A Paduan New Year's Eve

by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Quinn and Ian get bubbly.
Series: Academic Arcadia -- 1) Wedding Gifts 2) A Symposium on Love 3) Dinner and a Movie 4) Please Call First 5) Masquerade 6) A Change of Clime 7) Christmas in Williamsburg 8) A Paduan New Year's Eve
Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
For Alex, my friend and beta

After their return from Williamsburg, Quinn and Ian thought they would have to split up again for New Year's Eve, just as they'd done on Christmas Day. However, luck was with them on this holiday: Quinn's parents were on vacation, and Ian's had decided to indulge in a local hotel's dinner and dancing special, which included an overnight stay. Ian and Quinn were free to celebrate without slighting their family obligations.

As soon as Ian found out, he began considering ideas for their first New Year's together. He didn't think Quinn would want to go far afield, having just gotten back from Virginia. Ian had wanted to show him the house he'd grown up in for months, but was uncomfortable taking Quinn there under the keen gaze of his parents. He already had the feeling that his mother had seen too much in their brief meeting at Ian's apartment, and did not want to increase the family's level of speculation.

Now Ian saw an opportunity. The Prentice home would be empty for the holiday; Quinn and Ian could have their own private celebration there.

Their drive to Padua, New Jersey took only fifteen minutes from the apartment, so they arrived at 9 pm. As Ian turned his Audi Gallia into the driveway, Quinn saw grounds covered with mature oak trees and flower beds. There were two structures visible: a carriage house now serving as a garage, and the main building, which looked to have been built about a century ago.

When the men entered the silent house, Quinn could see the charm of old-fashioned craftsmanship. The rooms were not simply square or rectangular: the library was pentagonal, and many of the rooms contained unexpected nooks and angles.

Ian had Quinn out of his jacket in short order, and he hung both coats in the hall closet. A sweep of oak-banistered stairs led to the bedrooms, but for now Quinn put the champagne down on a table in the entranceway and followed Ian on a tour of the first floor.

The library was their first stop, and Quinn could see where Ian had acquired his love of reading. Books, many yellowed with age, crowded the room's built-in shelves. Jo Prentice, a librarian, had filled an entire wall with volumes in slipcases. Near the window stood a baby grand piano, Ian's own baby after years of lessons upon its ivories.

"Will you play for me, lad?" Quinn asked.

Ian pulled Quinn down next to him on the bench, and played the start of a Mozart sonatina from memory. "Have you ever taken lessons?"

"Never did, Ian. Don't have much musical talent. A bit of guitar is about all I can manage."

"Let me show you then," said Ian, a gleam of delight in his eyes. He took Quinn's hands in his own, or as much of them as would fit, and kissed his palms before putting Quinn's fingers on the keys. Ian taught him the names of keys, finger placement, and chords, which Quinn learned fairly quickly. Pretty soon they were playing Heart and Soul together, enjoying every moment of it, despite Quinn's lack of finesse.

Quinn then began to experiment with the foot pedals, brushing his knee against Ian's every time he pushed down. Ian pressed back and they started hitting keys at random. Quinn pounded out a discordant chord, then raised his hands in a flourish. Ian grabbed them, and was kissed on a piano bench for the very first time in his life. Since he'd been taught by a retired businesswoman, this was altogether a good thing. The lesson, at least the piano portion thereof, had definitely concluded for the day.

Ian decided to continue the tour in the kitchen, a small, oblong room with a view of the treed backyard. Cabinets that seemed to pre-date the space age filled most of the wallspace. The refrigerator and stove were approximately twenty years old; they, like everything else in the kitchen, were spotlessly clean.

Quinn put the champagne in the fridge, while Ian made tea for them, which the men drank as they walked around the house. "We're fresh out of miniature sandwiches today," he teased.

"Don't worry, lad. I had enough for dinner." Quinn draped his arm possessively over Ian's shoulder.

Sliding half-glass doors led to the dining room with its table for eight and stained glass windows set high up in the wall. Additional sliders revealed the living room with a fireplace and an enormous couch sitting in front of it. A Christmas tree was still set up in the corner.

Quinn walked over to the tree to look at the decorations, and saw some that must have been made by Ian and Monty, including a star on top made out of styrofoam and painted white.

Stretching to touch the star, Quinn said, "Yours?"

Ian put his hand on Quinn's arm and said, "Yes. I was in second grade," with a small smile on his face. Ian gave Quinn a kiss. "We each put up the ornaments that we've made over the years. This is my mom's favorite of mine."

"I can see why. It's beautiful."

The room was cold since the house had been empty for hours so Ian made a fire for them, thinking all the while of their first fireside together in Williamsburg. Quinn and Ian sat together on the couch, huddled under a brown quilt that had been draped over the back.

"This is already the best New Year's Eve ever for me," Quinn said, as he snugged Ian even closer to his side.

"Me too," Ian mumbled into Quinn's Aran sweater.

"My resolution this year is to find a place of our own where we can be together discreetly."

"And mine is to make it affordable," Ian said wryly.

"Oh ho, thus speaks the accountant in the family." Quinn poked Ian's ribs softly.

Ian laughed. "You're confusing me with Monty." Ian's brother was indeed a CPA.

"No chance of that, lad, none at all." Quinn kissed Ian's lips, drinking in his tantalizing sweetness.

They drowsed on the couch for about an hour, then set out to explore the second floor of the house. There were three bedrooms: the master bedroom and Monty's room, which they decided not to enter, and Ian's old room, originally a huge closet for the lady of the house.

Ian's bedroom had angled windows on either side of the far wall and had an airy feel, thanks to the high ceiling. A twin bed was tucked into the windowless right corner, and an oak desk, bookcase and dresser completed the furnishings.

Photos adorned the corkboard over the desk, drawing Quinn's eye immediately. He was rewarded with the sight of Ian as a youngster, looking uniformly adorable at each stage of development. Plump baby, gazing upon the world with delight; tow-headed toddler, agleam with mischief; rail-thin little boy, blurred in the shot due to his perpetual motion; high-schooler with serious eyes and a Temple t-shirt on; graduation pictures from Jedai, Bail, and Georgeton, in which he looked to be the same handsome young man who now stood beside Quinn.

"My mom started to put them up when I first went away to college. Dad says she'd come in here to look at them often so she wouldn't miss me as much."

Quinn heard the embarrassment in Ian's voice, but he was glad of the chance to see little Ian. "I appreciate them too, lad," he said simply, patting Ian's arm reassuringly.

Quinn leaned closer to stare at the expressions gracing the little face. "I can easily tell it's you, lad. You haven't changed all that much since childhood." He hugged Ian to himself. "Especially that mischievous grin. I didn't have to wait long to see that -- by the time we'd made it to Connecticut on the train, you'd already smitten me with it."

"Powerful stuff, eh?" Ian said. "Be back in a few, Quinn." He headed down the hall to the bathroom.

Quinn went over to lie on the bed, knees raised, seeing the room from the perspective of the youthful Ian. It was a cheerful place: a small model of R2D2 perched on the desk; the painting of the night sky on the ceiling sparked a boy's imagination, which the science fiction and fantasy paperbacks on the shelves fueled.

Quinn leaned on his elbow to peer at the books -- Asimov, Bradbury, and Clarke -- the ABCs of SF twenty years back. He'd read the same authors himself growing up.

Vinyl records were also stored on a shelf -- David Bowie, Pink Floyd, The Kinks, Renaissance, Jethro Tull -- quite an eclectic collection.

The bed itself was made with blue cotton sheets and a matching comforter. Quinn winced as he shifted slightly and the springs creaked. How had Ian managed with his family so close by?

When Quinn had lain on his teenage sheets, he'd dreamt of one day meeting someone with whom he could share his life. Years had passed and seemingly refuted the dream, day by day. Then, professional pursuits had turned to pursuit of a wholly different kind, and Quinn had won his Ian, never to relinquish him. Lying on Ian's blue comforter reminded Quinn of all he'd gained in the past six months.

Quinn rose to sit on the desk chair before Ian returned, a copy of Dandelion Wine in hand. Although he'd had fantasies unrelated to Ian's book collection of just this scenario -- he and Ian in one of their boyhood beds -- discretion was too deeply ingrained within him to give in to the pull of it. What if Ian's parents returned early or Monty and Kathy decided to pay a visit?

Quinn knew if he were on the bed when Ian came back, his impetuous lad could not resist making love to him. Ian wouldn't care about the risks; he'd just lock the door and hope for the best. But how many reasons for a locked door could there be? And what about the sheets?

Temptation successfully deferred, Quinn smiled up at Ian as he re-entered the room. He showed Ian the book he'd picked out. "I have a copy of this over at my parents' place too."

"Bradbury's prose is so lyrical. He's the one who really got me hooked on fantasy."

"I've been trying to set up a course on these seminal writers," Quinn waved his hand at the bookcase, "but with a limited number of electives and a huge amount of mandatory courses, it hasn't been practical." He got up and took Ian into his arms. "Who knows, though? Now that I have a hobbit-loving colleague," Quinn murmured, punctuating each word with a kiss, "anything's possible."

"Anything, eh?" The mischievous grin Quinn had mentioned earlier came out to play.

"Anything," answered Quinn firmly, his arms tightening around Ian.

Ian's watch chose that moment to beep. "Don't worry. Remember, I keep it five minutes fast. We've got plenty of time to get ready."

Quinn retrieved the champagne, while Ian got flutes from the dining room cabinet. With one thought, they stepped under the mistletoe decorating the inglenook in the living room, glancing at the clock on the mantel.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!" they called out in perfect unison, and kissed each other with the same innate sense of one another's rhythms. The toasting was a bit delayed due to their enthusiastic kissing, but the champagne made no protest, quietly effervescing on the table, while the men did the same by the fireside.

Quinn opened the bottle and Ian held glasses for him, steady and ready to be filled.

Quinn cleared his throat for a toast. "To boyhood dreams made reality."

The spark in Ian's eyes was not solely due to firelight. "To boyhood dreams exceeded."

Quinn and Ian clinked flutes and drank. A bubble popped on Ian's nose, deepening his smile, and Quinn reached over to rub the spot.

The two curled up on the hearthrug, sleepy from the lateness of the hour and their champagne. Quinn pulled the brown quilt over them and a few kisses later, they were asleep.

When Jo stopped by the house a few hours later to pick up some forgotten toiletries, she saw Ian's Audi in the drive and was happy to have the chance to see him on the holiday.

Jo didn't notice Quinn and Ian immediately since they were hidden by the couch, but walking over to put out the fire, she saw them sleeping in their quilted nest. The men were wrapped around each other, cheeks kissing above the covers. They fairly radiated happiness, warmth, and love to her mother's eye. Jo had seen that angelic smile on Ian's face when he was a six-year-old presenting her with his hand-made Christmas star. Quinn had brought the smile out for her to see now, though she was uncomfortably aware that she had inadvertently intruded upon a private moment.

Jo silently turned away, picked up her travel case, and let herself out into the January night.

End.