the gymnasts had done before them.

"Wanna see ma moves on the floor?" Ian nuzzled Quinn's ear while dragging him to the living room, nearly missing his breathless "Yes."

Even unlit, the fireplace was inviting. Sweaty fingers picked clumsily at the laces of each other's sweatpants, but finally they were free. Cool air drifted over their calves and thighs as they dropped their boxer briefs. Kneeling on the carpet, Ian's knees luxuriated in the padding, much more comfortable than that of the mats.

Long, delicious kisses led to long, delicious caresses as Ian slowly pressed Quinn into the carpet. His errant mouth played over Quinn's chest and stomach, knowing just where to go to get the groans. Just as he was ready to lick lower, Quinn's words changed Ian's trajectory.

"Kiss me, lad," Quinn implored, never getting enough of Ian's delectable lips.

Quinn's plea had to be answered, so Ian kissed those begging lips while aligning their bodies with gymnastic precision. Hips even wilder than on the pommel horse, Ian drove into Quinn's answering upthrusts, shuddering to completion with him an endless moment later, without ever breaking the kiss.

Now the Skyhawks were truly soaring.