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by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Residual Angst, Romance, Series
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Safe harbor
Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 45 A chronological list of the stories with 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, my friend and beta
Many thanks to Ula for her beta work.

Home. Just what Ian and Quinn needed after the traumatic climax of the anniversary party. Ian closed that all-important door between them and the rest of the world. Their own little universe awaited, the only place they completely relaxed into each other. The distinctive hum of the fluorescent light in the kitchen, a glance at the little train at its station above Quinn's desk, the scent of white roses blooming on the terrace -- all spoke of home.

Unfortunately, Rory's behavior could not be shrugged off with their suit jackets.

Both men had waited so many years for a relationship precisely because they thought that falling in love in a straight world was just not worth the gamble. That their latest challenge came from within the protected waters of the Prentice clan rattled them more than any number of generic sour salvos from Quinn's parents.

The Mastersons were predictable in their conservatism, a known quantity with their bred-in-the-bone convictions. There was no point in discussion; thirty-three years with them had convinced Quinn that their views were inalterable. At least Quinn had a good idea of the consequences were he to come out: total estrangement from the family, with a generous dollop of parting scorn.

Rory and Mal were a different matter entirely. Although they'd sensed no real antipathy until the dance floor incident, Ian and Quinn had maintained a wariness around them, even with their apparent acceptance, that was foreign to their relationships with the rest of the Prentices. The surface tolerance of Ian's uncles could be breached under stress, for all their attempts at broad-mindedness.

As Quinn and Ian had seen on that dance floor. The pie they'd been anticipating had been metaphorically thrown in their faces. Now the only thing they had to think about was removing the last of the crumbs.

As soon as they got in the door, Quinn said, "Let's share a kata."

They stripped down to their boxer briefs in the living room, leaving their clothes on the couch arms. Not bothering to retrieve their gi from the bedroom closet, they went out to the enclosed balcony and began their forms, rings shining in the late morning light.

The inevitable peace washed over them as they moved together with liquid grace, the satisfaction of rigorous discipline, the delight of soaring in step. Smiling into one another's eyes when they finished at the same instant, the men added their own unique touch as their lips pressed forward in a kiss.

Nothing could affect their deep happiness. Their hard-won self-acceptance and confidence were too much a part of them now, individually and as a couple, and would be there to brace them through any storm. They had found safe harbor with each other, never to be forsaken.

There were benefits to foregoing their gi: the easy accessibility of glistening skin, not to mention less laundry. The same sparkle in two sets of eyes said that they were aware of both perks, and were ready to take advantage of them.

Quinn reached out with a damp thumb to intercept a droplet of sweat to the left of Ian's jaw as it meandered its way down his neck. Ian's pupils dilated when Quinn licked his finger as he locked eyes with his lover. Ian then took Quinn's thumb into his mouth, tasting only Quinn's saliva, and coating it with his own.

Ian pulled Quinn on top of him on his tatami, the mat no stranger to their more private exercises. The men kissed and kissed, bodies moving naturally as they blended in a different intimacy than before. The easy mastery of the kata extended into their lovemaking, so they were able to make it last, despite their eagerness.

This was the first time they'd made love with their wedding bands on, and both men felt the unfamiliar ridge pressing against their hands as their grip tightened. Left to right and right to left -- one ring was on either side of Ian's mussed hair. The bands moved fractionally on their slick fingers, and afterwards they could see the indentations they'd made in each other's flesh.

Ian ran his forefinger over the spot on Quinn's right hand, and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Mmmm. Talk about heavy metal."

Quinn didn't think he'd want to groan again so soon, but just had to after that whimsical comment. "Let's cool off, lad," he said, hauling Ian up with a strong left arm.

Their shower together was soothing and arousing both. Ian loved being surrounded by the greens of Quinn's bathroom: the sea foam bathmat, the shower curtain with its underwater scene, the aqua tiles by the window bathing them in blue-green light, the shimmering droplets of water dancing on their skin.

They cleaned each other, eschewing efficiency for sensation. More sheets had been spared washing here than any other place in their two apartments. Soon scrubbing was forgotten completely, as urgency overcame them. The built-in soap dishes made good handholds for Ian in particular, set at just the right height for him to brace himself. Since they always used the liquid soap on the tub's edge, Ian's grip was secure. After rinsing off again, they towelled dry, and got into their sweats.

Luckily, the tatami was easy to clean; Quinn washed the mat, then draped it over the bathtub. He noticed that Ian had left a drip on a center tile in his enthusiasm, and wiped it away, a reminiscent smile teasing at his damp lips.

The men decided to delay lunch, since they'd overindulged a bit at the hotel. They took raspberry iced tea in tumblers out to the sofa recliner, and turned on the TV to watch springboard diving.

Quinn glanced at Ian's face now and then to gauge his mood. To his relief, the tracery of lines around Ian's eyes had diminished to its usual faintness. A sated Ian tended to relax against Quinn in a boneless sprawl, just as he was doing now. Things were getting back to normal.

After an hour of TV and togetherness, the men had sandwiches in the dining alcove. Thus fortified, they retrieved their coursework from briefcases left by the door. Quinn claimed his usual spot at the desk, while Ian's notes spread out over the coffee table.

After a few hours, one of their shared looks grew a little too heated, and Ian growled, "Bed. Now."

Bed. Their bed. Territoriality in this case was a positive thing. Undressed and under the covers, Quinn pressed against Ian's back, his left hand pushing Ian's into the pillow. The rings were finally together, gold trying to fuse. Their owners became so overheated that it was a wonder the metal didn't turn molten.

The men, however, did.