The Perfect Gift

by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only

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

Rating: R

Summary: A playful Master

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 63

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

Ian looked up from his pile of thank-you notes on the mosaic table to see Quinn daydreaming at his desk covered with notes of its own. Their family and friends had been generous, and they honored that thoughtfulness by not writing form letters in return.

Though they had asked that the guests make charitable contributions in lieu of gifts, many had given them checks as well, unwilling to subject the grooms to their taste in toasters. They'd earmarked a sizeable amount for charity anyway, for which Ian kept careful records inspired by Monty's accounting tips. The rest would go far in the pursuit of their next goal -- buying a house. With all the money they would save without dual maintenance fees, and the profit they'd make from the sale of their condos, the men were ideal prospective home owners.

However, their favorite gift had nothing to do with savings bonds or checks. It was much more personal than that. Bant had gotten hold of one of the Padawan braids used in The Phantom Menace at a charity auction, and given it to them in a lucite display case. It didn't stay there long.

Quinn brought it into the bedroom with them their first night back. They undressed quickly, eager to feel *their* bed under them, luxuriating in the comfort of its familiarity -- the soft weave of the fitted sheet against their backs, the pull on the pillowcase where Quinn's thumbnail had dug in a bit too hard, the slight give of the mattress under their hips.

Leaning on his elbow, Quinn opened the case with reverent fingers, and gazed at Ian speculatively. One of his favorite spots to suckle had always been a tempting patch beside Ian's right ear that happened to be where Obi-Wan had worn his braid. How would it look there?

Only one way to find out. Instead of going straight for his goal, however, Quinn decided on the scenic route. Smiling, he drew Ian to him with anticipatory fingers, and caressed his lips with the bushy end. Ian's moan of delight had Quinn covering that mouth with his own in the next breath.

"Feels so good." Ian's husky whisper upped Quinn's pulse a few beats as he contemplated the exquisite canvas before him.

Forehead, nose, cheeks...Quinn drifted the feather-soft brush over Ian's warm skin, his sighs guiding the master painter's loving hand. Quinn sucked on the tip, then dipped his new brush into the enticing cleft in Ian's chin, but this time got only a grunt in response. Things were heating up fast. Ian's sweat was an irresistible medium, Quinn a dedicated artist.

Ian twined his fingers with the master to guide him more directly. Their joint hands drifted from cleft to neck, whispering over the taut flesh, drawing a moan from both of them. Ian moved his palm to Quinn's own neck when his husband brushed first his right shoulder, then his left, evoking delicious shivers.

There were advantages to not attaching the braid yet, Quinn mused, as he moved south to areas that a Padawan braid wouldn't ordinarily reach. As he trailed it down Ian's left arm and up his right, the little hairs in his path provided a pleasurable hint of resistance. He had to use a firmer touch on Ian's chest and stomach, since his lad was a bit ticklish there. Quinn lavished attention on that sensitive patch beneath Ian's left rib until Ian grabbed him for an intense kiss.

Quinn wasn't through with his artistic appreciation of Ian yet. Hips, thighs, knees, and calves deserved brush strokes of their own, and Quinn was quite the assiduous master. The only challenge was keeping those amazing hips on the bed under his loving touch. The coarser hairs of Ian's thighs were particularly enjoyable to swirl around, Quinn's hand slowing over the cream of his inner thighs.

Groans had become Ian's new vocabulary, and he was eloquent as always, even without the precision of words. Ian's eyes sought Quinn's own imploringly, and Quinn could not resist that plea. Holding Ian's gaze, he dipped the brush into the nest of luxuriant copper curls between his thighs, his mouth following along with an urgency matching his husband's.

Braid dropped from sweaty fingers, forgotten on the sheet, Quinn lavished all of his attention where both of them wanted it, until Ian convulsed in pleasure under him. Quinn rested on Ian's stomach, his favorite pillow, nuzzling it softly until Ian's breathing slowed, and he was pulled up for a searching kiss.

Ian's eyes sparkled when his fingers found the temporarily abandoned braid. He had a bigger canvas to play on, and wanted to take advantage of each bit of it. He pushed Quinn back on the bed, every inch the masterful Padawan. His skin remembered what had felt wonderful to him, and he ardently started to caress the long expanse of his husband.

Ian stroked through Quinn's hair with the brush of the braid, noting that the tip matched Quinn's color exactly. Mmmm...a purr already. Ian grinned in anticipation. He brushed a strand of hair and continued down Quinn's left shoulder and arm to his hand, paying particular attention to his elbow and wrist along the way.

The hand led naturally onto Quinn's endless legs, with knees and ankles more sensitive than his own. Ian knew better than to go on to the feet; Quinn didn't enjoy being tickled, and Ian wanted to give him only pleasure.

Quinn's stomach, on the other hand, knew that there was no such thing as too much stimulation, so Ian dusted over it again and again, with varying degrees of firmness.

Finally, Quinn grabbed Ian's fingers on the braid to push it downward, and it only took a few strokes of hair and hand until Quinn painted them both, Ian kissing him all the while.

Ian snugged under Quinn's arm, burrowing into him. After a few moments, he brought the braid up for inspection and laughed. It was a total mess. The neat weave had been pulled apart, hairs sticking out like a porcupine, now redolent and damp.

They would have to wash and reweave it before it was presentable once more, just as Obi-Wan might have done. They'd also have to send Bant a heartfelt thank-you note. Nothing else would do to honor her perfect gift.